The private wing is bright and clean, the smell of disinfectant smacking the back of my throat, bringing water to my eyes. I locate the room, stand outside a moment, put a hand on my heart, close my eyes and ask for guidance. Something bigger than me, wiser, some force for good, conjure Sister Anne, call on the Divine Mother, hear the soft rumbles of the rosary, feel the stillness of being submerged, being held, go deeper, inside, an inward leaning, listening.
‘Ok, little man?’ I open my eyes and look at Tommy, who’s watching me with that familiar anxious expression. I tuck a tendril of his hair behind his ear, push the door open.
Lara is sitting by the bed reading. She looks up, puts her finger to her lips, ‘Shh, he’s sleeping,’ and gets up as if to herd us out of the room. I stand steady, Tommy’s hand in mine. Walk over to the bed, lift Tommy on to it, place the grapes on the bedside table.
Lara says, ‘I thought I told David we need our space.’
‘I think you’ve taken up enough space in his life.’
I can feel my fury building but manage to contain it, just.
‘What were you doing talking to David about me, anyway?’
‘Your father and I feel he’s a good influence.’
No point in even trying to explain. Think of all the times I tried and failed to make this woman see my side of things, how I’d just get more worked up and lose my temper and she’d win.
I lean into him and whisper, ‘Dad.’
He opens one eye, which alights straight away on Tommy. ‘Well, if it isn’t the little birthday boy.’
Did he really just say that?
‘Please, Sonya, we need to keep him quiet, no shocks.’
I look directly at Lara, this woman who barrelled into our lives at a time when my father was still grieving, when I was grieving. For the first time I wonder what happened to her that she felt so desperately threatened by a child.
‘Help me sit up,’ my father manages.
Lara and I reach for the pillows at the same time.
‘Lara, please.’ My father lifts his hand in a dismissive wave, a shock to us all. It’s as if the hand made contact with her right cheek, which flares. I imagine it stings.
‘I’ll go get a coffee. Anyone want one?’
No one says anything.
Lara’s wide gait, which usually takes up so much space, contracts to a tight thin line, as if she’s balancing precariously on a high wire. She leaves the room in this manner, unsure, slippery satin underfoot. I help my father sit up, plump up his pillows. His body is soft, his skin slack and mottled. He seems so small.
‘So, young man. Did you get any nice surprises today?’
Tommy nods his head vehemently, a little Chinese plastic nodding puppy. I think of Jimmy. Jesus. Nod. Jesus. Nod. My heart constricts, then expands.
‘Fireworks!’ Tommy says.
‘Christ, Sonya.’
I attempt a shrug. Yeah, and so what?
‘Only sparklers and a spinner.’
‘Fwiendly Ms Fire!’ Tommy says.
‘Are those things even legal?’
‘We’re having a party.’ I hand him the invitation.
‘Did you make these, Tommy?’
He nods. ‘And Yaya.’
‘Yes, I can see your mother all over them.’ He shakes the card, tiny silver and gold stars falling on the sheets.
‘And my mother?’ I say.
He doesn’t answer, just stares out the window at the bare branches of a tree, which almost touch the glass, long fingers probing.
‘Dad?’
He looks at me, really looks at me. ‘Yes, Sonya, yes, ok…’
He sits back, exhausted, slumps.
‘Your mother wasn’t well for a long time.’
Something inside me starts to dissolve, a coiled, hard mass in my stomach.
‘None of it was your fault. I didn’t think you’d remember. I thought it best if you didn’t…’
‘But what if I’m the same?’ I look at Tommy.
‘Sonya, you’re not the same.’
‘But what if I am?’ I whisper.
Tommy looks from me to his grandfather, who reaches across and gently wipes a speck of glitter from his cheek.
‘Believe me, you’re nothing like her.’
It’s as if my father has turned to face me for the first time.
‘How can you be sure, Dad?’
My father looks pointedly at Tommy. ‘Another time, Sonya, ok?’
I nod and brush my son’s hair away from his eyes.
‘Who’s going to your party, Tommy?’
‘Yaya, Herbie, Marmie and me.’