Precious Little - Chapter 2

            My mum opened the door and greeted me with the kind of sad smile people give each other at funerals.  It was the first time I’d seen her since the breakup.  She was wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon and as she reached out to drag me into a hug, for some reason I got the idea she was going to hit me with the spoon and I winced in preparation for the pain that didn’t come.  My mother is a small, slight woman and it hurt my back to bend down to hug her.  She planted a dry kiss on my cheek, said ‘Welcome home boy’ and slapped me several times very quickly on the back with her free hand.

            ‘Thanks mum’ I said, straightening up.

            ‘What have you been buying in Selfridges?’ she said, rooting around in the bag I was still holding.

            ‘Nothing mum.’

            ‘What’s this wire?’ she said and held it up looking confused.

            ‘I don’t know mum’ I said.  Already I wanted to get out of there.

            ‘Well why have you got it?’

            I thought about not telling her but then decided I would.

            ‘I met Amber this morning.  She wanted to give me some of my stuff that she’d ended up with.’

            ‘Oh right’ said my mum and made a face.  ‘So what’s this wire?’

            ‘I don’t know!’ I said and closed my eyes.  ‘She thought it was mine but it’s not.  But I took it anyway.’

            ‘Okay’ she said, smiled that smile again and turned and walked back down the hall to the kitchen and went in.

            The house smelled of chicken roasting and the musty smell of family life.  From the kitchen I could hear Radio 4 chattering away and from the living room, I could hear the crowd noises and earnest commentary of a football match or something on the TV.  It was all the same.  I could have been fifteen years old again, or ten, or five or back in the womb.

            In the hallway, the photos of me and my sisters at our First Holy Communions stared back at me with childish piety.  My big sister is a few years older than me and my little sister is five years younger.  But there we all were, all seven years old, together on the wall but years apart, hands together, all beaming next to the same mournful statue of the Virgin Mary.  Even at that age, my big sister smiled like she knew something.

            My dad stepped out of the dining room, his hands behind his back like a butler at a formal reception.  He was smiling, his face just one big crease.  There was a serenity about him like he was on something.  I smiled back.  He brought a hand up to stroke my shoulder.  Sometimes words fail my dad and half hearted physical contact is all that will do.

            ‘Hi dad’ I said.

            ‘Welcome home son’ he said and bowed his head like he’d used up all his words he had to offer.

            ‘Is Karen home?’ I stammered, struggling to kick-start the conversation.  Karen is my little sister.  She still lived at home.

            My dad’s eyebrows raised and his eyes widened and he nodded.

            ‘Mmmmm.’ he said.  ‘But she split up with her boyfriend last night.’

            ‘I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.’

            ‘Wayne’ my dad said.  ‘She’s not in the best spirits today.  So I know she’s looking forward to seeing you.’

            I smiled and nodded like the understanding big brother I am.  But really I was thinking that the idea of listening to someone else’s emotional crisis wasn’t what I wanted to be doing.  I wanted to be leaving.

            ‘What did you buy from Selfridges?’ my dad asked, looking at the bag and recoiling a little like it was something foreign and strange.

            ‘Nothing’ I said and took a deep breath.  ‘Nothing.  I met Amber this morning and she gave me some stuff she thought was mine and just happened to put it in a Selfridges bag.’

            My dad shrugged and nodded, his eyes wide and innocent.  I smiled and he smiled back and everything was okay.

            I headed to the kitchen to see if I could help.  My dad hovered just outside the door, either because those were his instructions or because he didn’t want to be too close to the action and have to help.  My mum took a long drink from a large water glass and gasped

            ‘Gin?’ she offered.

            ‘No thanks.  I’ll just have a cup of tea’ I said and made a move towards the kettle.

            ‘I’ll do that’ my dad said and dived in front of me like he was taking a bullet.  Tea was obviously something he thought he could manage.

            Karen stomped down the stairs in a big grubby hoody with the hood up.  It was clear she’d been crying because, well, she was still crying.  She walked up to me with her arms outstretched and her face contorted in a silent wail and hugged me.  I put my arms round her and could feel her sobbing and couldn’t help wondering how this was going to affect my new t-shirt.

            ‘Oh, what a pair we are’ she sniffled.

            At least I’ve got my dignity I thought.  But didn’t say it.

            ‘Hmmmmm’ I said.

            She broke off the hug and held my shoulders at arms’ length.

            ‘How are you?  How are you holding up?’ she asked, her eyes wide and sincere.

            I knew she wanted me to crack up and pour my heart out to her but that wasn’t going to happen.

