Helpless by Marianne Marsh

wide beam reaching out his arms to pat the terrier. The little dog rewarded him with a rough-tongued lick that removed the last lingering crumbs of breakfast from his rosy-cheeked face. Ignoring both the dogs and the two children, I waited silently to see what it was that the man next door wanted.
    ‘Thought we would all go out on a picnic later,’ he said. ‘Shame to waste a nice day like this. Don’t know when we’ll get another.’ I happily smiled my agreement. Picnics meant nice food and no washing up.
    He called out a cheerful greeting to my mother, who was nursing her third cup of tea, and told her that his wife wanted him to take the children off her hands to give her a rest.
    ‘Marianne can bring Stevie,’ he told her, ‘and you can go over to ours. Dora’s not going to be doing anything, so you two can have a nice afternoon together.’
    Hearing those words my mother needed no further persuasion for us to go. Not only did she have two less mouths to feed but she was free to drink tea and gossip, uninterrupted by the demands of a toddler. My baby sister, even if she was awake, would be content with a bottle or a dummy dipped in jam to suck and a blanket to lie on.
    A couple of hours later, along with his children and the two dogs, he arrived carrying a basket full of food and soft drinks. We took our old black pram to put the three small children into when they grew tired and, with me pushing it, we set off down the lane.

    As we reached the farm tracks that led to the pond my feet scrunched the dry russet leaves that only a few months earlier had been buds that unfurled to cover the branches of trees with their dense green foliage. That day the crackling sound they made told me that even if the insects, woken by the warmth of the day and buzzing round our heads, thought it was summer, in fact winter was just around the corner.
    I pushed aside those thoughts of short days and cold nights, along with being in parked cars and derelict houses, because that day was a bonus. I was having a picnic in my favourite place with my best friend. As though reading my mind, the man next door smiled at me, that wide warm smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, the smile I thought was just for me, and I, feeling a surge of happiness, smiled back.
    ‘Let’s look for some rabbits’ holes,’ he said to the smaller children, once we arrived at the pond. Not understanding what he meant, they just looked at him vapidly. He took them a little way from the chosen picnic site and found a rabbit hole for them to look into. He explained that rabbits, those fluffy ones with white tails, lived with their families in these burrows, as well as cages, and if they were lucky they might see some, but only if they were very quiet and did not move.
    While they did that, he continued, he and I would get the picnic ready. I should have guessed then that his talk was only an excuse to separate three pairs of eyes from us. His two dogs would have chased any brave rabbit back into its burrow long before it had even a chance to wriggle its ears. But the sun had lulled me into an acceptance of his words. Seeing the small children’s lack of enthusiasm at being left looking at a hole in the ground, he pointed to the basket of food.
    ‘Do you know what I have in this bag?’ he asked.
    Three heads shook in unison.
    ‘Ice cream!’ Three faces smiled widely.
    ‘But only if you stay there to see if a rabbit comes out,’ he said sternly, before giving them each a sweet and taking me by the elbow.
    ‘Come, Marianne,’ he said, ‘let’s get everything ready.’ At the feel of his hand firmly grasping me, the warmth of the day seemed to evaporate.
    That day, as he pushed me back onto the grass, there were no fairies’ kisses, nor even a preliminary lesson in how grown-ups kiss. This time he taught me the word ‘fuck’ and asked if I knew what that meant.
    ‘You know the word?’ he asked. ‘Well, it’s time you did.’
    Then his