I thought there might be some residual hurt or anger, but he answers without a hint of recrimination. ‘Sure, but do you think it’s a good idea on your first evening together?’

Words fall out of me, words about not trusting myself, about Tommy’s alienation from me, his distrust, my contradictory impulses; words that I have some sense should never be spoken aloud, yet I’m powerless over the anxiety of the moment, the spilling momentum.

I whisper, ‘Please come.’

I can hear a register shift before he speaks, and when he does, his old sermonising tone is back: ‘Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in a jiffy.’

I get out of the car, open the front door, shout calmly from the hall, ‘Just needed to get my sunglasses’, which is ridiculous, as there’s not a screed of sunlight today. ‘Going to have a shower, Tommy, ok?’ He doesn’t look at me. Water might help.

When I come back out, wrapped in a towel, I see my boy rubbing down the animals, talking low to them, reassuring them. The trio forming a closed circle, with me on the outside.

‘Tommy?’

He looks up.

‘Will you have a nice hot shower? Don’t want you getting a cold.’

He shakes his head.

‘Ok, darling. Let’s dry you off, get some clean clothes on you.’

The doorbell rings.

‘That’s just a friend. Go on, now, go into the bedroom and get changed.’ I try on the capable, coping mother voice. He doesn’t move. Since when did I have a friend?

40

David is standing outside, a pizza box in hand.

‘Thank you for coming,’ I say, over-bright. ‘Is that the pizza from the other night?’

‘What’s going on?’ His voice is my father’s voice. This is enough to puncture any lingering craving, my world suddenly pulled into sharp focus. ‘You should put some clothes on,’ he says more softly. ‘Don’t want you getting a cold’ – my exact words to Tommy a few moments ago.

He steps into the hall. Tommy is standing in the doorframe to the bedroom, pale and stock-still.

‘You remember David, Tommy? The nice man who paid for our pizza that time?’

Tommy ignores me, goes into the bedroom, the animals following, and closes the door.

‘Understandable, in the circumstances,’ David says.

‘I’m just going to put some clothes on.’

‘Grand. I’ll pop the pizza in the oven, keep it warm.’

I think of the smell of burnt fish fingers, the congealed bits in the oven, say nothing.

‘Tommy, are you ok with this?’ I say as I step back into the bedroom. Am I ok with this?

He turns his back and steps out of his wet clothes, uses the same towel he dried Herbie off with and almost flays himself with it. I attempt to laugh, lightly. ‘Ok, I think that’s enough. Do you want to put your PJs on?’ He steps into his jeans, T-shirt and hoodie. I sit at the dressing-table mirror, brushing out my hair before turning on the hairdryer full blast. Both the animals jump. ‘Want me to dry your hair, buster?’ I say to Tommy, who ignores me, goes into the kitchen, animals in tow. I can hear mumbles. Quickly dress in a slouchy long-sleeved T-shirt dress, apply a slick of mascara, pull my hair back with an elastic.