May 1982
I watched as Mommy sank the knife into the chocolate cake, some of the icing lifting up, like the way our new lawn had curled as Daddy laid the squares of grass down like carpet. I had helped him, only yesterday.
“Shouldn’t we wait?” I asked, going over to the sink again, pushing up on my hands to look out the window.
She gazed at the clock, her face all scrunched. “We’ve waited long enough. I don’t want you eating too much chocolate right before bed. You’ve got school in the morning.”
“But it’s only seven o’clock.”
She pushed one of her curls away from her eyes. “No buts,” she said, removing the candles one by one. I gazed at the little holes they’d left in the top of the cake.
“He said he’d be here.”
“He says a lot of things he doesn’t mean.” She set the cake slice before me.
I ate it slowly, looking at the image on the plate, a Batman and Robin one that Daddy had got me from a vintage shop. It was rare; we only used it on special occasions. Robin in yellow and green, running, and beside him, also running, was Batman in lilac and purple, his cape spread out behind him, so much bigger than Robin’s.
Since getting the plate, lilac and purple had become my favorite colors. I had my room painted the same shades, even though Mommy wanted me to have peach.
“I think we should have waited,” I said.
“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” she replied, picking up her cup of tea, slipping an arm around her waist. She often had a bad tummy, said it was her nerves, but I didn’t know what she had to be nervous about. Maybe we should have found a role for her in Gotham City. I’d thought of that before and asked her, but she didn’t seem keen on the idea. So I didn’t think it was that.
I finished eating, eyed the cake, hoping for more, but she was gazing into space.
“Don’t worry. I know he’ll be here,” I said, looking at the 11 Today! banner that he’d hung up this morning. Why would he put that there if he was going to miss my birthday tea? “He never lets me down. He’s a superhero.”
I knew as soon as I’d said it that it was wrong.
She glared at me as though I had sworn. And then she raised her hand and slammed it down on the table, rattling the cutlery. “He’s not coming! Do you hear me?”
“Yes, he is!” I shouted. “He’s going to be here!”
She reached forward, gripped my arm, staring at me so hard I thought my eyeballs would pop. “This has to stop. You’re a big girl now, old enough to know the truth. He’s not a superhero and this isn’t a game. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said. “Because he’s only Robin. I’m Batman.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” She clenched my arm so tightly I whimpered. And then she recoiled, covered her face and began to cry, shoulders shaking.
I didn’t know what to do. She was wearing a poofy dress and had done her hair and makeup especially and all I could think was that Daddy was missing it, and my birthday.
I climbed down from my stool, went to her side, rubbing her back the way I saw Daddy do when Grandpa died, and then the doorbell rang. “He’s here!” I clapped my hands, jumped up and down.
She lifted her head in astonishment and then her expression changed and she looked worried, but I wasn’t waiting—I was running out of the room, hurtling down the hallway. She was calling after me, but I was running so fast, legs like lightning, imagining my cape behind me.
Flinging open the door, I prepared for Daddy to lift me off my feet and throw me into the air.
I stopped. It wasn’t him. It was a lady with a mop of frizzy blond hair, wearing a black-and-white stripy sweater that went all the way down almost to her knees. “Hello,” she said, looking past me as though I wasn’t there. “Is your mom home?”
I didn’t answer, closed the door a little bit. I was looking at her earrings—big silver crosses. I wondered if she was scared of vampires. She was definitely scared of something. She was very twitchy.
“Hello?” she said, going on tiptoes to see over me. “Did you hear what I said?”
I nodded. “Moh-om?” I called over my shoulder, but she was already there, had come up quietly behind me, her makeup all streaky. I didn’t want anyone to see her like that, so I swung around, blocking the frizzy woman, reaching up to wipe Mommy’s face.
To my surprise, she looked so upset by my doing this I thought she was going to cry even more, but she didn’t. She did something even stranger. She got down on her knees, gazed up at me, straightening my sweater, holding my arms. “You’re my everything,” she whispered. “Whatever happens, never forget that.”
