The Paper House (17 page)

It was packed by then, so we were relegated to a spot up the back of the field, near the diner. Dad helped Sylvia tune her old stereo to the cinema’s frequency and it cracked and popped through the local advertising. Fleur opened her door and stretched her legs. Dave took my hand. ‘Food?’

‘Sylvia’s brought a whole picnic basket.’

‘And I’m sure it’s delicious,’ he said, ‘but nothing beats a shitty drive-in hot dog.’ Sylvia scoffed. ‘No offence, Sylvia. I’ll be back for some of those custard things.’ He took my hand and we walked up to the diner, which glowed out from the hillside. People everywhere, all kinds. Most had brought their children and they scurried underfoot and disappeared. Little spectres.

‘It’s so good that you’re feeling better.’ Dave tried to twirl me under his arm but the tread of my shoe caught on the concrete. ‘Unfortunately, I am no better a dancer.’

‘Terrible,’ I said, and let him guess whether I meant myself or his dancing. But I was new with him. That night, I was new. Comforted by the closeness of the air and the lightness of the conversation.

We blinked into the diner. Lit in every available inch by fluorescent lights, and they hammered and flickered above us. Dave led me to the back of the long line. In front of us, a tired woman told her child he couldn’t have a choc top. Over and over. ‘No, Harrison,’ she said. ‘You can’t have a choc top. It’s eight o’clock. No sugar after dinner. And you’re five. No, no choc top. Please stop asking. It hurts mummy to tell you no.’

Dave looked at me. His black marbles. ‘Can I have a choc top?’

‘Are you supposed to make fun of the parents?’ I hissed.

‘That’s the major perk, honestly.’

He was a little manic, bouncing on his heels. Windy. Distressed. He talked fast with all his limbs moving. Did I want mustard? Could you even have a drive-in hot dog without mustard? What were my thoughts on mustard and tomato sauce together? Did we have to call it ‘ketchup’ if we were in a diner?

‘Right!’ The woman in front of us grabbed her son’s wrist. ‘That was your last chance. Back to the car.’ She stormed out, dragging the child like a puppet while he sobbed. We moved into our newly vacated place in the line. He swung his hand next to mine. Our fingers touched.

‘Vanilla choc top? Mint choc top?’ He gasped. ‘
Chocolate
choc top?’

‘Your mum would never have let you get a chocolate choc top.’

My speech was liquid, in that hot diner. I stood with my husband and I watched the shapes his mouth made and my own mouth moved easily. Hints of months earlier, the two of us on our tiny balcony in a cloud of gladness.

‘Two hot dogs. Two?’ He looked to me. ‘Would your dad eat one?’

‘Probably. Fleur, though. She’ll kill us if we don’t bring one back for her.’

‘Sorry’ – the girl behind the counter rolled her eyes – ‘four hot dogs.’

‘Sauce?’ she said.

‘Sauce. Mustard. Cheese. Give us everything you’ve got.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘They have
curly fries
. Curly fries too, please.’

‘Size?’

‘Biggest.’

Behind us, the line hummed. People laughed. Each time the door clicked open, hot air rushed in. The last glimpse of sun dropped behind the movie screen.

‘It’s funny,’ I said, ‘how everyone’s laugh is different, but you can always tell it’s laughter.’

‘I went to school with a guy who laughed like he was choking. Like, to death.’

‘That’s unfortunate.’

The girl pushed our food across the counter, charged us a small fortune for our butcher’s floor scrapings. It didn’t matter. Dave grabbed it all in his arms. Eyed every single person in the line as we walked out, nodded to the ones he knew and the ones he didn’t. I noticed the way he was part of his community. Welcomed. Invited.

‘They like you,’ I said, as the door closed behind us.

‘I like them.’ He bumped me with his shoulder. ‘And I like you.’

The last of the sea birds headed west to roost, and the bats came. Blotted out the sky for a moment. The opening credits rolled and the children fell silent, clambered into their various SUVs.

‘
Elf
,’ I said. ‘Good choice.’

‘Can’t take credit for that, I’m afraid.’

We took our hot dogs back to the car and passed them around.

‘Curly fries?’ Fleur said. ‘You are a magician, David. Christ. Give them here.’

Sylvia turned up the radio. ‘It is so quiet. I cannot hear what the tall man is saying. You tell me what he is saying, Fiore.’ Through mouthfuls of fried potato, Fleur relayed the entire story to Sylvia.

