Bright Burning Things(66)

Tommy is regarding us both in the same detached manner, causing a blockage, a sensation like a rough-edged pill stuck in my windpipe.

‘Ok, Tommy, now time to say goodnight and thank you to David,’ I say, woman in charge, woman residing under her own roof.

‘Would you like it if I stayed, Tommy?’ David says.

‘Ok,’ Tommy says.

‘David, can we talk in private?’

I close the door behind us and speak low and, I think, reasonably, with not a hint of seduction, or wheedling. ‘Hey, I think you were right earlier, when you said Tommy and I should spend time alone together on our first night.’

‘That was before you told me what you told me.’

‘You’re making this much more stressful than it needs to be.’

‘Sonya, you don’t want to make a scene, scare the boy even further.’

‘What exactly do you think I’d do, David?’

‘Do you even remember what you said to me on the phone?’

An insistent hum starts to ring in my ears. Blurred fragments, no conscious memory, none, beyond picking up the phone and a feeling that my mouth should be stopped.

‘I’d never forgive myself if I left you guys alone together.’

Breathe, swallow, breathe, swallow. The hum is increasing in volume and makes me want to clamp my hands over my ears. Ridiculous impulse. None of this is what it seems. He’s only here because he cares, has my best interests at heart, and Tommy’s. And I did ask for help.

‘Are you ok?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘But you’re not, are you?’ He moves towards me. ‘It’s ok, sweetheart. You don’t have to do this alone again.’ He goes to wrap me in his arms. Mr Sweetness & Light… Mr fucking Mercurial!

A part of me wants to soften, to yield, but ‘sweetheart’ – no man has ever called me that before and it doesn’t sit. I’m not that; I’ve no desire to be anybody’s that. I want to push him away, throw him out of the house, but can’t risk traumatising Tommy with dramatics on his first night home.

‘Thanks,’ I mumble against his chest. ‘Thanks.’

‘Any time, you know that.’

‘It was just a moment, you know that.’

I gently push him away, look into his eyes, fight an urge to shake my head to clear it of the build-up. It’s all going on in there now. He leans in to kiss me on the lips; I let him. ‘Right, let’s tell him you’re staying, will we?’ He kisses me again.

I open the door. ‘Tommy, David’s going to have a sleepover. That ok?’

Tommy nods, not by his own volition, as if controlled by a puppetmaster.

‘Where does he sleep, Sonya?’

He knows well there’s only one bed in this house.

‘Maybe you should give the boy his space and you can sleep out here with me?’

Tommy shakes his head, snapping those strings.

‘It’s ok, Tommy. I’m coming in with you.’

Tommy looks sideways at David.

‘Herbie, Marmie,’ Tommy says. ‘Come.’

And the cat and the dog walk as one, trailing him.

‘Time for a bedtime story,’ I say to David, who settles himself on the couch, before I too follow Tommy into the bedroom.

Tommy pulls out a large picture book of Fireman Sam.

‘What about Yaya’s made-up stories? Our wave-riding adventures, Tommy?’

He screws up his eyes, shakes his head, then takes his clothes off and neatly places them on the chair.

‘Do you need a hand, Tommy?’

His body hardens. I know that signal. Once he has dressed himself and is under the quilt, I invite Herbie and Marmie up. Tommy looks pleased. I start to read about Sam, a minuscule plastic fireman who loves to be on time; when he hears that bell chime, he puts on his coat and hat in less than seven seconds flat! Oh, please. I try to ape the sound of a real-life fire engine but fail spectacularly. I try making up a different, more exciting, imaginary story, throw in a few flying roos and ginormous waves called Walter and Wendy, and far-off lands made of chocolate diamonds, but Tommy stops me.

‘That’s not it. Start again.’

I sort of fudge the words a little: ‘The little yellow fellow with the jutting jaw is the hero next door... He’s an avid timekeeper with his bright, clean engine (yes, really!) – whohoo...’

Tommy looks suspiciously at me before he starts to sing his own version: ‘Hurry, hurry, Mr Cool and Calm Sam the Fireman... Cos he’s gonna save the day...’

I lean in to kiss him on his forehead and continue reading until he stops singing and his breathing slows down. Come on, Sam!





41


David is lounging, socks off, feet on the coffee table, reading Bonjour Tristesse. ‘No wonder, Sonya,’ he says, and grins.

Not going to dignify that with a response.

I whisper, ‘I think he’s nearly asleep.’

He pats the space beside him.

‘That couch is too uncomfortable to sleep on.’

‘No bother. I’ll pull the cushions down on the floor. Can you get me a blanket?’

‘There’s one on the back of the couch,’ I say as I lean over him.

His hand snakes up my thigh and he grabs hold of my flesh, twisting it, pinching. I brush his hand away, but his fingers continue creeping up, trying to find their way in.