Snow Balls (Ball Games #2)

by Andie M. Long

  I thought she'd let me off seeing as I've cooked dinner.

  'You need to set the table before you bring in the food.’

  I huff and return to the kitchen with the plates. Then I grab some cutlery. I return to the dining room and put out placemats, knives and forks.

  Then it’s back again with the garlic bread and barbeque chicken, followed by the meat feast and ham and pineapple.

  'So who is having which pizza?' asks Dad.

  'I'm just going to get more plates, but it's all for sharing,' I say.

  'Erm Tyler. Sorry but I'm vegetarian. I could have sworn I saw a four cheese pizza on the side. I'm sorry.' Lindsay shrugs her shoulders. She’s half biting her lip.

  Fuck. Off course she is. I have my lunch with her most days. 'It didn't fit in the oven. I'll put it in now,' I say. Back to the kitchen I go.

  'Could we have something to drink Tyler?' adds my mother.

  I ask what everyone wants to drink. My mum wants a glass of red wine. Lindsay wants a coke and my dad wants a cup of tea—strong, not the usual piss water you give me.

  I run back to the kitchen, get four plates and take them to the table. I head back to put the other pizza and second garlic bread in the oven, but as I'm at the door my mother talks again.

  'Tyler did you not warm the plates? The food will cool quickly.'

  Why on earth my mother pisses about warming plates up before she puts food on them, I do not know. She either sticks them in the microwave or warms them on the hob. What a waste of time and energy.

  I put the garlic bread and four cheese pizza in. Right, eight to ten minutes and fourteen to sixteen minutes. I stick the kettle on, take a red wine from the wine rack and pour a glass for mum. Then I get the coke and pour a glass for Lindsay. Back to the room I go with the cold drinks.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ says my Mum. ‘Are you okay? You appear a bit hot and bothered.’

  ‘Really?’ I shrug. ‘I’m fine Mum.’

  ‘Great,’ she says, her jaw set.

  I head straight back to the kitchen and stick a tea bag in a mug. I slosh the boiled water over it and then stir it with a spoon, trying to get the water to darken as fast as I can so I can eat with everyone else. Finally, my Dad’s brew is made and placing it on a mat in front of him, I take a seat.

  'Could you get the napkins out?' asks my mum.

  'We usually use kitchen roll,' I complain.

  Mum apologises to Lindsay and turns to me. 'Well, if you want to serve your guest kitchen roll to wipe her mouth go ahead, but when I entertain, I get the best napkins out of the third drawer down in the kitchen.'

  I slam my seat back and stomp into the kitchen. She's doing this on purpose. I seethe, denying the fact that my mother does everything she's asked me to do, every single mealtime.

  I distribute napkins and sit down. I notice that Lindsay hasn't eaten anything yet.

  'Do you want a slice of garlic bread?' I offer her the plate.

  'The thing is…' she breaks off.

  'What?'

  'I'm intolerant to garlic and onions. I can't eat them. They make my IBS flare up.'

  'IBS?'

  'Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Tyler,' my mother explains, 'now don't embarrass the girl further, just get her something to eat.'

  'It's in the oven. It'll be another eight minutes.' On checking my watch, I notice it's time to get the garlic bread. 'Excuse me I'll be right back.'

  I walk into the kitchen with a strong sense of déjà vu. Opening the oven door the cheese only looks the slightest bit melted and the garlic bread doesn't look cooked at all.

  'Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me,' I yell. I haven't switched the oven back on. I reach for the opened bottle of wine. It's not my usual tipple but I need a fucking drink.

  Now I've got time to eat but I feel guilty that Lindsay doesn't have any food. I remember my mum keeps crisps under the side so I get a bowl out of the cupboard and stick in some ready salted.

  I place a smile on my face as I walk back into the dining room.

  'Did we hear you shouting?' asks my Dad.

  'Me? No. Everything's good.'

  'Well our pizza was very nice,' says my mum. 'Thank you. Could I have a top up?' She hands me her glass.

  My knife is in danger of not being used for its intended purpose.

  I collect the wine from the kitchen so my Mum can drink to her heart's content, firstly having another generous swig myself.

  My mother looks at the wine bottle and then at me but says nothing. She doesn't need to. I can tell most of Mum's facial expressions.

  My dad's tucking into the crisps I'd put on the table while I got the wine.

