Chapter 21 December 21st #4
“She was good. We listened to carols and drank mulled wine together.” I lean back to get his face in my sights, pondering when might be a good time to tell him about the visit I had from the police and what’s transpired.
I mentally conclude now. Get it out of the way.
“The police came to see me again today.”
“Oh?”
“They have CCTV footage of a man they think attacked me.”
“Oh?” he says more slowly.
“It’s an employee I fired.”
“What?” His face transforms instantly from soft and curious to shocked and hard. “Are you fucking joking?”
I shake my head. “The more I think about it, I’m not surprised. He’s been physical with his wife, a woman he’s apparently loved, so it should be no shock he would get physical with a woman he despises. I’m just telling you this now so we can move on.”
“Move on?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Move on.” I detect a wave of madness in his eyes that I’m quite sure I don’t like.
“It’s done.” I kiss his cheek. “Now tell me about the balls you busted today, because it wasn’t Thomas’s.”
“Ha ha,” he drones. “Just some failing tech company.” Light thudding interrupts us, and we both look at the window seeing Albi banging impatiently with his fist. “Ready to go ice skating?” Dec asks.
I look down my front, to my entirely inappropriate attire for the weather, let alone ice skating. “No.”
“We’ll detour via your place.”
Albi’s like a jack-in-the-box all the way to my place, so much so, I’m sure he’ll knacker himself out and be asleep by the time we get to Hyde Park.
“I’ll be quick,” I say, hopping out and crunching my way up the path to the door.
I let myself in and dump my coat on the couch as I pass, unzipping my dress as I go.
Five minutes later, I’m wrapped up tight in some jeans and a cosy roll-neck, and on my way back out.
I swing the door open and find Dec and Albi on the other side. “He needs to pee,” Dec says, as Albi cups himself with two palms, shuffling on the spot, his little face bunched as he strains to hold it in. “Go, go, go,” I say, moving aside to let them past.
“Quick.” Dec steers Albi by his shoulders through to my bedroom, and the clatters of the loo seat being flung up ring out loud. “Jesus, fella,” Dec says over a laugh. “Get your aim right.”
I smile as I pull my hat on.
“We need to wipe the seat,” Dec goes on.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve sprayed all over it.”
“I don’t wipe the seat at home, Daddy.”
“I know, the magic fairies do it at home.”
“Do they?”
“Yeah, they’re called Daddy and Lynette.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Wash your hands.” The flush sounds, followed by the tap, and they appear a few moments later, Dec looking relieved, Albi no longer clenching his groin area. They look so much alike, except Albi’s eyes are on the greener side of grey. “Ready?” Dec asks.
“Ready.”
“Who’s that?” Albi veers off course to the cabinet under the window and picks up the framed photo of Noah, and my mind quickly empties as he studies the picture. I can feel Dec’s worried eyes on me. He’s probably blank too.
“Um,” I swallow repeatedly trying to moisten my dry mouth, words chasing in circles in my head, but none of them coming together to form a sentence that’ll make sense to a four-year-old. “That’s my little boy.” I didn’t mean to say it. I don’t know what I meant to say.
Albi’s little eyes look at me thoughtfully, his brow creasing as he tries to process that information. “You have a little boy? Like me?”
“Oh God,” I breathe, looking at Dec for help.
It hasn’t even crossed my mind that I might be in this situation, having to explain to Albi who Noah is and why he’s no longer here.
I don’t know where to start, and I don’t know if I can get through it without falling apart, which I absolutely mustn’t do in front of him.
“His name was Noah,” I say, feeling hot and bothered, sweating in all of these clothes. “He’s gone to heaven.”
“Where’s heaven?”
“It’s where angels go,” Dec says, trying to save me the impending panic attack.
“He’s an angel?” Albi takes another look at the picture. “Where’s his wings?”
His innocence is something of true beauty.
So precious. When Noah was alive, I battled with Dominic daily over protecting that innocence.
Delaying for as long as possible having to inflict the cold, harsh reality of life on him.
When my dad died, I insisted Noah shouldn’t be at his funeral.
Dominic disagreed, saying we were wrapping him up in cotton wool.
Yes, I was. I would have wrapped him up in cotton wool forever if I could.
Protected him from all harm and cruelty of life.
“That picture was before he got his wings,” I say to the little boy I’ve fallen in love with while he gazes at the love of my life.
“He was here for a little while, but then he grew some wings and he had to go to heaven.”
“Will I grow some wings?” He looks at me, almost hopeful.
“One day, you will grow some wings too. We all will. But we don’t know when.”
“I want my wings the same time as Daddy.” He sets the picture back on the counter, and I hear Dec inhale lightly.
