I put on my swimsuit underneath my clothes, just in case the urge catches me.
In the car my phone starts to ring. An unidentified number, followed quickly by my father’s, then David’s. David calls and calls again, and again. The knocking sensation against my ribcage starts. I listen to my voicemail: Where are you?… Your father is worried… The school called him, wondering about Tommy… Call me…
Pulsing eyelids. Twitching extremities. Think of Jimmy: ‘Flooded with adrenalin, pissed with fear.’ Think of the glitter all over the floor, and in my hair, sprinkled on my cheeks. Think of how pretty I must have been.
I put the pedal to the floor. Careen and swerve my way to the beach. Crave the sea air, the smack of the salt. Space, perspective, that’s all. We tumble out into the car park, run as one to the water’s edge, Marmie careful not to get too close, myself and Tommy wading in, ‘Pull up your trousers, Tommy!’ – Herbie starts to whine. ‘Ok, old boy, ok,’ I say. ‘Mind Tommy, ok?’ – face towards the wide expanse of sea and sky. ‘Tommy, Yaya won’t be long; stay there with Herbie and Marmie, and don’t talk to any strangers, ok?’ He nods, I pull my dress over my head, and stride in. I look back, he’s waving, I wave back, then dive under: it’s been too long – this, this sensation I’ve been chasing, the cooling, the stilling. Head under, silence, a real silence, a calm, pure silence, down in the depths of me. When I emerge I check on my trio, all ok, waiting patiently, I turn on my back for a moment, just a moment, allow myself to float. The sea and sky are the same glacial grey, all as one.
I turn my head and see Tommy wading in towards me. Flip my body back over, move faster through the water than I ever thought possible. ‘Stop, Tommy, far enough.’ Herbie is howling. My son stops, waves at me. He splashes me as soon as I’m within reach.
‘Hey, what you doing, little man? It’s freezing!’
‘Splish-splosh, Walter Wave!’
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.’