Lucy’s Gift
written by: Gregory Ballinger
“Open wide Mr Snuffles,” Lucy said, holding out a plastic spoon and making chewing noises. “Good boy,” she smiled, giving Mr Snuffles a pat on his threadbare head, and he stared back with lifeless, beady eyes.
“We’re leaving in an hour,” her mother’s voice shrilled through the house. “I’ll put some toast down.”
Lucy heard her mother but didn’t answer and continued to make slurping noises for Mr Snuffles as she tilted the spoon.
“Did you hear me?” her mother asked, appearing in the doorway and overlooking the picnic scene on the carpet Lucy had been creating.
“Can I have a story, mummy?” Lucy squeaked, not looking up.
“There’s no time, we’ve got a lot on today, honey,” her mother pointed out, and Lucy stared back from the floor with a stern brow but otherwise blank expression.
“Please, mummy.”
“Maybe later,” her mother told her, and she couldn’t help but smile, looking down at Lucy, surrounded by her stuffed toy friends. It reminded her of when she was a little girl and she used to play picnics with Mr Snuffles, and for a moment, she slipped into a daydream as her mind wandered back to a well-remembered scene, not noticing Lucy staring at her intently with a bright smile on her face.
Suddenly, the toast popped in the kitchen, and her mother was brought back to reality.
“That was fantastic, mummy,” Lucy said, giving a short burst of applause. “I want another one like that.”
Her mother shook her head and frowned slightly. “Another one like what?”
“Another story, like that one.”
Her mother stared for a moment. “I didn’t tell you a story.”
“You did mummy, you did!” Lucy protested. “It was like being there myself, it was wonderful.”
“I was just standing here,” her mother argued, scratching the back of her head. “What story?”
“The one with the little girl having a picnic with Mr Snuffles,” Lucy told her. “I like the little girl, who is she?”
“What little girl?”
“The girl under the apple tree having a picnic,” Lucy smiled.
Lucy’s mother tried to think. “What did I look like when I was telling the story, was I speaking, saying the words?”
“No, that’s why I liked it, stories sound better without the words, I can see them better,” Lucy told her and then, reading her mother’s glazed expression, asked, “Have I done something wrong?”
Her mother shook her head. “No, honey. How about you tell me the story you saw about the little girl having a picnic.”
“But I like it when you tell it.”
“Here’s the deal: you tell me the story, and I’ll give you chocolate spread on your toast as a treat.”
Lucy smiled, licking her lips. “There was a little girl in a pink dress sitting in the garden under an apple tree with Mr Snuffles, who looks a lot fluffier than he does now. It’s a hot day, there’s not a cloud in the sky, and then suddenly the back gate opens and her father is there, he has something hidden behind his back.”
“Ice-cream,” her mother whispered.
“That’s right, ice-cream, slightly melted,” Lucy grinned, but it soon faded. “Why are you crying mummy?”
“It’s a lovely story, honey, the way you tell it.” Her mother wiped away the tears and stood up. “I must get the toast before it gets cold.”
Lucy got up and peered around the door, down the hallway towards the kitchen, where her mother was buttering the toast with chocolate spread in another daydream like before. Lucy tiptoed towards the kitchen and watched her for several moments before she snapped out of it and became aware of Lucy’s presence. “Oh, I didn’t see you there sneaky,” her mother said, picking up the plate to give to Lucy, who was looking back with the same stern, blank expression as before.
“I don’t like that man.”
“What man?” her mother asked, pulling a face.
“The man that comes over when I’m at nursery and daddy’s at work.”
“No man comes over,” her mother told her, and Lucy’s frown seemed to deepen.
“Daddy won’t be happy.”
“Has daddy said something to you?” her mother asked, and Lucy shook her head. “No one comes over here.”
“Yes, they do,” Lucy persisted.
“Here’s your toast, we should get a wriggle on or we’ll be late.”
“His name is Robin Walker.”
As the words left Lucy’s mouth, the plate slipped from her mother’s hand and seemed to hit the floor in slow motion, shattering into thousands of pieces. The sudden explosion of noise was followed by a ringing silence before her mother ordered her out of the room so she could clean up the mess. Lucy went to her room and looked at the park across the street. Children were playing in the morning sunshine, people were walking their dogs, and a man paced about, checking his watch from time to time, looking over at their house before pulling out his mobile phone. In the background, she could hear her mother’s muffled voice on the telephone. Lucy’s frown deepened further.
Not long after, her mother brought in some fresh toast and sat down on the bed while Lucy ate them. “I don’t think you’ll go to nursery today.”
“Why?”
“I just thought we could stay at home together.” Her mother offered up a smile and waited for Lucy to finish eating. “Maybe you can tell a little bit more about that story I told you before.”
“I’ve already told you mummy,” Lucy smiled back.
“Honey,” her mother began in a whisper. “That girl in the story is me, they’re my memories, from when I was little.”
“I like them, in that big garden with the apple tree.”
“It wasn’t big, it just seemed big because that’s how I remembered it,” her mother told her. “Can you just see stories with me, or is it with other people too?”
