The man crawled on his stomach through the damp grass towards the prone woman. She lay unaware of his stealthy approach, her face turned towards the sun, surprised and happy to receive its warmth so late in the year. She flexed her shoulders against the rough blanket, its thickness protecting her from the wetness of the grass which even the sun could not draw out.
The creeping man smiled and a gleam came into his eyes. A sound behind him made him turn his head sharply and he frowned at his two companions, silently urging them to remain quiet.
The woman sighed and raised a knee provocatively; the smoothness of her legs caught the man's attention. His smile widened and he felt the pressure of the earth against his loins. He was close now, close enough to reach out and touch that wonderfully soft body. He tried to control his breathing so that she wouldn't hear.
Bringing his arm forward, he snapped off a long blade of grass, then pointed its quivering tip towards the woman's face. She twitched as the fine point ran down the side of her nose, then twitched again as the tickling sensation persisted. She suddenly sat upright, vigorously rubbing at her skin as though to dislodge an errant insect.
Terry," she shouted when she saw his shaking body, and grabbed a handful of grass and threw it into his face.
The two children behind the man laughed excitedly, the small girl jumping on his back and pounding his head with the palm of her hand.
"Oil" he yelped, reaching behind and toppling her over his shoulder.
"S'enough of that!"
The woman smiled as her husband rolled the four-year-old over in the grass. "Mind her clothes, Terry. She'll get wet."
"All right, monkey, you heard what your mother said." Terry tossed the girl onto the blanket where she immediately jumped into the woman's arms.
"Game of football, Dad?" the boy asked, eyebrows raised in anticipation.
"Okay, Keith, get the ball. It's in the back of the car."
The boy, seven years old, and ready to play for England -maybe West Ham would do scampered off towards the red car parked fifty yards away on a hard piece of ground not too far from the road.
This is nice, Terry," the woman said, allowing her daughter to scramble free and chase the boy.
Teah. We should do it more often, you know."
The woman looked at him meaningfully. We could always do it on weekends. It would be better than keeping Keith away from school for the day. Wouldn't do any harm to take them down to Southend now and again. They like the sea."
Terry grunted noncommittally. He didn't want to make any promises just because he was in a good mood. "Come on, you two, hurry up," he shouted after the children.
The woman knew there was no point in pursuing the subject. When do you think you'll go back?" she asked.
Terry shrugged. When the Union says so, I suppose."
"I don't know how they get away with it. It's a wonder the company don't go bust. It's the fifth dispute this year."
"Sixth. We were on a go-slow last month."
The woman groaned. "How you get any cars out at all beats me."
"Leave it alone, Hazel. I have to follow the Union rules."
"Yes, you all do, don't you? You're all bloody mindless."
They get us more money, don't they? And better conditions."
"And what are they going to do when there's no car plant left? When the Americans pull out?"
"Leave off. That'll never happen."
"No, not until it does."
The couple sat in silence for a few moments, each annoyed with the other.
"At least it gives me more time with the kids, don't it?" Terry said finally.
Hazel sniffed.
The two children returned, the boy kicking the ball ahead and the girl running after it, trying to smother it with her body. Terry leapt to his feet and ran towards them, kicking the ball away from the girl who shrieked with glee.
Hazel smiled at the three of them and pushed thoughts of strikes and unions and weekends spent indoors away from her mind. "Lazy bastard,"
she said softly, still smiling, as she watched her husband kick the football with his knee onto his head.
"Okay, Keith, in goal," Terry told the boy who immediately pulled a disgusted face.
"I'm always in goal. Can't you go in for a change, Dad?"
"Yeah, I will. When I've scored three, all right? In between those two trees, go on."
The boy slunk off and stood between two horn beams hands on his hips, facing his prancing father.
The girl tried to grab the ball from her father's feet and giggled when he pulled it away from her with the underside of one foot.
"No you don't, Josie. You're up against a pro here." Terry kicked the ball clear of his daughter then gave it a hefty kick towards the makeshift goal. Keith met it with a kick of his own and sent it skimming back past his father.
"Show off!" Terry called out and ran after it, slipping and falling onto his back as he stretched a foot out to halt the ball's progress.
Hazel and the two children laughed aloud as Terry struggled to his feet, a rueful grin on his face.
"All right, you asked for it," he called back to Keith. "Get ready for this one!"
He retrieved the ball, placed it firmly on the ground, took a few steps back, then kicked it high and hard towards the goal mouth Josie bravely jumped up and tried to catch the ball, but the boy was older and wiser: he ducked and let it sail over his head. The ball disappeared with a rustle of protesting leaves into the heavy clump of bushes behind the trees.
"Oh, Dad!" Keith moaned.
Terry, that's too hard," said Hazel, reproachfully.
Well, go and get it, son," said Terry, unabashed.
But Keith squatted on the ground, arms folded across his chest, a set expression on his face.
"I get it, Daddy," Josie cried out, scurrying towards the bushes.
Watch her, Terry, don't let her go out of sight," Hazel said anxiously.
"She's all right, it didn't go far." Terry stretched his arms and gazed at the greenness around him. "Beats bloody working," he muttered under his breath.
Josie peered into the bushes, then jiggled her body through the small opening she had found. She squirmed further into the undergrowth, her eyes darting from left to right in search of the lost ball. Her mother's voice followed her through the tangle of leaves and branches, but the girl's mind was too concentrated on her quest to listen. She squealed in excitement when she saw the white round object of her search nestling beneath a leafy bush, and pushed herself forward, wincing as the branches scratched at her legs.
She reached the ball in a final determined rush, then squatted on her haunches to retrieve it. Something moved just beyond the football.
Something dark, hiding in the darker shadows of the thick undergrowth.
Josie's fingertips reached for the ball and flicked it free, rolling it back towards her. She hugged it to her chest and was about to rise when her sharp little eyes caught sight of the animal. She moved closer, ducking beneath the leaves to get a better view. The football was forgotten for the moment and left to one side, shiny and wet. Josie crawled forward on all fours, oblivious to the damp earth which muddied her hands and knees. In the dimness she could just distinguish a black, stiff-furred body and two close-set highlights reflected in the creature's eyes. It did not move, but waited for her to draw near.