‘Yumptious scrumptious blood, Mr Dracool!’ I boom, baring my fangs.
Not a trace of a smile. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
‘This party, Tommy. How many invitations do we need? Ten, twenty?’
Shit, a children’s party. How do I do that? I’ll probably need to provide entertainment. Musical statues, I can do that, pass the parcel, what else? I can dress up, draw on my past, wear a tutu, dance with some sparklers. A fiery fairy godmother! I’ll track down Mr Fire Blower. My thoughts are speeding up.
‘Yaya?’
That bloody imp has made a shadowy appearance. If I don’t bring any attention to her, she can’t climb inside. Exert a little bit of fucking effort, Sonya.
I breathe deeply. ‘What do you think, Tommy? We can have all your little friends over on Saturday, get fairy lights, cupcakes, krispies, paper hats, sparklers, Catherine wheels…’ Excitement is building. That hazy memory about those spinning wheels of fire catches hold of me. A bright, sparkling moment. There were happy times too.
‘Yaya?’ he tries to cut in again.
‘Who are your friends, Tommy?’
He looks at me blankly.
‘Didn’t you tell David all about school?’
He lifts his shoulders slightly.
‘Why won’t you talk to your own mother?’ My voice is speedy, high. ‘And after all I’ve given up for you?’ A dark shadow is nipping at my heels. I try to kick it off. ‘Tommy, I need names. Names, Tommy, names.’
Did I just shout just then? Tommy winces and withdraws inside himself. Herbie growls.
A memory lands, like a smack to the side of my face. ‘Wakey-wakey, princess, it’s your birthday.’ I’m being pulled from my bed, dragged downstairs by the arm and presented with a room full of twinkly fairy lights and candles. Music tinkles, some kind of Abba-style kitsch, and as I rub my eyes I see a woman in a tutu-style dress, covered head to toe in glitter, telling me to ‘dance, darling, dance’。 Multicoloured snowflakes, tasty snowflakes, sweeties falling from the sky. ‘Such a pretty little girl.’ Twirled in circles, lifted under the arms and spun high, laughter in my ears. I don’t remember anything more except my father shouting, ‘Stop it now, stop it, enough.’ He brings me back to my bed, wiping off the glitter with a warm facecloth. ‘I’ll bring you up some hot milk, ok?’ He doesn’t even wish me a happy birthday. He’s forgotten all about it.
This is not the bright place I was chasing. I snap back into myself, take in the scene around me. Tommy looks too stunned to cry. I deposit the tube of glitter in the art drawer and slam it shut.
Tommy has his eyes closed and is whispering something – a prayer? He kisses Herbie on the soft spot between his eyes.
I swipe my father’s number; will not stop until he answers. I have to know. What was it about my childhood, the missing parts? Eventually, Lara’s voice answers: ‘Yes, what is it, Sonya?’
‘I need to speak to Dad and if you don’t put that man, my father, on the phone right now, I’ll come over with the dog, cat and Tommy, and I’ll camp out on your doorstep until you let us all in.’
‘I think you’d better talk to her.’ I hear mumbles.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes, Sonya. What is it?’
‘I need to talk to you about my mother. What really happened?’
He sips in air through his mouth. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Sonya.’
‘Dad, I think I remember…’
A silence, then an almost-whisper: ‘Please don’t go getting all melodramatic on me now, Sonya. Be sensible, for Tommy.’
‘Did that line work for my mother, did it? Was that all it was? A touch of melodrama?’
‘Please, Sonya, get to your meetings. You have support this time. Make use of it.’
‘What was wrong with her, Dad?’
I hear him breathe in an exaggerated fashion.
‘What did she really die of, Dad?’
‘Sonya, why dredge all this up now?’
‘Dad… Do you think I am the same?’
His breath catches. ‘Oh, Sonya…’
‘I want to see you in person. Tommy wants to see you, you promised him…’
The phone is snatched from his hand. ‘Your father is not going anywhere, Sonya. He’s not well.’
‘Dad?’ I shout down the phone. ‘You have to tell me the truth.’
‘That’s quite enough now, Sonya,’ Lara says.
‘Yaya?’ Tommy’s voice cuts through.