She was scaring me. “What’s wrong?” I whispered.
But she just stood up, brushed off her knees, smoothed her dress, then opened the door fully. “Can I help you?”
The frizzy woman linked her hands together, shifting her weight from one foot to another, the way the school dinner ladies did when they were waiting for us to hurry up and choose sprouts or leeks. “I’m Sara,” she said.
“I see. And you’re here because…?”
She didn’t have time to reply because suddenly there was a screech of tires and Daddy was bombing up the driveway, wheels spinning, gravel flying. I knew he would come!
I pushed past Mommy, past Frizzy and ran toward him. But he didn’t seem to notice me. He’d even left the engine running, the car door open, in his hurry. “Alice!” he was shouting, his face all crinkly. “Alice, don’t listen. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s nothing!”
What was nothing? It wasn’t nothing. My chocolate cake was waiting. My sausages had gone cold. We had waited and waited. “Daddy?” I felt all hot and itchy.
Mommy was wringing her hands, as though she didn’t know what to do. I stood in the middle of the driveway, watching as Daddy tried to calm Frizzy down, who was wriggling, screaming. “That’s not true, Robin! Tell her! Tell her!”
“Stop it!” he shouted, trying to pull her away from the door.
“What’s going on, Robin?” Mommy was saying. “Who is this woman?”
I wanted to tell him to come inside and eat tea with us, but I couldn’t move or speak. Frizzy was still screaming, her voice piercing the sky.
“Tell her! Or I will!” And then she started pounding him with her fists.
I wasn’t going to have that. I sprung forward as fast as I could, about to cannonball her, when Daddy swiped at me, flicking me away as though I were a wasp. I started to cry.
“You’re a disgrace!” Mommy shouted. “How dare you?” And then she held her hand out for me and I ran to her and she pulled me inside the house, slamming the door.
There was a second of silence when I thought the house might crack in two and then Mommy started crying, pacing the floor. I didn’t know what to do, except crumple to the floor, howling. That seemed to activate something in her and she lifted me up, carrying me upstairs to the quiet of my room, setting me down on the bed, the sheets cool against my legs. “I’ll be right back,” she said, crossing the landing to the bathroom.
The pipes began to screech as she ran the bath. I could hear Frizzy still screaming, Daddy’s growly voice. And then the sound of tires, a car driving away.
I went to the window in disbelief. He was leaving? I could see a puff of blond hair in the seat beside him. What about my birthday? What about my tea? “Mommy?” I called, my voice breaking.
She returned, joining me at the window, reaching for my hand, clasping it. I bit my lip, my skin feeling all itchy again, heat rising up my neck the way it did when I was about to hit the baseball hard. And then I turned and ran from the room, taking the stairs so fast I nearly stumbled.
I was in the kitchen before she could stop me, before I could stop myself. My plate was still there, full of crumbs, smeared with icing. I lifted it as high as I could and let it drop onto the stone tile floor. It cracked in two, but that wasn’t enough for me. I picked the pieces up and dropped them again, watching them split into shards. And then I burst into tears. What had I done?
Batman and Robin were in pieces: green, yellow, lilac, purple. I fell to my knees, clutching the biggest piece, the one where our hands were almost touching. We wouldn’t be able to fix it. It was ruined.
There was a movement behind me as Mommy knelt down with the dustpan and brush, sweeping up the mess. “It’s okay,” she said. “We can find you another one.”
I sat on the floor, hugging my knees, my face hidden. “I don’t want another one.”
She cleared everything up. We had some more cake, watched TV. She ran me a bubble bath, got my nightie out of the cupboard—the one that crackled with static. She kept everything normal, to our routine, even though everything was off, like our house had been propped up on a brick.
When she turned out the light, I stared into the darkness, straining for the sound of Daddy’s car returning, until I couldn’t stay awake anymore. And I knew then, as I was crossing over into sleep, leaving my birthday behind, that I wasn’t ever going to be Batman again.