I tuck my jacket around myself at the school gates, waiting to collect my son.
“Finn’s not here,” says his teacher, and I blink at her. I can feel the pins pressed to my skull, holding the hair back from my face, how they cross into an X.
“Oh, right. Sorry. Where is he?”
“His father picked him up.”
“No, his father’s in Belfast,” I say, and the teacher frowns. She starts to say something, but I’m already stepping back from the playschool gate, stumbling through the crowd of other parents, their own children drawing toward them like magnets. All around me, small children are shrugging on their rucksacks, waving bright drawings. Through the open door, I can see the empty hook where Finn hung up his bag and raincoat this morning, and the cubby with his blanket for rest time.
I move toward the playground, scanning the climbing structure, ready to spot Finn winding down the slide. A part of me is detached, almost bemused. This has happened before, many times. Finn has vanished in supermarkets, on footpaths, in crowded restaurants, always running a few paces ahead of me, always curious about something just out of sight. I stand on the edge of the playground, watching all these small hearts, and where is mine? Where is my son?
I ring Tom while circling the playground. “Where are you?” I ask, barely hearing my own voice.
“What?” he says.
“Where are you?” I ask again. “Are you in Dublin?”
“Are you okay, Tessa?”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s Friday,” Tom says slowly, and I’ve to stop myself from screaming at him to answer the question. “It’s half term, remember? Finn has off school this week. I’m bringing him to Ardara,” he says, and I sink down onto the playground bench. I thought someone had taken him, I thought the playschool had handed my son over to Eoin Royce.
“I didn’t say goodbye to Finn this morning, I forgot to tell him the plan.”
“Well, we’re in Drumree already, I’m not turning around,” Tom says, and I rub my forehead.
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”
Tom sighs. “Here, I’ll put you on speaker.”
I say hello to Finn, and he calls hello back at me. He chats to me about his school day, then Tom interrupts. “Look, I need the phone for directions.”
“Sorry. Thanks, Tom. Have fun with your granny and grandda, okay, Finn? I love you.”
When I finally stand up, the blood drains from my head, and for a moment I’m on the verge of blacking out. Eventually the lightheadedness fades enough for me to walk to my street and climb into my car, and drive to the Liberties.
Marian opens her door, in woolen socks and a pair of loose denim overalls, with crutches under her arms, and something about my expression makes her reach for my hand. She says, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. I can barely bring myself to look at her. “Want to come for a swim?”