“Oh no,” Lucy frowned again. “I see them with lots of people.”
“Like who?”
“Mrs Fielder, my teacher, she has lots of lovely stories about pony riding, and Mr Hardacre from the grocery store has great stories about a treehouse. I like those stories, they’re not hazy at all.”
“What about daddy?”
Lucy seemed to stop dead. “I don’t like daddy’s stories.”
“Why not?” her mother asked in a quiet tone.
“They scare me.” Her mother crouched down to Lucy’s level and soothed her by rubbing her arms gently. “They’re all blurry, and I don’t know if they’re real or not.” Suddenly, she burst into tears, and her mother did her best to comfort her.
“What is it darling?” her mother asked, wiping away the tears from Lucy’s red face.
“I don’t want daddy to leave,” Lucy managed to say, shuddering.
“Daddy’s not leaving,” her mother reassured her, and then, changing the subject, asked, “What should we do today?”
“I’d like to go to the park.”
Lucy and her mother got ready and were just about to leave when the phone rang in the kitchen. “I better get that, in case it’s your father,” her mother stated, picking up the phone. “Hello,” she said, and then, covering the receiver, told Lucy, “Go and put the TV on, I won’t be a minute.” Lucy hovered in the hallway and watched as her mother closed the door to the kitchen. Listening, she could hear the muffled voice of her mother trying to be quiet, but as Lucy tiptoed closer, she could make out the words clearer.
“She knows, I don’t know how. I’m not being paranoid, she said your name, your full name. I don’t know if he knows, look, I have to go.”
The phone clicked, and when her mother opened the door, Lucy was still standing in the hallway with tears rolling down her cheeks. “Daddy’s going to leave us.”
“Lucy, daddy’s not going to leave us,” her mother promised, giving her a hug and wiping away a few of Lucy’s tears. “Come on, let’s go to the park, and we can get an ice-cream if the truck is there.”
At the park, Lucy played on the swings for a long time, closing her eyes and pretending she was a rocket while Mr Snuffles watched from the sidelines. It was only when the soft tinkling notes from the ice-cream truck entered her thoughts that she opened them again and saw the truck parked in its usual spot by the trees. Lucy’s mother slowed the swing down as quickly as she could, and Lucy raced over with her mother not far behind. She always ordered the same thing, a single vanilla cone with sprinkles, and the man in the truck smiled as he handed it over.
Lucy grinned and took her first lick, but the joy soon dropped from her face when she realised something. “Mr Snuffles.” She gave her mother a quick look and was about to make a beeline back to the swings when a man stepped out from behind a tree with a strange half-smile on his face.
“Have you lost something?” the man asked, tilting his head, and Lucy felt cold inside, recognising him from before. “Is this yours?” he continued, producing Mr Snuffles from behind his back, but Lucy’s blank, stern expression didn’t change. She didn’t say anything or try to retrieve the teddy, she just stood there holding her ice-cream, concentrating on those terrible images she’d seen in her father’s head.
“Your ice-cream’s melting,” the man began, but his face seemed to slacken as his eyes locked with Lucy’s. Suddenly, he pulled back, dropping Mr Snuffles on the ground. He stood there for a few moments, bewildered, and without another word, turned and ran from the park. Lucy bent down and casually picked up Mr Snuffles, then went back to her ice-cream.
Back at the house, the rest of the day passed by uneventfully until Lucy’s father walked in, looking slightly worse for wear. His usual immaculate hair looked slightly ruffled, and his tie was pulled to one side.
“Everything all right?” Lucy’s mother asked, going to give him a kiss.
“Yes, I mean no,” he muttered. “I had an accident, the car’s a mess.”
“Are you okay?” Lucy’s mother asked, giving him a hug.
“I need to freshen up,” he said, turning away and on his way past, he gave Lucy a kiss on the head.
Lucy’s mother was about to follow, but stopped when Lucy pushed past and silently went after him up the stairs. On the landing, Lucy glanced out of the window at the car, which had a big dent in the bonnet, and then continued towards her parents’ room. She pushed the door open to see her father sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. She touched his head, to which he immediately sat up and offered up a sad smile. “Hey kiddo,” he began while tears began to form in Lucy’s eyes. “What is it?”
“I don’t want you to leave,” Lucy sobbed, and the tears streamed down her face, while her mother watched through the door from the landing.
Her father wiped away her tears and, in a soft tone, told her, “I’m not leaving.”
Lucy looked into her father’s eyes and saw the scene unfold, this time with crystal clarity. She could see herself at the park by the ice-cream van. She could see the man dropping Mr Snuffles and running off. She could see her father waiting in his car, parked round the corner, hitting the accelerator. She could see the man running like a startled animal, his wild eyes as he was flung over the bonnet and left for dead.
“I’m not leaving,” her father repeated, pulling Lucy close as the sound of sirens in the street rang out, getting closer. Lucy’s mother came in and joined the embrace. They all huddled together for one last time, as sirens wailed and the sound of knocking on the front door echoed through the house.
- Lucy’s Gift - June 2, 2025
