As much as James longed to have Becky and Mikey at Christmas, it was important to him that Christmas be a time of good memories for the children, not of fighting parents. His own parents now passed away, his brother living on the other side of the country, James knew he couldn’t provide a traditional Christmas with all the trimmings like Sandy’s family celebrated. So, in the end, he and Sandy both agreed that Becky and Mikey would spend Christmas with her and then travel to South Dakota for New Year’s Eve.
James had worked hard to create new traditions for this holiday. The kids were still too young for staying up late, so they had settled on celebrating New Year’s Eve by having a “picnic” in front of the fireplace in the living room. James let them roast hotdogs and marshmallows over the dancing flames. They finished off by throwing handfuls of specially treated pine cones into the fire afterwards to make the flames turn different colours.
Their other tradition was to go shopping on the 31st to buy each child a new outfit to wear on New Year’s Day and a new toy to play with. The latter James realized was an indulgence so soon after the glut of presents the kids had received at Christmas, but the pleasure they had shopping together always outweighed his better judgement.
Coming in through the glass double-doors of Toys ’R’ Us, James stomped the snow off his boots and then pulled a shopping cart out of the rack. Mikey jumped on the end to ride. Becky skipped alongside.
“You know what thing gives me the best feeling in the world?” she said cheerfully.
“What’s that?” James asked.
“When we come in through the door at Toys ’R’ Us and I see you get a shopping cart instead of just walk on in!” She beamed.
“Yes, you know we’re going to buy stuff then, don’t you?” James said with a smile.
“Yeah, I love coming here with you,” she replied and locked her arms around his right wrist as he pushed the cart.
A trip to Toys ’R’ Us with Becky had always involved a long, slow meander down the Barbie aisle. Often it was just to browse. Indeed James could make a good outing for Becky by doing nothing more than coming to Toys ’R’ Us to admire the fancy Barbies in their special glassed in case, all way too expensive to buy as toys. Equally fun for Becky was browsing through the endless assortment of tiny accessories for a doll who seemed to perennially waver between being a vet or a Playboy Bunny.
“Look,” said James. “That’s a new kind of Barbie horse, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Becky said.
“Wow, that’s good,” James said. “I like that black colour. And see, it’s the kind that goes with the carriage.”
“Yeah,” Becky said. She had moved down the aisle
“Would you like that?” James asked.
“What I’d like is a Bratz doll. They’re in a different aisle. The one I’m dying for has got really long, blonde hair and these cool black boots. Let’s go look at those.”
“When did this happen?” James asked, catching up with her. “Last I heard, you couldn’t stop going on about that Barbie carriage Uncle Joey got you.”
“I don’t like it any more,” she said.
“Any reason?” James asked.
Becky reached for a Bratz doll and took it down from the shelf to look at it. “Well, ’cause Uncle Joey got it for me, for one thing. I hate Uncle Joey.”
Surprised, James regarded her. “Why’s that?”
“I hate him being around all the time. I wish he’d go away.”
“Yes,” Mikey piped up from the end of the shopping cart, “but he isn’t going to. He and Mum are maybe gonna get married.”
“I hate him,” Becky muttered. “I only want you,” she said and put her arms around James.
The New Year’s Eve picnic in front of the fireplace was a great success. Glutted on hot dogs and corn-on-the-cob, their mouths haloed in chocolate and sticky crumbs from S’mores made with marshmallows toasted on the fire, the children snuggled up on either side of James to watch Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. Mikey fell asleep only about a half an hour in, but Becky saw it through, cuddling up close, wrapping James’s arm tight around her.
When the film was over, James carried Mikey into the bedroom, gently undressed him and tucked him in. Becky slid under the covers in her bed.
“Nighty-night, sweetheart,” James said and bent to kiss her.
“Daddy? Can I ask you something?”
“What’s that, lovey?”
“Can me and Mikey come to live with you?”
He smoothed back the hair from Becky’s forehead. “Is something not working out for you at home?”
“I don’t want to live with Uncle Joey. I don’t like him.”
“Why’s that?”
Becky shrugged. “I just don’t. I don’t want him moving in with us. I want to come live with you.”
“I’d love to have you live with me, sweetheart. But your mum and I would have to talk about it, because that’s a big decision. Besides, you’ve got all your friends back there. And Grandma and Grandpa. And the cousins.”
“I know. I wouldn’t mind. I’ve got Morgana here. Her and me have been writing e-mails and really, we’re pretty good friends already, even if she’s littler than me. And if Mikey and me lived here, we could have a dog. I really, really, really want a dog, Daddy. That’s what I want so bad for my birthday. So, please?”
“It’s a big decision. But I’ll think about it, all right?”
“Daddy?”
Sleepily James rolled over. “What is it, Becky? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t sleep.” Her small form was indistinct in the deep night-time darkness of James’s bedroom. “Can I get in bed with you?”
James lifted up the covers. Becky crawled in and snuggled into the curve of his body.
“Brrr, you’re cold,” James said. “Did that wake you up? Maybe we need to get another blanket for your bed.”
“No, I just can’t sleep.”
He stroked her head. “Why’s that?”
“I’m worried about tomorrow.”
“What? About going home.”
James could feel her nodding against him. “I don’t want to leave you. I want to be with you.”