‘The human thinks he’s an elf, but he was actually just an orphan. See? Now he’s going to New York to find his real dad. No, his real dad. Yeah, the mean one. I know you’d never make spaghetti with maple syrup.’

Dad leaned across Dave. ‘Heather, it’s so nice you’ve made the effort tonight.’

‘Of course I did.’

‘Jeans. Clean t-shirt. It’s good to see.’

‘I’m not a child. I do know how to bathe myself.’

‘I know you know how. Just good to see that you did.’

Dave squeezed my rubbery hand. ‘You look beautiful. Thank you for coming.’

I shook him off. ‘What do you mean, Dad? My sadness getting too boring for you?’

‘It’s hard when it seems like someone’s not making any progress.’

‘Oh my progress isn’t
fast
enough for you?’

Fleur turned the radio down a little. ‘The elf-human thinks the dwarf is an elf. But the dwarf is actually a very angry man.’

Dad rubbed his head. ‘You’re not getting what I’m saying. Now you’re going great guns. Which is great. All I’m saying. Great.’

‘So because I put jeans on, I’m all fixed? That’s really going to help our bank balance. You know that woman in the cafe yesterday? That’s my shrink. She looked at me like that because I’ve told her all the bad stuff I’m thinking but she’s not allowed to talk to me in public.’

‘I didn’t realise.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’

Dave tried to climb out of the car, over Dad’s lap. ‘Can you not do this now? This is supposed to be my thing. Mine.’

Dad pushed him back, looked at me. ‘Hey. Hop out for a sec, meet me round the back.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Come on.’

I climbed out of the car and met Dad at the boot. He opened it and took out a tartan rug. ‘Sit here with me. For a minute.’ He spread it out on the grass. I eased myself down, trying to ignore the pinching pain in my guts. ‘Remember that stuff I said yesterday? About Dave?’

‘About you, you mean.’

‘Yeah, and me. We don’t get it right all the time. Most of the time we don’t, probably. Just go sticking our feet in our mouths.’

‘You really do.’

‘I’m trying to help. Swear it. I’m worried about you. We’re all so worried about you.’

‘Waste of time.’

‘Wanted you to know I noticed you’d made an effort. That’s all.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re
what
?’

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry.’

‘I didn’t know you even knew that word. Who knew the drive-in could be such a momentous occasion?’

‘I should be better at this. But I’m not. Just an old fella trying to figure out the lovey-dovey stuff.’

‘You are really, really old.’

‘Trying to make it up to you. Always. To both of you.’

‘Me and Dave?’

He stared ahead, focused on the screen. ‘You and Fleur.’

‘How long will you do that for?’

‘As long as it takes.’

‘That’s cheese, Dad. Being at the drive-in doesn’t mean you can feed me shitty lines from a movie.’

He smiled and pulled me close. ‘Can we get back in the car, please?’

Fleur had reclined her chair right back and Dad couldn’t get back in, so he lingered by the door and we waited for the last few minutes of the movie to play out. ‘Now Santa can fly home, see, because the mean old dad decided he would sing the Christmas carol after all.’ The screen went black. Sylvia had fallen asleep with her face in her hands. Fleur slammed her cast on the door. ‘Oh my God, it’s a double feature.’

‘We can go, if you want,’ Dave said, his voice flat. Dad raised his eyebrows at me. Dave on the beach, kicking jellyfish. Dave in the kitchen, counting boxes of tea. Dave in the hospital, asleep in a plastic chair.

‘I’ll stay with you,’ I said.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ he said.

‘I want to.’

Dad gave Dave a little shove. ‘I can pick you up later.’

There he was again, my guy. Smiling. ‘That would be really nice.’

They rattled off in Sylvia’s old car, Dad behind the wheel and Fleur still with her leg out the window, shouting, ‘Merry Christmas, fuckers!’ and Sylvia’s face bouncing on the glass.

‘Just us then,’ Dave said.

‘Just us.’

We walked back up to the diner, where the girl from earlier was wiping down the counters.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ Dave said. ‘I mean, it’s for me as well. It’s to share.’

‘A gift?’

‘A gift.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim joint.

‘Is that
weed
?’

‘It is. Unless that kid I met at the playground was lying to me.’ He sniffed it. ‘It could be lawn clippings. That’s how they get you. Kids making a fortune selling lawn clippings to middle aged men.’

