‘Now isn’t a good time.’ I try to keep my voice reasonable, adult. ‘Come on, Tommy, time for bed.’
Footsteps follow us up the path.
‘Yaya, that man is coming.’
‘That man is your grandad,’ I snap. ‘Say, “Night-night, Grandad.”’
We’re at the door now and I’m trying to tug Herbie in by the collar – he’s rigid and the hair on his back is doing that punk thing – when I feel my father’s arm knock the keys from my hand. He brushes past us into the hall. The moment is so unexpected and strangely violent that I’m stunned into silence. Herbie fills it with his growling.
My father turns to me, helpless. ‘Sorry, but it seemed the only way to get an invite…’ He trails off, his attempt at a joke failing to raise any smiles.
Herbie moves closer, sniffing, circling.
‘Will you put that mutt out?’
‘The mutt’s name is Herbie, you met him when he was a puppy, and he’s an indoor dog.’
Tommy has put his thumb in his mouth and is sucking vehemently. ‘Ok, Mr T, less of that, now. That thumb is red-raw and your teeth will be bucked. Do you want me to cover it in mustard?’ As these words rise up out of me I can sense my father’s eyes boring into the two of us, then moving to take in the whole glorious mess as it unfolds from the hall into the living room.
‘Jesus, Sonya, the state of the place. A rat would have a party in here.’
Always the rat metaphor, never cute little pigs in pigsties, rather rats as fat as cats, gorging on people’s filth. What a shame Mrs O’Malley didn’t think to clean beyond the kitchen.
‘I can’t exactly afford a cleaner.’
He looks at me with something like disgust mingled with pity. ‘A hoover once in a while. Spritz of polish.’
And I thought he was scared of me, and that’s why he stayed away. The guilt I carried. And I thought I was missing him. He moves on into the kitchen, positions himself with his back to the sink. We all follow.
‘Young man, how would you like to come for a little holiday?’
‘What are you talking about?’ I ask.
‘I think it would be good for the boy to get away from all this for a while, just until you sort yourself out.’
‘Just like that? Two years of no contact, then you turn up uninvited and threaten me?’
‘Hewbie?’ Tommy asks.
‘Don’t worry, Mr T, you’re not going anywhere. Don’t mind this wicked old man. Maybe he wants to fatten you up too.’
‘Sonya, stop filling the boy’s head with nonsense.’
The affront of this leaves me breathless. ‘I’d seriously like you to leave.’
‘What about the boy?’
‘Tommy – his name is Tommy.’
‘I know that,’ he says, sounding exhausted at the futility of our conversation. ‘He’s still young enough…’
These words raise the winged creatures from their slumber, and there’s only one thing for it, only one way to settle them: drown them.
‘I’m here now, Sonya. I’m here now. Cup of tea?’
‘Not a tea drinker, Dad,’ I say, trying on the word, which sits in my mouth like a lump of raw liver.
‘You could develop a taste, if you practised hard enough.’
I shrug that one off and go to the fridge and brazenly pour a glass of vino blanco, its whispers loud in my ear, blocking out any noise in my head or anything my father might say.
‘Sonya?’
I swallow a mouthful.
‘Please, not in front of the lad.’
A laugh erupts out of me and I put my hand to my mouth to try to stem more. Bubbles of laughter are forcing their way from my stomach up to my throat, which is sore from the effort of pushing them down. The wine is helping. Swallow, breathe, swallow, breathe. Water, surrounding me, holding me. My father moves to the kettle, switches it on, and waits. It boils while Herbie, Tommy and I stand to attention in a line, eyes flicking from one to another, to the strange man in our kitchen, where our bowls of soggy cornflakes still sit on the table. He carefully opens cupboard doors, as if scared of what might jump out at him. He locates the tea bags and puts them in two mugs that he sterilises first with the boiling water. I’m surprised he’s not sniffing the air.
‘Come on, young man, let’s put you to bed. Your mummy and I need to talk, adult chat, ok?’
Tommy looks at me and I wink surreptitiously. ‘Anything that needs to be said can be said in front of Tommy.’