  'Oh no, Dad. They were for Lindsay.'

  Dad looks at me. 'You never said.'

  I sigh. 'No, I'm sorry.' I move the bowl. 'Here Lindsay. I'm sorry your dinner is so late. I got you something to be getting on with.'

  We look at the dish together. There are three crisps left in the bowl.

  'S'okay. I can wait,' she says charitably.

  I sit down and pick up a piece of pizza.

  'It's gone cold.' Because I've been in and out of the kitchen every three bloody seconds and haven't finished yet.

  ‘That’s why you needed to warm the plates, love.'

  I swear if my mother smirks one more time... I bite my lip to prevent myself from screaming.

  'Anyway, why did you cook the food in two separate parts?'

  'There was only room for four things, so I cooked three pizzas and a garlic bread.'

  'Did you not use the top oven?'

  I hold my hands up and shake them at Mum, 'What top oven? The grill? You can't grill pizza, can you?'

  'It's a grill and oven, love. You can use it as an extra oven if you need it. You just turn the switch to the other side. That's how I cook our pizzas when we're all at home.'

  ‘Watch how you’re acting around your Mother, son,’ adds Dad.

  My hands return to my side. I think I'm about to cry but the smell of burning assaults my nose. The other garlic bread. I rush back to the kitchen.

  My mother comes rushing in behind me. She throws on oven gloves and extracts the garlic bread, throwing it onto the back doorstep. Then leaves the door ajar and opens a window. I watch as she gets a plate out, warms it on the hob and takes out Lindsay's pizza. She slices it neatly and even pulls some green leafy stuff out of the fridge and sticks it on the top.

  'Take that in for that poor starving girl and grovel,' she says. 'I'll sort in here out—while I still have a kitchen.'

  Tail between my legs and feeling about six years old, I give Lindsay her pizza.

  She smiles at me. 'Oh look at the basil on top. I love basil.'

  I smile back as I realise that tonight might have been a total ball ache but I reckon my mum won't want me back in the kitchen anytime soon. Result.

  I invite Lindsay up to my room. My father insists we keep the door open. Like we’ll go at it like rabbits if the door’s closed. I switch on my computer and put JackSepticEye on YouTube. After I've been laughing and guffawing at it for about ten minutes, I realise that Lindsay hasn't said a word. I turn around and she's asleep. Her head on my pillow, she's zonked out.

  While she’s napping, I head downstairs to grab one of Dad's beers. I walk into the kitchen to find my mother pressed up against the kitchen island, my father behind her. Their lower halves are thankfully obscured by the pots and pans hanging from the island on my side.

  'Seriously.' I roll my eyes. 'I have my door open, dudes. Not cool. So not cool.'

  I get a beer from the fridge, then think of my Dad's current predicament and get two.

  'I'll be in my room suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with the door firmly closed. Lindsay's fallen asleep. I'll wake her up in thirty minutes if she hasn't stirred by then.'

  I walk out and back to my room. How fucking gross is that? In the kitchen, for God’s sake. If oldies have to do it at all, it should be behind closed doors. Walking back
to my room I look at Lindsey sprawled out. I have a real female on my bed and I'm too grossed out over the visual currently burned in my brain to even perve over her.

  'Lindsay. Lindsay.'

  'Errrrwwwhaaatt, eeehhhh, whheerramI?' Lindsay looks up at me with a frown on her face. Then she sits up quickly.

  'Why am I in your bedroom?’ She puts a hand up. ‘Oh. Oh. It's okay. I remember.'

  She lies back down and looks at me with one open eye.

  'Sorry 'bout that. I didn't sleep well last night.'

  'You missed seeing Jack.'

  'No, I really didn't. I saw about three minutes and that's when I laid back and nodded off. Is that what you spend your time doing? Watching other people playing games?'

  'Yeah, he's so funny.'

  'So you play games and you watch people playing games?'

  'Yeah.'

  'Oh-kay. How many nights a week do you actually leave the house?'

  'Friday night is beer and pool night with my mates. Sometimes I do the same Saturday night, but I don’t have a lot of spare cash, so I’m in a lot.’

  'So the rest of the time you're on your own playing games?'

  'Pretty much.'

  'Have you got a piece of paper and a pen?'

  'Why?'

  She makes a shooing motion with her hand. 'Just get me some paper and a pen.'