‘You’re not middle aged.’

‘Maybe not if I’m planning to live to be ninety.’

‘I hope you are.’ I snatched the joint from him. ‘Did you bring a lighter? How old are we?’ The lights flickered above us, bugs silhouetted in their coffins. Dave passed me an orange Bic. I took a deep drag, let the smoke curl down into my lungs and around my bones. A car revved its engine; the sound broke across the field. So far from the city, the sky opened up its blanket of stars again.

‘Pass it,’ Dave said, so I did, and lost him briefly behind the white curtain. ‘Shit.’ He coughed loudly. ‘We are old.’

The screen flickered on and a cheer went up. Familiar scenes: a plane coming into land in the sunset; a man afraid of flying.
Die Hard
– Dave’s favourite.

‘You chose this one though, didn’t you?’

‘Obviously.’

Under the awning I found a shiny beetle. Flipped it over with my straw and watched it right itself. Time after time it turned over its mirrored body and stared down the straw. Did it know? I flipped it again. Its little legs searched for traction in the empty air until
bam
, upright again.

‘Why are you doing that?’ Dave said.

‘Do you think it knows? Do you think it flips over and thinks to itself, ugh, that bitch with the straw is still here and she’s going to do it again?’

‘I think it probably wonders where it can get some poo to roll in, and you’re just interrupting it getting to the poo.’

‘Would it stop after a while, do you think? Give up because it kept getting flipped over?’

He put his arm around me. ‘I see through your metaphor. No, I think it would keep getting up until it died trying, actually.’

‘I would stop before that happened.’

‘Exactly.’

He pointed the joint at the screen. ‘John McClane would never waste time flipping beetles over. He’d just go in there and fuck that beetle up.’ He made his hand into a gun. ‘Yippee ki—’

I grabbed at his face, pinched his lips closed. ‘Shh!’ A mop of black hair went skipping past, little knock-knees carrying it along. ‘There are children present!’

His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Imagine: all the beetles running for cover under their piles of poo.’ He pushed my beetle away into the grass.

‘My only friend!’ I cried, and we both laughed together. ‘I haven’t been this stoned since our wedding night.’

‘God bless your friend . . . what was her name?’

‘Sophia. She was
our
friend.’

‘I inherited her.’ He leaned into me until our cheeks were touching. ‘I inherited lots of good stuff from you.’

‘Oh yeah? Like what?’

‘Teabags, for a start. Fuckloads of teabags.’

‘Sorry about that.’

He passed me the joint. ‘No need to be sorry. Water under the bridge.’ I dragged on it right down to the roach. Dave shoved my head into his armpit. ‘Now, shut up and watch the movie.’

Many nights ago, so many nights, we had sat on an overpass and watched the cars come out of the exit on their way to the city. All their lights blinking red and white. The air was cool and on it came the smell of kebabs from Swan Street and beyond that the shouts going up from the football in the park. Dave wore his favourite green scarf with the turtles; it was the first time I had seen it.

We counted each car as it came up around the bend and across the bridge. People alone or not alone, for the seconds on the ramp all driving in the same direction. All of them moving forward to their temporarily common goal. When we had counted two hundred cars, Dave wrapped his scarf around both of us and we stuck together like a Chinese finger trap.

‘Do you wonder where they’re going?’ he had said. That was the way of him, asking about my wonderment instead of telling me his own.

In the field, parents climbed on to the bonnets of their SUVs, watched the movie with their heads together and acres of children sound asleep. I thought of Jenny in the restaurant, how she’d looked at me from behind her menu and not known where I was, how to help me. Down in my guts, water rushed through. A tide going out. A man in a brown cardigan waited for me at the bottom of a garden. And though I clung to Dave until the credits rolled, I left my anchor behind in the dirt.

A
FTER SCHOOL
M
UM
takes us to a new shop on the corner. A café, she says. That’s a French word. It’s by the water so Mum likes it. She likes to be near the water. She says it makes her feel alive.

There’s a long table by the wall. It’s got tiny mice all over it. They look fragile so I pick them up carefully and don’t shake them, just put them down again. Some of them are old and the paint is coming off. There are a few new ones with price tags on them.

Look at all these mice, I say.

Yeah, Mum says. That’s why the café is called Three Blind Mice.

No it isn’t, Fleur says. The mice are there because the café is called that. They didn’t find these mice here and think, what would be a good name for a café?