Page 79 of Love at First Sight

‘I love you,’ I say. ‘That will never change. But the person who takes you to school is going to change. I’m still going to hang out with you sometimes, if that’s okay, but I won’t see you every day. When you’re in Year Three, you’ll have a new nanny.’

‘Why?’ he says.

‘Because the kids’ club will be my job.’

‘But I can come to kids’ club?’

I nod. ‘You can,’ I say, and he answers: ‘Can I have a babyccino?’

It’s all gone better than I could have hoped.

29

I can’t believe the day has come: the first session for Stray Kids. It’s all happened fast, but then been a long time in the making, too. I have thought about this for so long that by the time I finally put everything into action it’s slotted into place almost seamlessly. Cal is an arse, and did an awful, vindictive thing when he made out to his boss I didn’t deserve my Health and Safety certification, but I send a little thought out to him, wherever he is, because he gave me the funding form in the first place, for all his sins. That said, I seriously hope never to see him again. How’s that for a one-eighty? I used to pine for crossing paths with him again, and now it’s the opposite.

I braid my hair so it’s out of my face, and pull on a new Stray Kids branded T-shirt in a fetching violet colour, all the better to complement the high-vis jackets we’ll be wearing. I grab a Stray Kids baseball cap, too, and stuff snacks into a Stray Kids tote bag so I’ve got sustenance for the day. Everything the kids will need is already in the hut: water, juice boxes, boxes of raisins, bananas and apples. That’s where the first-aid supplies are, too, and things like blankets, towels, deckchairs, some sports equipment for the kids in case of a boredom emergency. But really, theidea is that they make their own fun. I appreciate, until they get used to it all, they might need supplies for building dens or a few bats and balls to keep them active. Let’s see how it goes.

Today is the day!India texts me.Let’s do this!I also get messages from my dad, Leo, and Zoya and Rain and Bear from the gym. And one from Ali.

I get to the park with extra time to spare before anyone else arrives and survey my new kingdom. We can’t stop other people from using the same area of the park, but we have set up watchpoints and tried to deter people not associated with us, with signs that say ‘KIDS PLAYING!’ I organise some logs for climbing further into the woods, put out some pots and pans if kids want to make a mud kitchen, and then grab one of the deckchairs so I can sit and drink the coffee I picked up on the way here. It’s cold by now, but I don’t care. I’m pumped.

‘Oh, hi, I wonder if you can help me?’ says a woman dressed head to toe in cream linen, two kids running around her playing tag. She’s one of those perfect mums I have so often envied as I’ve seen them on Church Street or in Clissold with their perfect kids and perfect husband and perfect, nutritionally balanced picnics.

‘Are you volunteering for this?’ she asks, gesturing around us.

‘Not volunteering,’ I say with a smile, and suddenly feel ten feet tall. ‘This is my club. Stray Kids is mine.’

‘Oh my gosh!’ she says. ‘Well, that’s such a relief. I’m so worried about the kids – I’ve put them in puddle suitsand told them to be careful and ask if they need help, but we’ve never done anything like this before. Is it safe?’

‘Safe enough,’ I say. ‘They’ll always be watched from a distance. But the idea is that if they want to lie down in the muddy stream, we let them, because it’s only by doing that they’ll figure out that it makes them cold, and a bit grumpy, and then they won’t do it again, probably. We want them to experiment with their intuition. But they’ll all know where base is, all know which grown-ups to look to for help, and they’ll have ground rules. They have to stay in groups of three or more, can’t pick up needles, glass or anything else that might be dangerous. They can’t throw stuff at each other. And we’ll brief them on what to do if there’s an emergency, too. Just in case.’ The woman looks pale as pale can be, glancing nervously over at the playground where I assume the kids are playing.

‘Okay,’ she says, sounding anything but okay herself.

‘Hey,’ I say, reaching a hand out to her shoulder. ‘They’ll have fun. That much I can promise.’

The volunteers start to arrive: Dad, India, Zoya and Leo, and I brief them on their duty of care, making sure to emphasise that they are to be as invisible as possible, but still vigilant. The hut will be known as ‘base’, and kids can come back to it whenever they want. The volunteers will be assigned to a specific area, and are at no point to leave that area unsupervised.

‘Let’s come in with a hand and on three shout “Stray Kids” and break, okay?’ I say, once I’ve fielded questions and everyone knows what they’re doing.

‘One, two, three, Stray Kids!’ we yell, and soon enough twenty little ones between the ages of five and eleven are milling around, some of whom know each other, some of whom don’t, but all of whom seem pretty excited to be there – including Henry, who has come down with his school friend Rex and his mum. We scoop them up, explain all the rules, and then that’s it, Stray Kids session one is officially under way.

Some kids run off wildly, launching into puddle-splashing and tree-climbing. A couple of others take longer to warm up, but they manage it within ten minutes or so. Getting started is the hardest bit, and I spot parents by the café straining to look over, worried that their kid isn’t getting involved or doing the involving. But that’s the whole point – that they’ll figure it out.

Three hours fly by, so much so that when my phone alarm goes off to let me know to start corralling the kids back at base, I’m sure it’s a mistake. But it’s not. Children flock in, their parents rallying round to be greeted with muddy hands, sweaty faces and gleeful tales of adventures had. It’s wonderful. I feel so utterly proud of myself that tears well in my eyes – happy tears, tears that let me know how much this means to me, as if I needed the reminder.

‘You’re filling up fast,’ India says, from inside the hut. She’s set up with the Wi-Fi on her phone and is tracking the new booking system. ‘People are adding in more sessions before they’ve even left the park! Look!’ She points at the screen and I can see two summer sessions alreadyat capacity, and several more with a bunch of new bookings. ‘You’re a hit!’

‘Thank god,’ I say, waving the last few attendees off. The volunteers drift around HQ, swapping stories about what they’ve seen the kids get up to and what the parents were saying as they left. India emerges from the hut and says, ‘Well! I think there’s only one thing left to do now!’

‘What’s that?’ I ask, confused.

‘Go to the pub and get absolutely shit-faced,’ she grins.

30

We take over the beer garden at the back of the Hope and Anchor, our backdrop the Stray Kids mural. It’s very, very cool to be here, surrounded by people supportingmything, a thing I thought about and planned and financed and executed. I did it! I actually, really did it.

‘I’m proud of you, kid,’ Dad says to me, handing me my drink from the bar. He lifts his glass in a cheers and we clink.

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