  I scramble around finding a felt-tip and the back of a flyer.

  'Will that do?'

  'Yup.'

  She tears the flyer in half and scribbles something on both. She passes me the first piece of paper.

  GET A FUCKING LIFE YOU SAD BASTARD is scrawled across it.

  'Lindsay. That's rude. I'm not sure I want the other piece of paper.'

  'Tough.' She hands me the other one.

  IOU. One night out to help you not be such a sad bastard. Expires in three months, like your current tenancy.

  'Funny, aren't you?'

  'Better than tragic. Right.' She moves. 'Thanks for the pizza, eventually.'

  I bristle and she winks.

  'Joking. Was alright for a first attempt. Just a shame the fire brigade didn't have to come out. I quite like a man in uniform.'

  As she heads for the bedroom door, I jump in front of her, stick my head out and shout, 'Lindsay's going now.'

  I hear movement from downstairs.

  Lindsay pushes me out of her way. 'Personal space. You heard of it? Flipping deafened me, weirdo.'

  'They'll want to say goodbye.'

  'I could have popped my head round the door.'

  Yeah but you might have seen something else popping its head out.

  'Night, Mr and Mrs Turner. Thanks for letting me come and visit.'

  My parents emerge. My mother's hair looks mussed.

  'It was lovely to see you again, Lindsay,' says my mum. 'You see, I didn't realise Tyler knew any real people. I thought they were all virtual.'

  I roll my eyes and open the door.

  'How did you get here, Lindsay?' asks my mum.

  'The Number sixty-nine bus.'

  I snort.

  'For goodness sake Tyler. That's been the main Rotherham bus number for all these years and you're still sniggering like you're twelve? Walk Lindsay to the bus stop. It's cold and dark. I can't believe you were letting her go home on her own.'

  'I'm fine, really, Mrs Turner.'

  ‘Call me Dora, Lindsay. I’m not actually Mrs Turner, officially.’ Dad gets a glare for never having married her.

  ‘Oh, okay. Well thanks Dora for letting me come for tea.’

  Lindsay walks outside. She pulls her coat around her tighter. It must be freezing out. I don't want to leave the lovely centrally heated house.

  Before I can mull it over any longer, my mother pushes my coat into my arms and bumps me with her hip. I follow Lindsay.

  'I'll walk you to the bus stop then,' I tell her.

  She giggles. 'Your mother’s so funny.'

  'If you like her, she’s yours. Free of charge.'

  'No thanks. I have all on with my own. Mine's a right misery. Yours is fun.'

  'She's embarrassing. I don't know what possessed her to dye her fringe blue. She's old. She should behave.'

  We reach the stop just as the bus comes round the corner.

  'Night, Tyler. Can't wait to see what happens to you next.' She kisses my cheek and jumps on the bus.

  'Yeah, glad you find my life so entertaining. Who needs Netflix?' I shout after her.

  She walks down the aisle and sits by the window. I watch as the bus pulls away. She waves. I raise my hand and return the wave. Then I leg it back to my warm house and switch on the Xbox, cursing that my fingers are numb.

  Chapter Four

  It's time for Operation Jennifer. I put on a sad face and walk into the kitchen holding my interview suit in my hand.

  I sigh. 'Morning Mum.'

  Her eyes glance over the suit. ‘Is something important happening?'

  'Kind of. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about increasing my hours at work,' I lie. 'So I thought I’d ask Donna today but I need to look the part. The trouble is, you haven't taught me to iron yet so I’ll have to wear it creased.' I sigh again. Then I peer up at the clock on the wall, ‘Oh my God is that the time? I can’t arrive late they’ll never give me extra hours.’

  Mum rushes towards me. 'Pass it here. Get showered—quick. I’ll do it this once since it's for a good cause.’ She waves me away with her hand. ‘Go on, shoo.’

  Bingo!

  I have a quick shower then check my emails while she irons.

  At work its twenty questions about why I'm dressed to the nines just to sit behind the till. With all the excitement about a suit, I swear these people have nothing else in their lives. I explain I've got to go to the bank at lunchtime to get some financial advice.

  Lindsay listens to my spiel, raises an eyebrow and walks away.

  At lunchtime, I head straight for Henderson's Bank. My sister's boyfriend, Dylan, is the Assistant Manager there. I ask the receptionist to find him for me.