And there’s a tragedy that I won’t even try to unravel for him.
We don’t get the blessing of never leaving anyone behind or not being left behind.
They’re the cruellest parts of leaving life and surviving it.
“Daddy will probably get his wings before you because he’s older than you.”
“He’s not older than me,” Albi says, pointing to the picture, so confused.
And this is why explaining death to a child is impossible. Keep them innocent. “You’re right.” I force a smile. “What do I know?” I look at Dec and shake my head, kicking myself. “I’m sorry,” I mouth.
“Camryn?”
“What?”
“Shut up.” He comes to me, slips and arm around my shoulder, and takes Albi’s hand as he pushes his mouth to my cheek. “Are you okay?”
I reach for my nose and pinch the bridge, wondering how I would have worded it all if I’d had time to think about it. And I still don’t know. “I really made a mess of that.”
We head out of my apartment, and Dec throws an annoyed look my way. “You didn’t make a mess of it. Answer my question.”
“I’m okay,” I say, my pounding, anxious heart calming as I smile up at Dec meekly. “Kind of.”
“Never lie to me about how you feel.” He dips and pushes his lips into my hair as we run into Mr. Percival in the hallway.
“Oh, and who have we here, then?” he crones.
“I’m Albi and I’m going ice skating with Daddy and Camryn, and I’m gonna use a penguin because I’m little.”
Mr. Percival looks like he could topple over, the bombardment of information bending him backward. “Jeez, kid, chill, I only asked your name.”
“Huh?”
Dec chuckles, collecting Albi. “Afternoon, Mr. Percival, how’s the turkey?”
“Dead.”
“What’s that?” Albi asks, zooming past the old man and entering his apartment through his wide-open door. “Oh, wow, cool!” He drops to his knees and swipes up a gnome on a motorbike.
“Careful with that, kid,” Mr. Percival says, following him on his walking frame. “The rims are delicate.”
Dec snorts, and I cough on nothing, both of us watching as Mr. Percival takes the gnome from Albi and shows him the wheels. “I painted them gold, see?”
“Oh my gosh.” Albi registers the hundreds of gnomes in Mr. Percival’s apartment, on every surface. “A policeman!”
“Yes, and a fireman, and a doctor and a farmer and a—”
“He has a lot of gnomes,” Dec pipes in, dipping to scoop Albi up. He gets shrugged off.
“You have a Father Christmas! And his reindeers.” Albi bombs across the lounge and drops to his knees again, scooping up the fattest gnome of all. “Daddy, look.”
“I can see, fella. Are we going ice skating?”
“Now, that one I got in Lapland,” Mr. Percival says, joining Albi and perching on the arm of the chair.
“You’ve been to Lapland?” Albi asks, his mouth forming an O in astonishment.
“Yeah, I’ve been, kid. In 1987. A long, long time ago. What year was you born, kid?”
Albi looks at Dec. “2021,” Dec says.
“Twenty-one,” Albi murmurs, shifting onto his butt and crossing his legs in front of Mr. Percival, as if he’s in class in front of his teacher.
“So you’re four.”
“I’m four and a half.”
“And have you been good this year?”
“So good.” He’s gazing up at the old man in complete awe.
I look at Dec. He shrugs. “Want a drink?” I ask.
“Well, it doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere fast.”
“Mind if I get a drink, Mr. Percival?”
“Oh my, how rude of me.” He dips. “You wait there, kid, I’ll bring back a feast and some eggnog.”
“What’s eggnog?”
“Magic, kid. Don’t move.”
“I won’t.”
“This way.” Mr. Percival passes us and leads us into the kitchen.
“What the fuck?” Dec stops on the threshold and gazes around at the chaos. “Are you having a party?”
Food is laid out on every surface, some with ice packs under, some covered with tinfoil, some in Tupperware pots.
It’s a buffet on steroids. “It’s Christmas,” Mr. Percival says.
“One must be prepared for guests, since you never know when they might show up.” He picks up a knife and points it at Dec, making him lean back.
“Case in point.” He slices one of his scrummy cakes, and I’m first to help myself, humming my happiness. “Sherry?”
“Please,” I mumble.
“Sure,” Dec breathes.
Then once the old man’s seen to our needs, he loads a tray of goodies and rests it on his frame, going back to Albi. “Make yourself at home, kids.”
And we do, dropping to the couch and listening while Mr. Percival enchants Albi with tales about gnomes, Christmas, world travels, and the war.
“He’s actually talked my son to sleep.” Dec props Albi onto his shoulder and takes my hand, walking us up to the front door.
“That was unexpected and quite lovely,” I say, reaching for Albi’s hat and pulling it down over his ear. “Will he sleep through until seven?”