After Nothing (13 page)

It snowed on Christmas Eve. I went to a youth prayer meeting that evening and then walked home amid the light fall of snowflakes.

Some of the houses had Christmas lights on. I could even see a couple of Christmas trees through lit living room windows.

I rang Kane outside one of the houses that had a particularly big tree, covered in decorations, from the angel at the top right down to the bauble-laden bottom branches.

‘I’m looking at a Christmas tree,’ I told him.

‘Yeah?’ he said, uninterested.

‘Not like the one at the mall. It’s just in somebody’s house, but it’s amazing. You can barely see the tree for all the lights and decorations.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Wilson Street.’

‘What the fuck! Keep walking.’

‘There’s no one around.’

‘Exactly – keep walking. I thought you were getting a ride.’

‘I changed my mind. Kane, I think it’s a real tree.’

‘Nat, I’m gonna lose it soon. You should have taken the ride.’

I sighed and started walking again. ‘Talk me home?’ I said.

I swear I heard his reluctant smile. ‘Pretty cold out.’

‘It’s snowing.’

I heard him move, and guessed by the following sound that he was shifting a curtain aside.

‘Why you do this to me?’ he asked. ‘If you don’t get abducted you’re probably gonna get pneumonia.’

‘Don’t say that. And I’m nearly at my street. What are you doing?’

‘Nothing.’

‘TV’s not on. Can’t hear Wayne.’

‘You don’t gotta know everything.’

‘What are you doing?’ I persisted.

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re wrapping my Christmas present.’

There was silence, before he said with a defensive edge in his voice, ‘No.’

I giggled; he laughed.

‘How far from home are you now?’ he asked.

No Christmas lights, no porch lights. I’d tied a bow of red, green and gold ribbons through our front door knocker, but it wasn’t there now.

Dad was going into his room with his cup of tea as I came inside. I dumped my bag and coat and ran to make my own.

When I came into his room the light was on. Hope momentarily flared within me – he hadn’t turned the light on for himself in a long time. But the feeling quickly disappeared. He was in his red and black bathrobe, sitting by his radio. He was wearing his headphones, but they weren’t plugged in, and the radio was turned off. I put down my tea and the plate of snowman cookies I was carrying, and turned the radio on. The sound of a woman singing ‘White Christmas’ filled his room. Turning the volume up to make sure he’d hear it through his unplugged headphones, I sat down in the other chair, and then smiled. Dad had taken the whole plate of cookies and put it on his lap. He was rapidly working his way through each one, crumbs and frosting littering the front of his robe.

It was the first year I’d ever made Christmas cookies. On a trip to one of the more expensive department stores with Melissa and her mom, I’d seen some packaged sugar cookies, in the shape of reindeer. They were really cute. They were also ten dollars for five cookies, so I decided to try making my own.

I ended up making quite a few batches, and spent a lot more than ten dollars, but it was worth it. Kane was my main taste-tester, but he wasn’t very critical. Just said they were all good as he wolfed them down. Melissa was slightly better.

‘I like the gingerbread angels better than the gingerbread Christmas trees.’

‘But it’s the same dough.’

‘The angels are prettier, so they taste better. And I definitely like the frosting on the sugar hearts best of all.’

‘Because it’s pink?’

‘Because it’s pink,’ agreed Melissa.

So Mel got gingerbread angels with pink frosting for Christmas. Aunt Sarah got stars and angels. The Drummonds got a mix of stars, angels, Christmas trees and reindeer. Kane got the same, including all the broken ones, because I knew he didn’t care as long as he got as many as possible. For Dad, I made snowman cookies, because building a snowman was something he and I had always done with the first snow.

When all six snowman cookies were gone, I took the plate, and brushed the crumbs off him the best I could.

‘I’m glad you liked them, Dad. You haven’t been eating much lately, so I’ll know what to bring out from now on.’

I put his mug of tea in his hands so he wouldn’t forget to drink it, and then we both sat there listening to Christmas carols. When ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ came on I quietly sang along. Dad seemed to really listen.

I stayed with him in his room long after he went to bed and fell asleep.

The next morning, Christmas morning, Mom and I woke to loud crying.

Dad was at the bottom of the stairs.

‘What’s wrong?’ I said, running down to him.

The smell was answer enough. His pajama bottoms were clinging to him. ‘It’s okay, Dad,’ I said, giving him a hug before looking up at Mom, who was staring over the bannister at us.

‘Aren’t you going to help?’

She disappeared from view, and I heard the door to her room shut.

Dad’s crying had turned into big, long, tortured sobs.

‘Come on, Dad,’ I said. ‘Let’s get ready for Christmas morning.’

That was the first time I ever saw my dad naked. My dad, the one I had before the strokes, would never have wanted me to bath him. It was me or no one now though, so I just got on and did it.

As I was washing his back he stopped crying, and became very still. I realized how long it must have been since he’d felt hands on his skin – knowing by touch that someone cared for him.

He shaved himself after his bath, and got himself dressed. Then I cooked us scrambled eggs for breakfast and also poured him his normal bowl of granola.

When we sat down at the table I reached out and touched his hand.

‘Merry Christmas, Dad.’

He picked up his spoon and began eating his granola.

On Boxing Day, Dad wet his bed again. I went out, through snow turned to icy slush, and caught the bus to the mall, where I bought a rubber sheet for his bed.

The following morning Dad was crying at the bottom of the stairs again. He was so upset that he had me in tears as well, sniffing away as I bathed him and then stripped the bed of his soaked sheets.

The snow that had been white on Christmas Eve was dirty brown as I trudged my way to the bus stop yet again. This time I went to the supermarket and bought adult diapers.

