‘Everything okay?’ Usually I would not ask, aware of the ways a question so open could turn, but I felt peaceful, enough to want to share that feeling with someone else.
‘You don’t even know how easy you have it,’ Elsie replied, a slur to her voice.
‘What?’
She turned to me and her eyes were dark, unfocused, wild.
‘You don’t have a care in the world and are you even grateful? Do you even know what I’ve lived through to provide this life for you?’
‘I didn’t ask to be –’
She was in my face before I had the chance to process, her fingers around my jaw and pressing into my skin. She was every monster I had ever feared was hiding in the dark. And then just as quickly, she released my face and retreated.
‘I don’t even want to look at you. Get out of my sight.’
I did not need to be told twice. I grabbed my glass of water, my rice crackers and apple, and I bolted to the stairs. Out the window as I made my way down, I saw the light on in the tool shed. And I heard my father’s voice in my head: ‘It’s a tricky time of year.’
19
Fran offers to drop us off, to give Dad time to settle in back home amongst family, but I insist he joins us. Dad agrees.
‘I owe you a beer for the ride,’ he says, his voice tired.
The living room is immaculate, empty, the late-afternoon sun setting through the decorated windows, and I ask Dad if he needs anything as he heads to his bedroom for a rest.
‘I’m alright, love – make sure you give Fran that beer. He’s a good lad.’
I agree, and by the time I am passing Fran the green glass bottle, Olivia and Maeve have appeared from their room.
‘How’s Dad?’ Olivia asks.
‘He’s okay, gone for a lie-down. What about Mum?’
‘She’s at the grocery store. Luke is lying down too. Hey, Fran.’
‘Hey, Olivia,’ he replies.
‘Thanks for being there for Dad, and for Nora. You’re a good friend.’
Fran nods; this is something he himself understands to be true.
‘I’m going to wrap some presents, do you want to do yours with me?’ Olivia asks, pointing to the wrapping paper on the bench.
Maeve is beaming at the word ‘presents’ and I cannot wait to give her mine. Fran is admiring my window when I ask if he would mind, and when he says he would not, of course not, I collect my bag of gifts from my room, leaving him there to chat with Olivia and Maeve. By the time I get back, he and Maeve are by Olivia’s window, reading a book, one of Maeve’s favourites, about a little mouse; she knows every line. Every so often she reaches out to touch one of the animals on the windowsill, and I think again how well Olivia has done. With the window; with her daughter. My type-A sister has taken over the floor with neat piles of presents and rolls of paper, ribbon, sticky tape, and gift tags laid out neatly on the coffee table for us to share.
‘It’s great to see Fran again,’ she says, as though he is not sitting metres away and able to hear every word.
I smile and nod, and she smiles wider. She clearly knows about the feelings involved. Olivia knows a lot more than I have given her credit for. In the corner of my eye I see Fran grinning, putting on a squeaky little voice for the character of the mouse. Everything is right; this is what Christmas should be. My sister and I wrap our gifts, piling them under the tree one by one until there is barely space left under there. Olivia asks me to close my eyes while she wraps my gift, and it is such a good idea, I request the same once she is done. I wrap the book I bought for her, a new edition of one she gave to me when I was small, and curl the ribbons around it with the scissors until it looks just right. We are almost finished when Luke emerges from his room, hair messy and his face pulled. The room retreats from his expanse.
‘Dad’s home, then?’ he asks, and I nod in response.
‘Actually, I need to have a word with you. I ran into Levi O’Donnell at the servo, remember him? He was in my homeroom back in school.’
My blood freezes, and I nod again, slowly this time.
‘Well, I’m glad you remember the guy you fucked out in public at the pub the other night. I half thought you might have been so off your head you wouldn’t,’ he says, his voice harder with every word.
‘Luke, watch your language,’ Olivia interjects.
