We present an extract from The Playdate, the debut novel by Clara Dillon.
When Sara leaves her high-flying London life to move to Dublin, her only concern is her nine-year-old daughter, Lexie. For Lexie's sake she tries to get to know other mothers at the school gates, but they appear uninterested – particularly their leader, the beautiful and charismatic Vanessa, whose daughter rules the playground.
After a simple misunderstanding between Vanessa and Sara, none of the other kids at school want anything to do with Lexie. Desperate to fix things, Sara offers to look after Vanessa's daughter one afternoon. But when the playdate ends in catastrophe, Vanessa is convinced that what happened wasn't an accident.
With allegations flying in all directions, the question becomes: just how far are these women willing to go to protect their daughters? And who is telling the truth?
You're saying you want to go over the playdate again. You still haven’t grasped that the playdate was not the beginning. Well, so be it. We’ve discussed that day already of course, with the police, the lawyers and God knows who else – and it’s still very hard to talk about – but if you think it will help, then I’m happy to oblige. And this time you’ve asked for all the details. All the background, the petty school-gate trivia that always bored and exasperated you before, now you are prepared to sit through all of it. You want to properly listen. To understand.
All right then.
Earlier this year, the first Friday of April, to be exact. You were away again that day, at a meeting in London. Here in Dublin the sky was heavy and low, blurry at the edges like smudged charcoal. There had been a yellow alert on the radio that morning as I recall, forecasting heavy rain.
You were surprised to hear I had invited Polly.
'Vanessa’s kid?’ you said on the phone. ‘Didn’t you say she’d been giving Lexie a hard time in the playground?’
‘They used to get on well,’ I said defensively. ‘I’m hoping they might again if they have a nice afternoon.’
‘But why? You keep on complaining about these people.
Why doesn’t Lexie just find some other friends?’
I’m not trying to be critical, but this happens to be a good example of how these conversations usually went. No matter how many times I tried to explain the background to you, it never seemed to get through.
All the same, you had a point.
‘Polly’s coming?’ Lexie had said the night before, stiffening on the sofa. ‘But . . .’ Her fingers rose to her mouth. ‘But I thought we’d invited Imogen and Mia?’
‘We still have.’ I reached to tuck a wisp of her hair behind her ear. ‘But Polly’s mum has to be somewhere tomorrow after- noon so we’re helping her out.’
Lexie said nothing; confrontation, as you know, not being her way. But the tension, denied an outlet through her voice, travelled down her body like toothpaste in a tube, popping out at her bare feet, which twisted and clawed around each other. She chewed her thumbnail. Her eyes, large and worried, moved from side to side. I could see she was thinking.
‘Imogen and Mia will be happy,’ she said finally. ‘Yes, they will.’
‘We could go on the trampoline.’ She was starting to get excited now. It had been her dream – it was the dream of every third-class girl – to have Polly Mayhew over, and even before the recent . . . difficulties . . . with Vanessa, Lexie never had.
I remember once you used the word ‘valiant’ to describe Lexie. I can’t remember the context, but it struck me at the time how apt it was. Such a good child always, so kind and willing to please, no matter what the cost to her. You were right. I should have left things alone.
The Playdate is published by Sandycove
