Man Of Few Words

Chapter 41

The clock on the computer screen says 02:08. It's not 02:08. I can hear the faint sound of breakfast radio through the closed door of the study, along with the occasion tinkle or clank of the first meal of the day being served.

I woke up a couple of hours ago, and just lay awake for a while, not enjoying the darkness and silence exactly, but comforted by it somehow. Then, as I heard Mum and Dad stirring and beginning their day, I quietly slithered in here and sat down to write.

As I mentioned before, the window here looks out onto the dense foliage of the back garden so there isn't much to see outside, and it's quite gloomy inside even on a clear, sunny day like this. At least, I can see enough sunlight breaking through the canopy to assume that it's that kind of day. I haven't actually checked.

I'm not sure how long I've been here at The Cottage. Two or three days, I guess. This is the first time since arriving that I've slept at anything resembling a normal time. I seem to be attuning to Mum and Dad's routine already. They said something about both taking a few days off work to spend time with me. I'm not sure I like that idea, but they seem to be leaving me alone for the most part, resisting the urge to nag, pester and interrogate me. This is surprising, especially from Mum.

So, anyway, what happened on that first day? How was progress made?

Well, shortly after we arrived, all five of us had a light meal together. There was muted conversation over the kitchen table, but it was all very safe. Mainly Mum asking routine questions about the kids, and how they're getting on. I was gently invited to participate in the conversation, but the focus of attention was never on me. I did join in when we were all agreeing that Harriet – who's pregnant, if you remember – isn't showing yet.

After lunch (I think it was lunch) and the obligatory cup of tea for everyone, Hat and Mat left, and Mum, Dad and I sat down together in the living room. It wasn't cold, but I remember Dad lit a fire anyway.

Then I remember Mum looking at Dad, and him glancing back at her, clearing his throat and saying to me,

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Yes, actually," I said. "Can you tell me about yourselves?"

They weren't expecting that. They looked at each other again, awkwardly, quizzically.

"I just want to know more about you both. Honestly. Really."

Dad cleared his throat again.

"Well, er... what exactly...? I mean, where do we begin?"

Mum breathed out heavily, trying hard to affect a positive air.

"I... I don't really know what you mean, darling," she said.

I looked directly at her, eye-to-eye, for the first time in a while. Definitely the first time since we'd sat down in the living room. Probably the first time since I'd arrived. Possibly the first time in years.

"Let's start with you, Mum. Just start at the beginning. Tell me about as far back as you can remember."

They exchanged looks again.

"I don't need to hear the whole story from start to finish. Just start there and we'll see where the conversation goes. I..."

I wanted to say "I want to get to know you" but it felt like it would be too hurtful to say it out loud. To them and to me. Unnecessary too. So I just raised my eyebrows and opened my hands as if to say "Off you go..."

And, after some more awkward glances, throat clearing, shifting in seats, and some exaggerated thinking sounds, off she went.