‘This’ll help you de-stress.’
He’s trying to pull me down on top of him; my body won’t let it happen. He drops his hand, looks at me with a hurt-child expression just for a moment before he has time to rearrange his features into a more reasonable, understanding adult face.
‘You go on in to the boy. We have plenty of time.’
He stands up, towering over me, holds me, pours into my ear: ‘Sleep well, baby.’
‘You too,’ is about all I can manage.
I go into the bedroom, whisper ‘Tommy?’， who whispers back ‘Yes?’
‘So lovely to have you back, Tommy, I can’t tell you.’
He hums Sam’s theme tune sleepily.
Herbie sighs. I should let him out to do a pee but don’t want to open the door. He’ll have to wait. I push a chair under the door handle, not knowing exactly why. Dream that night that I can smell skin singeing.
When I wake, the sun’s fingers are creeping in under the blind, and I draw my legs towards each other, then cross them tightly, still lying in the bed. Please be gone, I think, before I notice Tommy’s eyes open and staring, boring into me.
‘Morning, Mr T. How about you catch some of those rays for me?’
He doesn’t move.
Herbie is lying on the floor at the end of the bed, trembling.
‘Hewbie has wet himself,’ Tommy says.
Of course he has, poor thing. Marmie is still curled up on the bed, purring softly, oblivious to her pal’s distress.
‘Ok, now, Herbie, ok, good boy,’ I say as I get out of bed, opening the door a crack to see David’s crumpled form on the cushions on the floor. ‘Come on,’ I whisper. We all creep into the kitchen and close the door quietly behind us. There’s a choking smell of gas. Did I leave the ring on? I open the door to the yard, whooshing the rotten-egg-smelling air out. I fiddle around with the settings on the hob.
‘Weird. Tommy, did you turn the gas on?’
He looks down guiltily.
‘When? In the middle of the night?’
‘Couldn’t sleep. Jiminy Crickets in my chest.’
‘It’s not safe to do that, you know?’
He bites down on his bottom lip.
‘Did you light the clicker?’
‘Couldn’t make it happen.’
‘So you tried?’
He looks miserable, fighting the tears. I ruffle his hair, go to find the supply button at the back of the oven. Must remember to turn it off at the mains every night now. And hide every lighter in this house.
‘It’s ok, darling, just don’t do it again.’
Herbie goes outside, straight to a potted plant, long dead, cocks his leg and does a loud, insistent piss. Marmie stands by, patiently waiting for her turn to climb into the pot and crouch and permeate his scent with hers.
The kettle is boiling when David walks in in his boxers.
‘Freezing in here. Would you mind closing that door?’
‘We need the air.’
‘What’s that’s smell?’
‘Would you mind putting something on, David?’
‘Sorry, half asleep, forgot the little fella was here.’
Oh yes, and what was that display about last night, then?
He goes back into the lounge, dresses.
‘Cornflakes, Tommy?’
‘Yes please,’ he says, all polite and accurate.
‘Do you take cow’s milk now, honey? David has put some in the fridge.’
He shakes his head vehemently. I haven’t lost him completely.
‘What’s that pizza-man doing here, Yaya?’
‘He’s a friend, Tommy. Just a sleepover.’
‘Can I go to school?’
I struggle for air. I couldn’t help but notice his uniform all neatly ironed and folded in amongst his things.
‘Lovely day,’ David says, walking back into the kitchen.
‘Yes. We’re going to get ready and visit Grandad,’ I say.
‘You sure he’ll want that, Sonya?’
‘Of course he will. He’ll be delighted to see Tommy, won’t he, Munchkin?’
‘Gandad?’
‘Don’t want to raise the lad’s hopes.’
What exactly does he know that I don’t? A flash of Father giving him his business card that day. Would David have called him? Has there been money exchanged?
Paranoia, Sonya. Tiredness does this; brings on the big guns.
‘We’ll call him first, won’t we, T?’
David refills the kettle, flicks the switch.
‘We’re going to go have a shower. Let yourself out.’