We pile into the car, steam rising, and yes, stinking to high heaven. I roll down all the windows, crank the music up, foot to the accelerator, and this time Tommy joins in with my squeals of excitement, though the animals just press themselves tight against the back seat, quivering.
‘Where to, Tommy?’ I shout.
‘Gandad’s,’ he says.
‘Ok, hang tight…’
I wasn’t able to get through to him this morning, of course I wasn’t, but I left a measured, polite message saying that Tommy and myself would love to see him, and would it be ok if we called around. It shouldn’t be too much of a shock if we all land.
I leave Marmie and Herbie in the car, tell them I won’t be long. Press down on the doorbell, start off polite, then leave it a little longer, becoming more insistent. I know they’re in there, the car is in the driveway. He couldn’t possibly be ignoring me at such an important time in Tommy’s life, and mine. The heat is rising, the music an indistinct murmur. Her outline is forming when Tommy interrupts: ‘Maybe Gandad is not in, Yaya?’
Patience, Sonya, patience. I roll the word around in my mouth and it’s sticky and sweet, like a marshmallow. I swallow. Hard to digest.
Tommy puts his hand in mine, and I feel myself flow back down inside myself.
I look at him, wink. ‘Yes, you’re right, lovie. Thank you for making me see the obvious!’
He smiles, relieved.
‘Where to now, Tommy?’
‘Time to feed the aminals?’ he says.
‘Shall we all get pizza?’
‘Do cats eat pizza?’ He sounds amazed at the idea.
‘Probably not, but we can get some and then go home and open her can of yack.’
‘Yackety-yack,’ he says, and holds his nose.
The thought of seeing that rude little madam at the pizzeria again charges my body with adrenalin. I haven’t forgotten how she publicly humiliated me. And suddenly my mind is focused only on one thing: revenge. Displaced, maybe, but still.
There’s a different person behind the counter. My mood plummets, I really needed to let off steam with that little so-and-so, but this is undoubtedly a young man, and from his back, he’s broad and well muscled, probably a gym addict. I’m just about to give him a piece of advice about ‘all things in moderation, sonny’ （as I’m in no doubt he’s a steroid guzzler）， when the boy turns and looks into my eyes. Mr Kittens/Black sacks/Stones. The boy from the cafe. He smiles, snarky, provocative. What’s he doing this side of town?
‘Well, if it isn’t the banshee,’ he says.
How dare he, and in front of my son?
He leans over the counter. ‘And is this your poor little fecker?’
I look around the room. Only two other teenagers, waiting on their garlic dough balls, heads lost inside cyberspace. What is it they’re looking at? Porn – of course it’s porn. I walk over to one of them, peer over his shoulder, but can’t see anything, the light is glaring. The boy glances at me distractedly, walks away, doesn’t disconnect from his sordid fantasy. Probably one of those games where they go around in white vans, picking up prostitutes and murdering them. The thoughts start building up, crowding me, each one darker and more extreme than the last. Shake my head. The boy behind the counter is studying me with interest.
‘What can I get you?’ he says to Tommy, kindly, I think.
‘Anything vegetawian,’ says Tommy, my brilliant boy.
‘Coming right up,’ the boy continues. ‘What do you like? Evwything?’
Did I just imagine that?
‘Just cheese and tomato, please.’
‘Lovely manners, young lad. Did your ma teach you those?’
Do not lose it in front of this impudent little pup. Do not give him the pleasure a second time.
‘Does your boss know your story?’ I say.
‘What story’s that, then?’ He speaks very loudly to alert the others in the room.
‘He might be interested in hearing it from me…’ I continue, knowing I should stop but in the grip of something much more powerful than myself. What is it about this boy—？
‘He already warned me about you, but I didn’t know it was you,’ the pup continues, his smile catapulting me right back to that awful moment in rehab. The flapping sound, creatures already in flight, already on their course. White mist is rising. No, please, not that. Not now, not in front of Tommy. Please help. And I do what I have to: I summon Jimmy’s face, Sister Anne’s, the words of the rosary, and invoke them over and over, over and over, Hail Mary, full of grace, Mary, Mother of God, giver of life, Divine Mother with the bleeding lips and the flaking smile, the mother’s smile, the mother’s sacrifice, blessed art thou. I allow myself to be filled. This is it. I feel her. Arms around me, holding me steady.