  Dylan rubs his jaw. 'Everything alright, Tyler? Is Camille okay?'

  'Eh? No idea. Just wanted to ask your advice about something. Have you got time or should I make an appointment?'

  'Oh, okay. Well, come through to the desk. I was about to head to the staffroom for lunch but would you be okay if I eat a sandwich while we chat?'

  'Sure.'

  I follow him to his desk. It’s weird seeing him all dressed up in a suit instead of his usual jeans. He looks important seated behind his computer screen. That’s the image I want to show.

  'Well, I must say, I'm surprised you're here, mate. I thought you'd put up some resistance to your mum's eviction notice.'

  I shake my head from daydreaming. 'Erm, what?'

  'You being here. It’s about a mortgage, right? I'll see what appointments we've got open so we can get your application up and running. Good idea to get your approval in advance. Have you decided against renting then, or are you keeping your options open?'

  Dylan types into his computer screen.

  Whoa. What's he on? Mortgage application? I came in to ask if Jennifer was single and get the low down on her. I look at my feet. Think I’ll make my excuses and go. I’ll ask about her another time.

  'Right. You don't work Friday's, do you? So Friday… at ten am.'

  'Er Dylan, sorry I disturbed your lunch—'

  'Only that's the only appointment Jennifer has free that day.'

  My mouth’s still open from being in mid-sentence, so Dylan doesn’t note my dropped jaw. 'Jennifer? The appointment's with Jennifer?'

  'Yes, Jennifer Lambert. Do you know her?’

  ‘She comes in the shop.’

  Dylan nods. ‘Right. Well, she deals with our mortgage applications. She'll get you the best deal. Fab girl. She'll spend ages with you to make sure you understand the application. Really goes the extra mile.'

  God, I hope so.

  'Ten am it i
s then. Thanks, Dylan.’

  ‘No problem. Now, is that all mate, cos I'm dying for a cup of tea?'

  'Oh yeah, sorry about interrupting your lunch. Erm, in case something comes up… what days does Jennifer work? Is she part-time, got kiddies like?'

  'God, no. Party girl is Jennifer. Full-time contract but sometimes her hangovers don't wear off until about eleven am.'

  'Well, I'm sure Friday morning will be fine. Thanks, Dylan. Enjoy your cuppa.'

  'See you mate. Give your sister a call sometime will you? She's dying to know what's happening since your mother gave you your eviction notice.'

  'Will do.'

  On my way back from work I treat myself to a Gregg's sausage roll. I have a date with Jennifer on Friday. Hmm, I'd better get my mother to wash and iron this suit. I'll need it again.

  I love heading up to my room on a Wednesday evening because I can stay up until whatever time I like. No work on Thursdays. No alarm to set. Mum and Dad both work on Thursdays so I get the house to myself. It's perfect. This Wednesday, I stay on the computer until around three am when I finally decide I need to sleep.

  Beep-beep-beep-beep. I stir. What’s that sound? There's an unfamiliar beeping noise in my ear. Shit. Is that the smoke alarm? Are we on fire? I sit up quickly and scan the room for my lounge joggers and tee. There's no way I'm standing outside the house if it's on fire with no top on, not in the middle of winter. The noise is getting louder and shriller. Bip-bip-bip-bip-bip. Where the fuck is it coming from? Nightwear on, I follow the noise downstairs, walking cautiously and staring just ahead. The noise leads me to the kitchen worktop. It's not a smoke alarm but a tiny alarm clock. One of those pound shop specials, a small square white noise box. I hit the top of it. Underneath is a piece of lined paper ripped from a spiral jotter. As I pick it up, flakes of paper float off. I read my mother's writing.

  Morning Tyler. It's nine am. Enough of a lie in for a weekday I think. It’s time for you to realise that there's no such thing as a day off. Yes, you can relax, but only when the chores are done. Therefore, I'm giving you an insight today into a day off for me, seeing as you seem to think I watch box sets all day.

  I left the dishes last night. You enjoyed the meal. Let's see if you enjoy cleaning the dishes as much. After I've stood in the kitchen for an hour cooking, I then watch as everyone takes no longer than ten minutes to eat. Often you or your father will moan about some of it not being perfect. I then go into the kitchen and wash up after you all. Well, today you can see what it's like to be me. Enjoy tackling the congealed pots.