Melissa’s New Year’s Eve party was loud and fun. We got drunk on milky chocolate cocktails, danced and gossiped, and tried to act sober when Melissa’s parents checked in from the party they were at across the street.

Callem was there. Whenever he and Melissa were in close proximity to each other, I watched them both to see if there was anything going on between them. I knew she was interested, but she didn’t give him any indication. In fact, I kind of thought her lack of interest in talking to him was almost to the point of being rude.

At one stage I pulled her to one side and said as much.

‘Bitch, lower your voice,’ hissed Melissa. ‘And I’m not being rude. I’ve told you, Cal and I are just friends.’

‘From the way you’re acting, he would have no idea you’re into him.’

‘Good, because he’s not into me. And I’m not in his league.’

‘You so are.’

‘Nat, you know more than anyone that if Callem’s interested in a girl he makes sure she knows. Now, don’t bring him up again tonight. I need another drink. Yours is empty. Let’s do some shots.’

We lined up a lot of shots. Callem was part of the group that joined us in the kitchen to knock them back. For the most part, he kept his distance from me. Which was fine, because I was occupied examining every appliance in the Pattersons’ kitchen, and looking through every well-stocked drawer and cupboard. It made me realise everything we didn't have at home. A decent mixer for starters. Our one at home didn’t even go. I’d had to hand mix the dough for the gingerbread at Christmas time.

‘Let’s do some baking,’ I said to Melissa as she handed me another shot, spilling half of it on the polished wood of the kitchen floor.

‘Awesome idea,’ agreed Melissa.

We were looking through recipe books when Melissa’s cousin, Francie, came in from outside and told me Kane was waiting for me out by the gate.

Kane had told me there was no way he could come to the party. He said New Year’s was a busy night for work.

But he was standing there when I came staggered through the gate on my heels.

I fell into his arms.

‘You came.’

‘Thought I’d take a break.’

‘You want to kiss me at midnight.’

‘You drunk, baby?’

‘Of course. You could kiss me now if you like.’

‘It’s cold,’ said Kane, hugging me as close as possible to him. ‘Where’s your coat?’

‘Don’t know. I’m going to kiss you.’

And I did. I thought I was kissing him just fine, but he started laughing.

‘Kane. Please. I just want to kiss you.’

‘I want to do more than that. Here.’

He shrugged out of his jacket, and put it over my shoulders.

It was so cosy warm, and when I breathed in at the collar it smelt like him. I pulled my arms through the sleeves. It took me six tries before I got the zipper up.

When I looked up I saw that Kane was standing at the closed gates of Melissa’s neighbor’s driveway. He was using the torch on his phone to direct light through the tall metal bars. He then put his phone back in his pocket and moved away from the gate, walking along the wall to where it was most shadowed. I followed him, and watched as he jumped and grabbed the top of the wall before pulling himself up.

‘I can’t get up there,’ I whispered.

‘Yeah, you can. Give me your hand.’

‘I’m wearing a skirt.’

‘Baby, give me your hand.’

I handed him my heels first. The wall looked smooth, but it felt rough beneath my toes as Kane hauled me up. I got my own legs over, but he jumped down first and helped me down.

He called me ‘Catwoman’ as I put my heels back on.

For some reason I thought that was the funniest thing ever, and then nearly fell over backwards as one of my heels caught in the ground. Kane was close enough to stop me falling, but we triggered a sensor and the whole front garden lit up. I stood frozen, my eyes fixed on the symmetry of the Georgian-style mansion that had suddenly taken shape out of the darkness. I waited for someone to yell out, or alarms to go off. Instead I heard Kane softly curse behind me.

He was looking up in awe at the curving figure just about leaning over us. It was the statue of a man, his weight forward as he held a flat plate-like object straight up behind him.

‘I’ve seen a picture of this,’ said Kane. ‘It’s Greek.’

My eyes moved over it and beyond to dozens of statues, surrounded by low hedgerows.

‘Kane, we need to leave,’ I whispered as he moved toward the next statue.

‘They ain’t home. Come look at this.’

‘How do you know they’re not home?’

‘That drive ain’t been driven on since it last snowed. And their hall light tripped exact same time as the outside ones. You know what this is?’ He lightly placed his fingers on the stone foot of the naked man looming over us. ‘It’s a replica of Michelago’s
David
. Good one too.’

‘Why have they got all these statues?’

‘They into art.’

‘Naked men,’ I said, but Kane was already walking toward the next one. As if to prove me wrong, the next statue was actually a cluster of four partially clothed woman.

‘These are the seasons,’ said Kane. ‘You can tell by what they’re holding.’

I looked at the one closest to me. I couldn’t tell what she was holding.

‘It’s wheat,’ said Kane, coming to stand beside me. ‘She’s Summer.’ My eyes went to the one holding a basket of flowers. ‘Spring,’ said Kane. ‘Fall has the grapes, and Winter has the cloak around her.’

We looked at three more statues before the lights switched off, leaving us in the shadowed darkness of a seated naked man Kane had said was The Thinker.

Kane’s arms went around me. ‘We move, we’ll probably trip the lights again. Only want to do that when we leave.’

‘You just want to stand here?’

‘Till midnight.’

We both laughed because at that moment the countdown to midnight reached us. The voices were disjointed and out of time, coming from a number of different houses in the street.

‘Happy New Year’ rang out. Kane and I kissed.

‘Happy New Year, baby.’

‘Happy New Year.’

I ran my index finger down his left cheek. I thought I’d sobered up a lot since coming outside, but my brain can’t have been communicating properly with my body, because instead of stopping where I expected it to my finger dropped over the edge of his jaw and landed on his chest.