Man Of Few Words

Chapter 53

The morning after Dad's revelation, I was up pretty early. About 8, I think. I was feeling nauseous but hungry, so I helped myself to some dry corn flakes and dry toast accompanied by a weak cup of tea with no milk and three sugars.

There was no sign of Dad anywhere. I could vaguely remember hearing him moving about at some indeterminate time of night, but I hadn't heard him getting up in the morning or going out. So I assumed he was still in bed having a very uncharacteristic, but understandable, lie-in.

There was still a faintly boozy smell about the downstairs of the cottage, so I decided to go out for some fresh air. I walked through the centre of the village, observing miserably that much of it is exactly the same as ever, while simultaneously feeling betrayed whenever I saw anything that had markedly changed. The primary school has a whole new block tacked on to one end, all of the shops are now just houses, and the seesaw at the rec has been replaced by something... there were no kids playing on it as I walked past, and I couldn't honestly figure out what exactly they would do with it. I assume that whatever it is, it's safer than a seesaw.

Still no sign of Dad when I got back, so I just sat alone in the living room, flicking between TV channels with the volume down too low to actually be able to make out anything that was being said.

I'd stopped channel-hopping for a few minutes and was watching some kids' show about a grown man with no adult friends who's apparently deliriously happy all the time, when I heard the front door opening. I saw a figure on the other side of frosted glass of the door to the porch. It was too small to be Dad.

Mum opened the door part way, peaking around it with an optimistic smile on her face. Then she announced herself using an unusually bright and breezy tone,

"Hel-looo!"

"I've picked up some freshly baked bread," she almost sang as she made her way inside and positioned herself in the middle of the living room, "and some fancy cheese and ham. I thought we could have a ploughman's lunch. Where's your father?"

"I think he's still in bed."

"What? It's..." she looked at her watch. "It's half past eleven."

She marched to the bottom of the stairs,

"Mar-kus!"

"Mum... don't," I pleaded, raising my voice a little. "Please, just come back in here. I'll... do you need any help getting anything in from the car?"

She stood staring up the stairs for a few moments, then sighed and slowly returned to the living room.

"What's going on? Is something going on?" She had her hands on her hips.

"That lunch sounds great, Mum. Really." I sounded desperate. "But I think we should just leave Dad alone. Please."

"What is it, David?"

A large part of me wanted to tell her to fuck right off for talking to me like that, but I just took a deep breath and kept my cool.

"It was a rough night last night," I explained. "I'm really tired, and really hungry. The bread's in there, right?"

I gestured towards a carrier bag she'd brought in with her and placed on Dad's armchair.

"Smell's good," I tried to smile. "It's making me really hungry. Come on, I'll tell you what happened over lunch. We'll save some for Dad."

Reluctantly, and with obvious suspicion, she agreed.