Friday, 27th December 1996.  Evening

 

Here she comes clomping up the stairs. Why can’t she walk around the house like a normal person does, or like her mum? Fiona always walks so lightly on her tiny feet, yet still with purpose.

Although, there is some comfort in knowing where Pixie is at any given moment.

Her brother, Zac, is a different kettle of fish, he’s barely audible as he shuffles and mopes about – I wish he’d stomp occasionally.

No need to wonder what Pixie has in store for me this evening. It will have everything to do with the carry-on of last night.

Some things are best left in the realms of the unknown.

 

“Michael, are you in there?” Pixie called from the top of the stairs.

“I sure am,” I replied from inside the master bedroom.

“Can I come in?” Pixie asked.

“Sure,” I replied positively, although wishing she’d just go back downstairs to her friends.

I was relaxed up until then, leaning against two large pillows on top of the firm king-sized bed I had found myself privileged to share twelve months ago; although only on a permanent basis for the past two.

In boxer shorts, I was in the process of reading the screenplay that Pixie’s mum and my lover, Fiona, had adopted from the well-known bestseller, The Money Trail.

I timed Pixie’s stomping and placed the script over my boxers as she burst into the room.

“Hi?”  Pixie said quickly and then turned back to close the door.

With the door firmly shut on the throbbing techno music that had recently commenced at the far end of the house, Pixie walked over and stood in front of the bed in barely a thread of a royal blue evening dress, before planting the fists she had formed on the way, firmly on her slim hips.

“Do you want to join us, Michael?” Pixie asked in an off-handed manner.

I straightened up against the pillows and smiled back at her. Pixie continued.

“We're having a little party in the family room – dancing and stuff … You know.” Pixie’s eyes weren’t meeting mine, so I wasn’t convinced this was a genuine invitation.

“You know Lou, she's there. You like her. You said that the other day.”

I said ‘she’s alright’ the other day.

“Thanks, but I don't think so. I'm engrossed in your mum's script of The Money Trail, it's too good to put down. I’d like to finish it in one go if I could. It’s much better than the book.”

Pixie began to stare at the script over my boxers, which I preferred she didn’t.

Eyes up, thanks.

“Yeah, the book was a crock of shit.” Pixie said in her usual colourful manner, “I read it at school. Mum’s really put a cracker up its arse – I love it.”

Thankfully, Pixie’s eyes then returned to my face.

“I agree. Only one thing – Too heavy on the violence.” I stated.

“Come on, Michael, don't be such a pussy. Everyone loves violence,” Pixie said as she pretended to stab someone with an invisible knife. “Except the people getting bashed or killed, that is.”

Pixie then sat without asking at the end of the bed, below my feet. I gradually closed my legs.

“Are you going somewhere later?” I asked to make conversation, feeling she wanted to say something. “You look dressed for a night out.”

“I wish I was. I wanted to see if Lou and I could get into a club in the city, but she doesn't want to go. She wants to stay here with her juvenile friggin’ friends.” Pixie replied with a fair degree of annoyance.

“I'm over hanging around with those Sailing Club tossers. Might end up like Tracey.”

Don’t start on her.

Pixie pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail and then let it go of it just as quickly. She preened its full length one time and then stopped.

“Why are you here, Michael? ... I mean, why are you still here? Mum's away and you're here. It’s bullshit.” Pixie said at me, and then seemed to search for pre-planned words.

“Zac and I don't feel comfortable.”

Well, that’s a nice welcome into the fold – and Zac only knows comfortable.

Pixie stood, feigned a look of supremacy and then smoothed down her dress as if I was being rude for not giving an immediate answer.

“Bad luck,” I said flatly. “Your mum and I worked it out before she left. She doesn't want any big parties. Besides, I live here, too.”

Pixie walked back towards the door and then spun around to face me.

“You know, Dad's barely gone and you're acting like the boss around here. You could be a sick fucker for all we know – and we’re stuck with you. Who knows what you were up to last night.”

“I was checking out a noise.”

“Were you … really?” Pixie asked, her eyes held wide open for emphasis. “Do you always perv on people when you’re checking out a noise?”

“Would you like to talk about last night? I’m happy to.” I asked seriously, confident it was the real reason she was here.

Pixie turned her face away dismissively, showing a lack of maturity on her behalf. I took another tack.

“Have you spoken to Zac?” I asked, although feeling she would have probably let that slide, seeing little sign of the closeness with her brother that would be required to discuss such a delicate subject.

“He’s my brother, so what he does has nothing to do with you.” Pixie replied, trying for bitterness, but ending up sounding like a child. She then whispered.

“I wish you’d give us some space.”

“Like I said before – bad luck. And by the way, I’ve been trying not to disrupt your, or Zac’s, day to day life by being here?”

“Have you…?”

Pixie walked back to the bed, her face still turned away so she didn’t have to look me in the eye.

“I asked Mum why you got divorced. She said I should think about growing up pretty soon … but I still wouldn’t mind knowing.”

“No, that’s fine. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

I’m shutting this down, she’s crossed a line by asking about something I would probably share with her in time.

How could I explain in this room, on this bed, which was still far from being mine, what brought an end to the wonderful life I had, with a wonderful woman? – I rushed my words.

“Okay, it's simple. We wanted different things. That's the whole story.”

I placed the script on the bed, swung around to its edge and then leant down to pick up my denim shorts.

“Alright, I’d love to come down,” I said through a forced smile. “Could be a blast.”

Pixie couldn’t wait to respond.

“Now, you're talking shit.”

My feet got tangled as I tried to pull up my shorts in rapid time; giving up in frustration, I turned to face my inquisitor.

“What do you want from me, Pixie?”

Pixie waved a finger at me in a dismissive way as if she didn’t need to justify her words, or should ever have to, and then wrapped her arms over her chest.

“I just want to know if you're serious about Mum,” Pixie asked perhaps never believing I was.

“Okay, I'll call my folks tomorrow and ask if they’re happy to have their grown-up son back with them for a few days, then I'll see you and Zac when your mum returns. I hope that’s comfortable enough for you?”

Pixie stomped back towards the door, opened it fully and then without being courteous enough to turn around to face me, said.

“Weak as piss.”

I wasn’t going to engage anymore. It would only turn into a slanging match. I had given her what she wanted.

“Don't forget, you’ll need to walk Horry every morning now,” I added firmly.

Pixie continued to stand in the doorway with her back to me, then whispered. I could just make out her words.

“I miss my dad.”

She left before I had time to say, ‘I love your mum.’