Bright Burning Things(78)

I come up level with him, shin-deep, and grab his hand, the two of us running towards the shore, and as soon as we hit dry sand I propel myself into a cartwheel. He copies me, legs akimbo, little tumbling clown. We laugh and continue to spin, arms first, legs following, arms, then legs, Marmie and Herbie running alongside, yowling. I collapse first, he throws himself on me, face down, rat-a-tat-tat, our hearts an erratic percussive score.

His skin breaks out in tiny little pimples; his teeth are chattering. How long have we been lying here?

‘Ok, now, Mr T, hup, let’s get you warmed up.’

I pull off his sopping clothes, retrieve my dress, use it as a towel to dry him off, even though my own skin is marked with blue circles. Wrap him in it and run back to the car in my wet swimsuit. Déjà vu, except this time I’m not in my sopping bra and knickers; this time there’s no one there watching me, judging me, and I have a jacket and cardigan on the front seat. I put the heat on full-blast, wrap Tommy in my coat, myself in the cardigan. There are no voices in my head, no directive to steal, to glug, to soothe. I buckle him in, kiss him on the forehead, drive home at a moderate speed. Carry with me the sense of being underwater: cold, clean and clear.

‘Are you ok, Tommy?’

I look in the rear-view mirror, my trio all leaning into each other.

‘No more Mr Fire in the head?’

He shakes his head. ‘Walter Wave put it all out!’

‘Clever Mr Walter Wave. I told you he was a magician!’

‘Silly Yaya. Water always wins the fight with fire.’

‘Yes, Tommy, yes, I guess it does, if you get to it on time.’





46


When I open the front door, the smell of curry hits my nostrils. I hate curry; Tommy does too. The sound of cupboards opening and closing in the kitchen; the radio is on. Herbie growls.

‘Hello, guys! Hope you’re hungry.’ David comes into the hall to greet us. ‘Jesus, Sonya. The state of you.’

‘What are you doing here, David?’

‘Just as well I am here, by the looks of things.’

‘I don’t remember saying it’s ok for you to come into my house when I’m not here.’

‘You forget a lot of things you tell me.’

Not rising to that one.

‘Why are you all wet?’

He opens the back door as if to usher the animals into the yard.

‘Not having them get cold,’ I say, closing the door firmly.

He sighs, like I’m being pathetic. ‘Where have you been? Your father has been on to me, frantic.’

‘Why isn’t he here, then?’

‘You mean you don’t know?’

‘Know what… ?

‘I thought you knew.’

‘It seems he speaks to you more than he does me.’

‘He’s in hospital.’

‘What? What is it?’

‘They caught it early; they say he’s going to make a full recovery.’

I don’t have to ask anything else. I know. That recurring childhood nightmare come to roost. The big C. What does that say about me? I look towards the ceiling, divining nothing.

‘Where is he?’

‘Lara asked that they be left alone.’

He’s talking to Lara? This is ridiculous; an absurd farce.

‘I’m sorry that this is such a shock. I thought you knew.’

David turns to Tommy. ‘So, young man, big day coming down the tracks. What would you like to do on your birthday?’

Tommy is also looking up, searching.

‘We don’t want Mummy doing anything silly, now, do we, ruining it?’

‘David, what are you doing? What is this?’

‘I promised your father I’d keep an eye.’

Tommy’s hand reaches towards mine. I enfold it: so tiny.

‘Is he paying you?’

He ignores this. ‘Look at you both. You’ll catch your death.’

‘I doubt very much my father is aware of the perks…’

I push past him into the kitchen, Tommy’s hand still inside mine, the animals following, take the pot with the curry in it and scrape it all into the bin. I pour water for the animals, get a glass for myself and Tommy. Run the tap, fill the glass, tip it out, fill it again, sip, then tip, then fill.

‘Can’t be that hard, Sonya, pouring a glass of water.’

I turn to look at him. ‘It’s my house, I’ll pour my water whatever goddam way I like.’ There’s something about the way he’s standing, taking up so much space, being all proprietorial and invasive. I wasn’t making it up – it happened, right here, in this spot.

I say what I should’ve said then: ‘David, this is my home and I’d like you to leave.’

He fixes his jumper around his shoulders, making sure each sleeve is dangling evenly. I don’t feel the urge to laugh.

‘She doesn’t really mean that, does she, Tommy? Mummy never really knows what she means.’

He moves to pick Tommy up.

‘David, put him down.’

Tommy is all harsh angles and held breath.

‘David, I said put him down, NOW.’

‘Ok, ok, less of the dramatics, Sonya.’

He laughs, puts Tommy down, tickles him awkwardly.