Ziggy
Ziggy
Ziggy dashed toward the laptop and slammed down the lid, stopping the slideshow dead in its tracks. But not in time. Not before Lydia had run out of the hall, clutching a startled Maggie to her chest and sobbing.
Ziggy had only met Lydia a few times. Just briefly, as he was dropping off or collecting Kylie. She seemed like a lovely lady, if a little quiet and unsure of herself. Those old people appeared to run circles around her. Given her reaction, he presumed it must be her husband in the photos, kissing a woman closer to Ziggy’s own age than Lydia’s.
Lydia deserved much better than that. As did the girl being kissed, to be honest. The man rode a scooter, for God’s sake.
Ziggy considered, for a moment, running after her. Somebody should check if she was OK, and he’d be faster than any of her senior citizens, apart from that dangerous one with the psychedelic hair and wheels. But he couldn’t leave Kylie. And he really had to see Alicia. Just to say thank you, nothing more. She, along with her musician friends, had given up her whole lunch hour to do him a favor, after all.
Ziggy slung his backpack over the handlebars of Kylie’s pushchair. All the excitement of the show had allowed him, just for an hour, to forget that it contained one of Floyd’s packages. He should have dropped it off before the performance started, but there hadn’t been time. If he didn’t deliver it soon, he’d be in huge trouble. Floyd’s customers were not renowned for their patience.
Ziggy hadn’t ever opened any of the packages he’d delivered or collected for Floyd and his gang. He didn’t want to know what was inside, although he could obviously guess. You couldn’t spend your whole life on his estate without having a general idea of what went on in the dark, pungent shadows of the alleyways and stairwells.
Ziggy certainly didn’t want to hang on to this one any longer than was necessary. It felt like traveling with a hand grenade that could explode, taking out his entire life, at any minute. Last week, he’d Googled “plausible deniability” but didn’t think it would hold up in court. Then he’d spent all night worrying that even his search history was compromised.
Kylie was sitting safely strapped into her pushchair. Glad to be released from the “swaddling clothes” she’d been wrapped in as baby Jesus, and playing with the superhero key ring attached to the zip on Ziggy’s backpack.
Ziggy pushed Kylie over toward the musicians, who were packing up their instruments, music stands, and sheet music.
“That was totally amazing!” he said to them all, although it was Alicia he just happened to be looking at directly. Alicia, with the normal, uncomplicated life, whose greatest challenge was translating all those lines, dots, and squiggles into such glorious music. How did she do that? It was a mystery.
“Thank you so much. You really made the performance. You were awesome,” he said.
“We enjoyed it!” said Alicia, looking like she actually meant it. “I hope the kids weren’t too freaked out by all that drama and shouting at the end.”
“I bet they’ve forgotten about it already,” said Ziggy, thinking how pretty Alicia looked with her dimpled, freckled cheeks and silver tinsel wound around her swinging ponytail.
“Are you going back to school?” asked Alicia.
“No, I have to get Kylie home. The nursery’s closed for the rest of the day, on account of all this,” said Ziggy, gesturing at the rows of abandoned chairs and the empty stage.
“Your daughter’s so gorgeous!” said Alicia, crouching down and smiling at Kylie in the pushchair.
“I know!” said Ziggy, trying not to mind that it wasn’t him Alicia was describing as gorgeous. He couldn’t let himself be jealous of his own baby. That would be weird.
“I hope that envelope isn’t important,” Alicia said, laughing. “Kylie seems to be eating it. Is she teething? My little sister used to chew everything when she was teething.”
Ziggy’s mouth ran dry. He leaned forward so he could see over the top of the pushchair. Kylie had opened his backpack and pulled out the package. The one he’d not dared look inside. And she had the corner of it clamped between her gums.
Ziggy grabbed the other end of the package and pulled it, but the paper, weakened by Kylie’s chewing and drooling, tore, spitting its contents onto Kylie’s lap.
Alicia stared down at Kylie, her mouth open. Ziggy did the same. Kylie reached her plump little hands forward, clutching several of the tiny little see-through baggies filled with fine white powder. Ziggy was completely frozen. His mind was screaming, Do something! , but his limbs were unable to move.
Alicia stared at Ziggy, her hazel eyes flitting through several emotions: shock, disgust, and confusion, before settling on something along the lines of deep disappointment.
“We need to get back for lessons,” she said, and the whole tone of her voice had morphed from warm and musical to an icy cold monotone.
Without saying another word, Alicia stood up straight, turned her back, picked up her oboe, and left, followed by the rest of the musicians.
As Ziggy stared helplessly at Kylie’s lap, liver-spotted hands started collecting the little bags together, shoving them back into the brown paper package. Peeling open Kylie’s fingers to release the ones she was holding in her tiny fists.
“Pull yourself together, Ziggy, for God’s sake. We need to get out of here, before someone spots what’s going on and calls Social Services,” said Daphne, who seemed to have apparated from nowhere.
Ziggy pushed Kylie toward the door as Daphne cleared the crowd in front of them with her walking stick. He didn’t dare look around to check if anyone else had seen what had just happened.
“It’s not what you think, Daphne. They’re not mine,” he said as they left the hall.
“Any fool can see that, Ziggy. You’re obviously a complete amateur. But what on earth did you think you were doing? You’re a father. You have responsibilities,” said Daphne.
“That’s exactly why I had no choice,” he replied, not expecting her, or anyone, to believe him.
“Look, give me your keys. I’ll take Kylie home. You’d better deliver that package to whoever is expecting it, or I imagine you’ll be in even more trouble,” said Daphne, displaying a remarkable level of understanding, and total lack of shock.
Maybe it would be better if he did lose custody of Kylie. Perhaps she could be adopted by parents who actually knew what they were doing. Ones who could keep her safe and give her everything she needed. Then Ziggy could go back to just being a schoolboy.
Ziggy looked down at his daughter and felt a physical squeeze around his heart, making his head swim.
There was no going back. Ziggy wasn’t the same person he’d been eight months ago. Kylie had burrowed into his soul and, without her, there would forever be a giant hole right at his center. One that could never be filled.
As Ziggy trudged toward the address he’d memorized that morning, the contents of the exploded hand grenade in his rucksack, two questions kept spinning around his head:
Would Alicia ever speak to him again? And who on earth was Daphne?