Back in the lounge, Andy’s hiding under his bloody box again. I need to know Mark’s left, and I leg it up to the curtains and take another look. He’s in his van all right; he’s slumped over the steering wheel. Why can’t he go home? Does Kathy know that Mark’s aware of her forehead-pressing lover? As long as he doesn’t do anything stupid, he can sit out there in his van and mope all he likes. I tug the curtains back into place.
‘What’s wrong, Mum? Another journo-creep?’ Nessa says, poking Andy’s box with no response.
I’m too tired to answer. A creep? I guess he is as far as these things go. What about me? Marriage-breaker? I kick off my shoes and collapse on the couch and I shouldn’t be here: I haven’t checked on Chris yet.
‘I am the galactic chieftain of Obarashi-shi,’ Andy suddenly roars, and lifting the box off him, lobs it across the lounge.
‘Do you think you’re in Japan, Andy?’ Nessa says, pretending to collapse on the carpet from Andy’s unexpected onslaught.
‘Doctor Hashimoto will suck your blood,’ Andy says, leaping on top of Nessa.
‘Or something else,’ Nessa says, squealing with laughter.
‘Hey, you two, bloody keep it down,’ I say.
‘Yeah, ssshhh, Andy, Dad’s sleeping,’ Nessa says, struggling out from under him.
‘I know, I heard youse,’ Andy says.
This is not my day, not my life …
‘Who’s that?’ Andy says, frozen mid-action, a possum in headlights.
Someone is having a bloody good go at the front doorbell. I have to move, I have to move, move, move.
‘Don’t bloody answer it!’ I shout, racing for the curtains again.
‘Oooooooh, why not?’ Andy says, sounding suspiciously close to the lounge door.
I can’t see Mark and his stupid van, but I can’t see who is on the doorstep either. He must be at the front door. Prick.
‘Mum, what’s wrong? Who’s at the door?’ Nessa says, drifting over.
He’s going at that doorbell again.
‘I’ve had a bloody awful afternoon, Nessa, I don’t need anything else today, is that all right with you?’ I say, but that’s so unfair.
‘If it’s a reporter…’ Nessa says, but Andy runs out of the room.
‘I’ll get it,’ he shouts.
‘Go see who’s there, will ya, Ness,’ I say, heading for the couch again. Jesus, I need that bloody cuppa now.
‘Are you feeling all right, Mum?’ she asks on her way out.
Brace for impact, Liz girl, but honestly. If it’s a game he’s playing it’s a daft game - bloody power games. It doesn’t sound like Mark’s voice at the door anyway.
‘Who is it?’ I shout.
‘Courier!’ Nessa shouts back.
‘It’s here, it’s here, it’s finally here!’ Andy yells.
It’s not Mark, thank God. Someone’s pulled the valve; Nessa will have to scoop me out of this couch. A bloody courier. Wait, Mark has a mate that’s a courier. Great joke, Mark. Hang on, what’s arrived?
‘Are we expecting a package?’ but I haven’t finished speaking before it hits me: We are expecting a package.
‘Look at the sender address, look! Japan, Japan!’ Andy shouts, as Nessa walks back in with a large box in her arms.
‘Mum, it’s from Doctor Hashimoto,’ Nessa says, standing in front of me and trying to twist away from Andy’s attempts to wrestle it off her.
‘Andy, bloody well calm down, will you?’ I say, trying to struggle up off the couch.
‘But it’s Dad’s suit!’ he says.
‘It could be, and we’ll open it and find out, but will you calm down, please,’ I say.
I can’t do it, I can’t move.
‘All right, all right’ he grumbles, folding his arms.
‘Why don’t you help me open it, Andy?’ Nessa says, putting it down beside me on the couch.
Christ, I literally can’t move. A dog at a fresh bone, Andy tears into the packaging. Nessa’s trying to keep him under control but she’s losing patience. Move, Liz girl, move, you’re needed here, here, now. I sit up as the box emerges from the packaging.
‘That’s so beautiful,’ Nessa whispers.
The box colour shifts; it won’t settle and changes with the light. It’s deep blue, now dark green, now black…
‘A magic box,’ Andy breathes, making us both laugh.
‘It’s not magic, Andy. But it’s amazing, eh?’ I say, reaching out and touching it.
‘Feels weird, silky, doesn’t feel like cardboard, or wood,’ Nessa says, smoothing her big hand over the lid.
‘Metal?’ I say, but Nessa and Andy disagree.
‘Do the honours, Andy, let’s see what Doctor Hashimoto has sent us,’ I say.
The wee guy’s hands tremble as he lifts the lid. It’s a suit box, or a fancy shirt box. It’s not how I imagined it. When Hashimoto told us his plans to build Chris a special suit, I thought it would look like an astronaut’s space suit, or a vintage diving suit with iron boots, a glass face and an air hose. What sort of special suit fits in a slim box like this one? A tracksuit from the Warehouse wouldn’t fit in a box this size.
Andy carefully lifts away the perfectly folded soft paper and Nessa says it before I can get it out…
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Nessa says.
***