A sudden, terrible thought occurred to him. Perhaps there was a much darker reason for Becky’s behaviour.
“Becks,” he said urgently, “what’s happening at home?”
“Nothing.”
“No, it’s something, Becks. I can tell.”
“Couldn’t you come back to New York?”
“To keep you safe?”
“No, to be my daddy. Because I don’t want Uncle Joey.”
“What’s Uncle Joey doing, sweetheart? It’s okay to tell me.”
“Nothing.”
“But you said you hated him. If he’s hurting you, if he’s doing something, Becky, I need to know. You can tell me.”
“He isn’t doing anything, Daddy,” Becky murmured, snuggling close. “The reason I hate him is just because he isn’t you.”
Children in therapy typically experience small regressions during breaks and holidays, but when Conor arrived for his first session in January, he bounced in enthusiastically and went immediately to the shelves to pick out the box of cardboard animals and brought it to the table.
“Here is the man’s cat.” He set it on the table between them and pushed the little glob of clay against the tabletop to “plug it in”.
“Here is the boy’s cat.” He set his stuffed toy alongside, then briefly glanced up at James.
“Yes, there are our two cats,” James reflected back.
“I can’t have that cat,” Conor murmured. “The mechanical cat stays here.”
James picked up his pen and opened the notebook.
“Is my song still there?” Conor asked, pointing to the notebook. “My cat song?”
“Yes.”
“Read it. Let me hear it.”
James flipped back through the pages until he came to the notes from the last session in December. He read out the words to the song.
When James had finished, Conor gave no response. He just stood there.
At last he turned from the table and walked away, leaving his stuffed toy cat on the table.
“I don’t know what I want to do today,” he said. He meandered over to the windows, then back again to the shelves. Taking one hand from his pocket, he poked a finger at the plastic road sheet, folded up on the first shelf.
Then he went to the dolls’ house. Kneeling down, he opened the back of it to expose the rooms. He reached in and took out the dolls, first the man, then the woman, the boy, the girl and the baby. “There are no animals in here,” he said. “They have no cats.”
He set the boy doll in the uppermost bedroom. “Go to bed. Stay in bed. Don’t get out. You’re always out.”
There were stairs going down through the middle of the house, dividing it into two equal sides. Conor tried to balance the woman doll on the stairs but it would not stand. “I could get clay,” he said. “I could put it on her feet to make her stand up.”
“Yes, that would work. You’ve thought of another good use for the clay,” James replied.
“Look, the bad boy has got out of bed. ‘Get back in bed!’ she said. The mother said that. ‘I can’t stand you like this! Stop your crying. I must take care of the baby.’ Conor moved the mother doll down the stairs and put the baby in her arms.
Taking the girl doll, he placed her in the other uppermost bedroom on the opposite side of the staircase. “Here’s where the girl sleeps. She’s good. She doesn’t get out of bed. But look. Here is the bad boy and he’s getting out of bed again.” He put the boy doll on the floor of the bedroom and then moved the mother doll back up the stairs.
“Oh, You’re a bad boy. You are a bad, bad boy. Why don’t you do as I say? I have other things to do. I can’t worry about you. Why can’t you be good?” Conor picked up the girl doll. “She’s a good girl. Better than the boy.”
“You think the girl is better than the boy?” James asked.
“Yeah. She doesn’t go away to school. She stays in her bed. And now, see, she’s here. She says, ‘How come you don’t stay in bed?’ The bad boy says, ‘I am a machine. Don’t talk to me. Machines don’t talk.’ The good girl leaves. See? She goes down the stairs to where Mummy and Daddy are. That’s okay. Because she doesn’t see any ghosts.”
“Are there ghosts in this house?” James asked.
“Yeah,” Conor replied. Then he rose. “Where are the rugs?”
James raised a querying eyebrow.
“Over here.” Conor crossed to the table and picked up the box of tissues. He yanked one out and went back to the dolls’ house. He lay it on the floor of one of the rooms on the ground floor. “There’s a ghost under the rug. In the downstairs room. The bad boy knows. The cat knows. The cat says … The bad boy …”
Suddenly the play had become too powerful. Conor leaped to his feet and backed away from the dolls’ house. James could hear his breathing grow shallower. The skin along his jawline began to mottle as he stood, mesmerized by the toy figures, and James half-expected him to scream. He didn’t. Turning, he ran to clutch up his cat. Pressing it to his chest, clinging to it, he stood a few moments, panting. Briefly he glanced at James, meeting his eyes. Then he looked down at the table, at the small cardboard cat standing there.
“Zap, zap,” he whispered. Reaching down, he loosened the clay plug on the string and picked the cat up. He walked back to the dolls’ house. Kneeling, he very carefully stood the cat in the middle of the dolls’ house kitchen. He pressed the clay plug onto its printed linoleum floor.
Sitting back, Conor studied his work. Kitty was still tight against his chest. “Zap, zap. Metal cat. Metal fur. Mechanical cat.” His voice was almost inaudible.
Silence.
“Zap, zap.”
Conor reached in and took the boy doll from the upstairs bedroom and put him down beside the cardboard cat in the kitchen. “There’s a ghost here. Under the rug. Nobody can see it. The man can’t see it. The mummy can’t see it. The baby can’t see it. The good girl can’t see it. But the boy can. And so can the mechanical cat.”