            ‘I’m sorry about you and...’ I paused while I remembered, ‘Wayne.’

            She looked away and shook her head as if recalling some great tragedy.

            ‘How long were you together?’ I asked.

            ‘Just two weeks.  But it really felt like something special’ she said.

            She was still looking away and it was just as well because I could not stop my face contorting in disbelief, my mouth open, my eyes squinting.  Six years.  Six years Amber and I grew together then fell apart.  Two weeks?  Not to belittle her grief, but what a fucking charade.

            I composed myself and said, ‘Ah well.  “The course of true love never did run smooth.”’

            ‘I think it’s path.’

            ‘What?’

            ‘I think it’s “the path of true love never did run smooth”’ Karen said.

            ‘Okay’ I said and I smiled and hugged her, even though she was wrong.

            My dad handed me a cup of tea.  I took a sip and gagged a little as I swallowed it.

            ‘Has this got sugar in dad?’

            ‘Just one’ he said.  ‘Do you not take sugar?’

            ‘No.’  And I added ‘Sorry’ for some reason.

            ‘No!’ said my dad and stared at me like he was arguing.

            It seemed tea was not actually something he could manage.

            ‘Don’t worry about it’ I said and laughed a little.

            ‘Here, I’ll make you another one’ he said and reached out to take the mug.

            ‘It’s fine’ I said and moved the mug out of reach.

            ‘You sure?’

            ‘Absolutely’ I said and smiled and he seemed to relax.

            I went into the living room and sat down.  Karen came in.

            ‘What did you buy in Selfridges?’ she asked.

            After dinner we sat around in the living room, stretched out on chairs, feet crossed at the ankle.  We were all full and drowsy from too much food and we half watched something on TV.  My eyes kept closing.  Mum had cooked a ton of roast potatoes because she knew they’re my favourite and even after everybody else had finished eating, she was offering them to me for seconds, thirds and fourths.  I kept eating them because she’d made them especially and she kept offering them because I kept eating them.  I’d eaten so many potatoes I felt sick.

            Whenever my dad laughed at anything on the TV, he looked to see if my mum and my sister and I were laughing too.  I didn’t find anything funny but I smiled whenever I felt him looking over.  In response to my dad, my sister put a hand up by her face and played with her hair as if shielding herself from the eyes of someone she didn’t want to talk to.  My mum sat in an armchair on her own reading a book.  When my dad explained the jokes to her she said ‘yes dear’ and didn’t look up.  She always claimed she could concentrate equally on book and TV.  It wasn’t true.

            ‘How’s the new place?’ my dad asked, realising at last that he couldn’t force other people to derive the same pleasure from the TV as he did.

            I’d just moved into a new flat in Wood Green, North London.  It wasn’t an area I knew all that well but it was close to Crouch End where Amber and I had lived for a few years.  It was the first time I’d ever lived alone.  And all said and done, I was quite enjoying myself.

            ‘It’s fine.  It’s a nice flat’ I said.  ‘And the areas not that bad.’

            He nodded.

            ‘Oh my god,’ started Karen, ‘my friend George lived in Wood Green for a year while he was studying at Mountview, y’know, the drama school there?  Anyway, he said it was actually the worst year of his life and he absolutely hated it.  He was actually mugged by a man outside the law courts there.  I mean, can you imagine?  How awful.  And the irony of being mugged outside a court’ she said and shook her head as if cutting irony is as dreadful as street robbery.

            I wasn’t even sure if this was irony so I zoned out and thought about that while she rambled on about how terrible my new home was.

            All through dinner Karen had regaled us with stories about her friends, none of whom I’d met or heard of and who sounded like the most dull, self involved people in the world.  Mum feigned interest by making all the right noises while my dad wolfed down his food like a kid who knew that the sooner he finished his dinner, the sooner he’d be allowed out to play.  I occupied a space somewhere between the two, aiming for tolerant politeness. 

            But I’d had enough.

            ‘Right’ I said, getting to my feet.  ‘I’d better be getting home.’

            From the way Karen glared at me, I could tell that I’d interrupted her.

            ‘Thanks so much for dinner.  And thanks for having me.  Lovely to see you all’ I said.

            They all followed me out to the hall and watched me put on our shoes and jacket and we all mumbled things about seeing each other more often.  We hugged and said goodbye and my dad handed me the Selfridges bag, which I was on the verge of forgetting.  I was hoping that one of them would offer me a lift to East Croydon so I could get the fast train to Victoria but nobody did.  So I trudged off in the dusk to Wallington Station to catch the slow train homewards, hoping I didn’t meet anyone I used to know along the way.