Vanish

by Liz Tait

I feel the heat of panic before I see her.

Running like she’d spent her life avoiding it in sandals made for sauntering, not sprinting.

“Two boys – my grandchildren - blonde – have you seen them? Five and three”?

Oh God. Sheer terror, up close, her hand grips my arm.

“No, not that I….”.

“Told them not to move! I’m checking the toilets!”

She was off, clutching her chest, before her sandals were ready, losing one briefly through a crack in the boardwalk. Her life changing ominously by the second.

“I’ll look out for them!”

My planned tea and cake in the café now feeling somewhat frivolous.

I see her clutch other strangers, dragging them into the unfolding dark of her day. Strewn like fallen skittles in her wake.

I shade my eyes to look out over the beach, heavily dotted with stripey towels, strewn paddleboards and laughing children.

I am aware of a feeling. It is relief.

Because this was me, this thing was exactly me, yesterday. We were here at about this time. My granddaughter and I.

Her ice cream dripped everywhere and I found myself wet-wipe-less. That was the extent of my ‘nightmare’. Her yellow sunflower dress now soaks in Vanish stain remover at home. Hopefully the evidence will be gone and my daughter will be never know…..

Yesterday was windy and cold, not really ice cream weather but Jess, my granddaughter, grumpily refused the apple rice-cake offered. Her mother reminded me later that she didn’t like the apple-flavoured rice cakes.

“You knew that mum?!”

Today the sun shines in spite.

There’s something a little eerie about the pier. Its façade marinated with decades of candy floss and sweat. Never funny clowns leer from the twists of the Helter-Skelter tower.

The sea swaggers below, hungry for a sacrificial offering.

Please, not today.

I’m thankful for my walk-on part. Spectator. I don’t thank God.

Another Nana with ill-fitting sandals and two missing grandchildren has the starring role.

I’m grateful for someone else’s pain. Truth be told.

Time to move. I continue my walk to the café. There’s nothing else I can do, is there?

I pass young, blonde boys everywhere, clutching parents’ hands. Skipping and hopping and belonging. They all look like they belong. They all look aged five and three. Not lost.

Suddenly two boys run past me. Careless Nana almost pushes me out of the way, her screams of delight piercing, arms open in ecstatic relief. The crowd breaks into delighted applause at the reunion. I do the same.

“Oh my God, that stupid wasp, I'm so sorry…I turned round and......damn thing wouldn’t leave me alone!"

"It's okay….mum, it’s fine - they found me in the cafe...."

Short women really shouldn’t wear maxi dresses.

I told them to stay in the arcade!

“We couldn’t find you, Nanny!” The younger boy sobs.

Mother and daughter are hugging. They’re all hugging.

“Can we have ice cream now?!”

It is over.

I am aware of a feeling. It is envy.