Page 55 of Big Nick Energy
‘That’s Nate. You’ve met Sofia and this is Zita, George and Evie.’ I wave at Evie who looks up at me from a baby walker. Zita leans against the counter with a rolling pin; an older teen, she looks at Nate with her eyebrows raised, grinning. George, meanwhile, is about eight and has a face full of pizza. I’m not sure he’s registered I’m in the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nick warning Zita not to say a word to embarrass him, also trying to remove the superhero cape from his shoulders and struggling with the fastening.
‘Hi Kay!’ she says, grinning. ‘Are you the book lady?’
‘If that’s the name that I’ve been given then yes, I am the book lady,’ I say curiously, wondering how my name weaved its way into conversations in this kitchen. I take in the half-eaten/made pizzas on the counter and a light dusting of flour that seems to cover all the countertops and tables. It’s a mess but one that shows fun has been had by all. I notice a pizza cruststicking out of Evie’s clenched fist. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner or whatever sort of pizza party this is.’
‘You’re not interrupting,’ Zita says. ‘Stay. Uncle Nick, get her a drink. You’re a terrible host,’ she jests. He slides her a look again and I grin to see him being told what to do by a teenage girl. ‘I’ll just have a water,’ I say.
Zita watches him as he moves around the kitchen quietly. ‘So what are you two discussing?’
‘You don’t have to answer her questions!’ Nick shouts, getting a clean glass out of the dishwasher.
‘It’s fine. I’m here to discuss a book drive with your uncle. He’s helping me.’
‘Of course he is,’ Zita jokes, and I hear Nick slam a cupboard door, glaring at her. I smirk to see his niece try and wind him up.
‘So you are all… family?’ I ask, trying to diffuse the tension.
Zita nods. ‘Mine and Sof’s dad is Noah. I think you met him the other day. But we’re a small selection of the nephews and nieces in the family,’ she explains.
‘Selection?’ I ask.
‘Normally there are seven of us.’
For some reason, I let out a little chuckle when she says this.Oh, she was being serious.‘And you all live in this house?’ I ask.
‘Nah. It’s just an Uncle Nick day. He picks up the little ones from childcare and school and then he lets us all hang here until our parents can come get us.’
I pause as she says this.Don’t think about that too much, Kay.But it’s almost like trying not to look into the sun. Nick has a day dedicated to him where he looks after all these kids like some sort of professional manny. I watch him go over to baby Evie, pull a face and kiss the top of her silky baby head.I didn’t see that, that had no effect on me whatsoever.
Zita pulls out some dough and tops it with tomato sauce from a pan. ‘Sofia, you want olives?’
‘Yes please,’ she says. I look down and see Sofia still gazing up at me. She pulls me over to a table to sit down. She watches me as I unravel my scarf from my neck and take off my coat. ‘Do you like olives?’ she asks me.
‘I love olives.’
‘Then I like you. You can share my pizza.’ I like how her standards are so low. ‘What have you asked Santa for, for Christmas?’ she asks me.
‘Strangely enough, olives. Hundreds of them.’
She giggles. ‘Do you want a glitter tattoo? I have a whole box of Christmas ones. You can choose which one you want.’
‘Then I don’t see how I can say no. What do you have?’
A glass of water appears in front of me on this large wooden dining table. ‘She says this as if she has a catalogue but really she only has candy canes,’ Nick says, coming to sit down.
‘Then you can match Uncle Nick!’ she cheers. I notice the teens at the kitchen counter trying to hold in their giggles.
‘Also, she says that likeshe’sgoing to apply it, but really I am the tattoo artist here so I will have to do all the work,’ Nick continues. He sticks his tongue out at her, but it does little to change this girl’s affection for him. She comes and climbs on to his lap. I see why he’s so good with kids now, the man has had practice. But it’s seasoned practice – not something that has come out of obligation but love for all these little people in his family that he obviously holds dear. Sofia adjusts herself on his lap and rests her head in the warmth of his chest.
‘You don’t have to do this. In case you need to preserve your arms for anything else. A tattoo is a serious commitment,’ he says dryly.
I shake my head. ‘No, please do proceed. I have given this a lot of thought.’ I put my arm down on the kitchen table.
‘Turn it over so it’s in the same place as Uncle Nick’s,’ Sofia directs me.
‘Sof, big old bossy boots,’ he says, but that makes her giggle all the more sweetly.
He runs three fingers along my forearm, almost stroking the skin and I try to distract myself by smiling at the child in his lap. He places a sticker on my arm, pressing it down and then using a damp sponge to wet the paper, holding it there to soak it through. Is his hand shaking? I hope not. No one likes a nervous tattoo artist.
