Bright Burning Things(64)

I can’t go back to the confines of those claustrophobic rooms; need to be wind-whipped, rain-lashed, need space, perspective. ‘In a bit, Tommy, ok?’ He doesn’t answer. I tie the animals to the railings, tell Tommy to mind them, and step off the bandstand into the rain. Start to jog, building into a run, lose sight of Tommy for a moment as I loop the circumference of the park. My imp is there in the bushes, little bitch. Increase my speed, blinkers on.

On my third lap I see Tommy standing in the centre of the field, holding on to the two drenched creatures. One more round. I wave. No one waves back. My heart. I complete two more laps, my tendons aching, shin splints hurting, lungs busting, pulse throbbing in my neck. I stop, do a little puke, feel momentarily better, then walk back towards the trio.

‘Right, let’s all go home, shall we?’

I catch Tommy throwing his eyes to heaven. I turn and start to weave my way dizzily out of the gate. Despite my physical exhaustion, a bolt of raw fury shoots through me. How dare they take my son away from me and replace him with this sanctimonious, little-green-man-obeying, eye-rolling stranger? I begin to run, and don’t look back to see if they’re all following. Strike out on to the slippery road, not waiting for the traffic lights to change – when did I ever wait for the little green man? – and continue running until I reach the front door. Turn then, see them all trailing behind me in a line. Swallow. I have to battle a desire to get on my knees and throw myself at their feet.

Once inside the hallway, the four of us freeze and size each other up. Tommy makes a soft tip-of-the-tongue-to-the-palate click, mobilising the animals to follow him. They move as one into the kitchen, the sound of the tap running, cupboards opening and closing. I follow them and see him standing on the worktop, reaching for a bowl.

‘Tommy?’

He pretends he doesn’t hear me.

‘Tommy? That’s too high. Let me…’

As I reach past him, he flinches. I lift him off the counter, place him on the floor, fill a bowl for the animals, his plastic cup for him. He turns his back on me.

A whole-body lovesickness burrows inside me, biting and scraping. I find myself moving towards the front door, grabbing my keys, my wallet. Slam the door. The white witch has me in her thrall. I sit in the car, start it, rev it. This is it, the moment of unconscious surrender, but there is some other part of me watching: angels, good and evil, battling it out. Hear voices from the meetings: cunning, baffling and powerful. Ask for help, something outside of yourself, a Higher Power, something in nature, a tree, a member of the group, doesn’t matter who or what, just ask. Get humble. Sister Anne? Please help. The Man Above just won’t do it, the Divine Mother too abstract, the angels too ephemeral… too… insubstantial. Need something solid, something real to hold on to, need to hear a voice to interrupt my own. I take my phone and swipe, overriding my last sense of him. The line connects. ‘Can you come over?’

I thought there might be some residual hurt or anger, but he answers without a hint of recrimination. ‘Sure, but do you think it’s a good idea on your first evening together?’

Words fall out of me, words about not trusting myself, about Tommy’s alienation from me, his distrust, my contradictory impulses; words that I have some sense should never be spoken aloud, yet I’m powerless over the anxiety of the moment, the spilling momentum.

I whisper, ‘Please come.’

I can hear a register shift before he speaks, and when he does, his old sermonising tone is back: ‘Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in a jiffy.’

I get out of the car, open the front door, shout calmly from the hall, ‘Just needed to get my sunglasses’, which is ridiculous, as there’s not a screed of sunlight today. ‘Going to have a shower, Tommy, ok?’ He doesn’t look at me. Water might help.


When I come back out, wrapped in a towel, I see my boy rubbing down the animals, talking low to them, reassuring them. The trio forming a closed circle, with me on the outside.

‘Tommy?’

He looks up.

‘Will you have a nice hot shower? Don’t want you getting a cold.’

He shakes his head.

‘Ok, darling. Let’s dry you off, get some clean clothes on you.’

The doorbell rings.

‘That’s just a friend. Go on, now, go into the bedroom and get changed.’ I try on the capable, coping mother voice. He doesn’t move. Since when did I have a friend?





40


David is standing outside, a pizza box in hand.

‘Thank you for coming,’ I say, over-bright. ‘Is that the pizza from the other night?’

‘What’s going on?’ His voice is my father’s voice. This is enough to puncture any lingering craving, my world suddenly pulled into sharp focus. ‘You should put some clothes on,’ he says more softly. ‘Don’t want you getting a cold’ – my exact words to Tommy a few moments ago.

He steps into the hall. Tommy is standing in the doorframe to the bedroom, pale and stock-still.

‘You remember David, Tommy? The nice man who paid for our pizza that time?’

Tommy ignores me, goes into the bedroom, the animals following, and closes the door.

‘Understandable, in the circumstances,’ David says.

‘I’m just going to put some clothes on.’