‘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.’

My father’s face, usually so hard and held, is as open as Tommy’s. Sunshine to tears in an instant.

‘What about that nice man, David?’

Tommy’s head moves side to side so fast it’s as if his neck might snap.

‘Ok, ok.’ My father looks at me. ‘What happened?’

‘You know the way you were always telling me not to trust my instinct around men?’

‘Sonya, this was different. He’s solid, good for you.’

‘Dad, you said yourself often enough that appearances can be deceptive.’

‘The rehab trusted him.’

‘Nuns really don’t have much experience of that kind of man.’ I try on a laugh.