Cohen squeezed her hand as he stopped to take it all in. The feel of her hand in his, warm and tender, the smell of roasting chestnuts in the air, the promise of colder nights but warm embraces.
And he knew that he would always remember this year.
That he would always remember this month. This day. This moment, right down to the last second.
This perfect, perfect Tuesday.
Chapter Seven
Sunflower Seed
When he was fourteen, or maybe fifteen, Cohen’s mother took a four-month secondment to Guatemala. Cohen remembered sitting in the airport lounge, drinking orange soda, while his mother and Uncle Israel drank tea. A few cookies sat on the Formica table before them, untouched and forlorn. Occasionally Esther would nudge them towards Cohen, but he simply crossed his arms, obstinately refusing to allow Esther to sweeten their parting.
His father had already left him. Now his mother was going too. Cohen’s anger was palpable; the sullen rage of a young man, but also the sad resentment of a scared boy.
‘You should eat something. There are children around the world who would kill for those cookies. Starving children, Cohen,’ his mother chided him sharply.
‘Fine. Why don’t you take them to Guatemala with you then?’ Cohen replied, utterly scathing. ‘Go on. Do it. Save the children of the world, one dry and tasteless baked good at a time.’
Esther pressed her lips together, and Cohen knew he had stung her. But she didn’t say another word, refusing to rise to his bait, and Cohen felt, in the piercing agony of her stare, every ounce of her hurt. Chastised, he started to reach out to her, because somewhere deep inside him still resided the small boy desperate to please his mother, a child simply desperate for her love. But the growing man within him growled, stamping the child down.She brought this on herself,the man told the boy.She’s leaving us.
Cohen’s hand dropped as he withdrew further into himself, and Esther gave a sad nod before turning to her brother, exhaling loudly.
‘I’m sorry about this again,’ she said with a sigh. ‘You know how I hate to inconvenience you.’
But Israel only shrugged. ‘Esther, he’s my nephew. It’s not a problem.’
‘It is a problem. Jim should’ve ...’
‘Jim let you down, and not for the first time,’ Israel said in a matter-of-fact voice that infuriated Cohen. ‘Jim’s just being Jim. Let it go.’
But Esther’s grip on her tea tightened, so much so that the cup bent under her fingers, her nails digging crescent marks into the polystyrene.
‘Hepromisedme,’ she hissed. ‘He promised he would be here for Cohen.’
Israel put down his own drink so he could lay a hand against his sister’s. ‘You knew what he was when you married him. You knew marriage and fatherhood would never change him.’
‘I never expected him to change. But I did think he might grow up, one day. I had to,’ Esther said bitterly. ‘You grew up, Israel. All our friends did. But Jim ... well, he never stopped being a child. A spoilt, selfish child. Couldn’t give up his youth, not for me, not for himself.’ She paused, her eyes dark. ‘Not even for his own son.’
‘What about Stella?’ Israel’s voice was quiet, his hand against Esther’s steady. ‘Did he grow up for her? Are they still ...?’
Cohen didn’t move. He pretended not to pay attention, keeping his eyes on the table. But his heart picked up tempo within his chest, his curiosity piqued. He’d never dared to ask his mother about Stella, about the woman who waltzed into Jim’s life one winter’s morning, before they danced away together the next spring.
‘I don’t know,’ Esther replied. ‘I don’t ask.’
‘You should divorce him.’
‘And give him half of everything?Oy gevalt! I’d rather cut my own nose off with a rusty knife. Besides, with his lifestyle, he can’t live forever ...’
Cohen sat quietly sipping his soda, while Esther made her way through a five-minute verbal bashing of his father. When she finally quietened, her malevolence spewed, her hurt temporarily appeased, there was an awkward silence. Israel was looking down, a frown on his face, while Esther sat stiffly, her hands clenched, her breathing tight.
Cohen couldn’t bear to see her like this. Couldn’t bear to see his mother, who he loved as much as he resented, hurting so terribly.
So, he reached out and ate one of the damn cookies, forcing himself to chew and swallow every dry, tasteless morsel. Esther’s face instantly brightened, and Cohen earned himself a fond smile from her. Even Israel, his cantankerous uncle extraordinaire, reached over to ruffle his hair, his prosthetic hand running cool and unmoving over his scalp.
Later, they all walked together to airport security. Esther turned to Cohen awkwardly, reaching out for him. She pulled him into her arms, and even though he was already as tall as she was – maybe even taller – she manoeuvred him so that his head was pressed against her shoulder. She ran a hand through his hair, and he had to resist the urge to cling to her, to beg her to stay. To never leave him, like the rest of the world seemed to.
But she disengaged from his arms, pressing a kiss to his forehead. ‘You be good for your uncle,’ she told him sternly.
