‘Hang on.’ I bent and yanked at my dodgy sandals, pulling them off to hold in my free hand. ‘Let’s cut across the park.’
‘Lead the way.’
We ran across the slick grass, laughing and sliding as the rain grew heavier. When we came out to the road, Stephen swung me up into his arms, making me squeal and we flagged down a cab, the yellow taxi splashing us as it pulled up to the sidewalk. We bundled into the back and the driver started complaining about us getting the seat wet and muddy.
‘I’ll pay you triple the fare,’ Stephen offered.
‘Okay, brother.’ The Irish cabbie grinned.
‘Take the quick route, mind. I’m not a tourist and we’re in a hurry,’ I warned him.
‘I can see that.’
‘Oh, one more thing.’ Stephen leaned forward again. ‘You don’t happen to have any chewing gum, do you? Two pieces?’
‘For triple the fare you can have the whole pack.’ The cabbie threw a pot into the back with us. Stephen caught it, fed me a piece and grabbed one himself. By the time we arrived at Stephen’s building we were minty fresh, chewed gum deposited in the trash can outside the entrance to his building. The thunder was rumbling loud and long overhead, rain falling in sheets. As soon as we got through the door of his apartment, we set to the work of peeling each other’s soaked clothes off, any thoughts of showering abandoned.
He kissed me with an intensity that told me he had something he wanted to prove, and I was on board for it. He was thorough and tender, and I was losing my mind. I wanted to heat his chilled skin up, my hands eager for every inch of him. He carried me to the table, swiped all the paperwork off it, and lowered me onto the edge. Lightning streaked the black sky outside the windows and glittered in his dark eyes as they stared into mine. I felt myself falling, further and further, succumbing to the heat and the blur and the dangerous fantasy of what it might feel like to be loved by him.
The rain fell all night. First in great dramatic swaths, and then easing off to a soothing hush, that lulled us to sleep, once we collapsed into my bed.
By the time I rose the following morning, the sun was bright and stark again, promising the heat would be back. Noelle snored softly as I moved around her, taking a shower, dressing and going downstairs to tidy up the mess we’d made.
Our clothes were sopping heaps on my wooden floor, so I threw them in the wash and mopped the puddles up. Then I turned my attention to the table. Chairs askew, paperwork all over the floor. I couldn’t repress a grin at the memory.
But it froze on my face as I crouched to gather the papers together. The envelope I hadn’t touched all week had been on the table and the contents I’d been avoiding had spilled out. I pulled the bag towards me. The garish colours of birthday cards assaulted me. I collected them, counting the ages they were supposed to celebrate; 4, 5, 6, 7, 8…five years’ worth of birthday cards that Mum’d never given me.
Postcards of New York. The Statue of Liberty. The Empire State Building. A yellow taxi cab. I turned them over, saw messy handwriting with the address of the house I’d grown up in. ‘Little Stevie’ ‘Thought you would like the picture.’ ‘Maybe one day I’ll take you here.’ ‘Hope you’re enjoying the summer.’
‘Love Daddy,’ on all.
I shook my head against it. No. He never could have loved me.
Was this anger it kindled in my chest the same Mum had felt? Was it why she never gave these things to me? Had it enraged her to see these token gestures sent to me, like it was enough to show he cared? To prove I wasn’t disposable. Or forgettable. Unloved by my own father.
Wouldit have been enough?
I shoved them back in the envelope. Grabbed the magazines about dinosaurs and He-Man. Things I’d left behind a long time ago.
I was shaking with a rage I hadn’t known for years. Not since I was a teenager and I hadn’t been able to put a lid on my emotions. I leaned down on the table, pressed my hands hard either side of the envelope. Why hadn’t all these feelings gone away?
A hand touched my back and I swung around.
Noelle flinched back at my sudden movement and I struggled to relax myself. She was wearing one of my T-shirts, looking sweet and rumpled and vulnerable.
‘Sorry,’ I managed. ‘You made me jump.’
‘I gathered.’ Her hand lowered slowly towards me again, like I was a wounded animal she was trying to pet. ‘Are you okay?’ Even when half asleep, her eyes were sharp and observant, falling to the envelope on the table. ‘Did you look through it?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ I brushed her hand away as gently as I could and grabbed the envelope. Not caring if I crushed the contents. In fact, the best place for them was the recycling. I didn’t need them anymore. I took them to the kitchen and crammed them in the recycling box and went about trying to make coffee as though everything was normal. Noelle was still watching me, her grey eyes wide and hair in disarray around her face.
As the coffee was percolating my heart pounded and I realised…my mum’s handwriting was on that envelope. I couldn’t throw the envelope away. I went back to the trash and pulled it out again, dumped the contents until I just had the Jiffy bag and flattened it on the counter, using my palm to flatten the creases out of the part where the address was written. The address that she’d known for a long time, at least up until I was eight. That was the highest age of the birthday cards I’d seen. She’d known where he was.
She’d lied to me. When I was little:
‘Where’s Daddy?’
‘I don’t know. But he left and he’s not coming back.’
