by Liam Hurley
"Please. What are we having?"
I looked around at the three pans currently sizzling away, the bread under the grill and the tomatoes in the microwave.
"Everything."
"Lovely. I'm going to take your dad a cup of tea."
She hustled out of the room with two mugs and I continued to chop away. I enjoyed cooking, it gave me a sense of calm. I wasn't the best cook so the fact that I had to concentrate so much made sure my mind never strayed from the task at hand.
Eventually I carried two plates piled high with fried food into the living room. I placed one in front of Mum and took one to my chair. I heard a soft 'tut' escape my dad's lips.
I ate like a stray cat who'd found a rubbish bag full of chicken carcasses. Within minutes I was mopping up my egg with toast to clean the plate.
"Are you going to eat the pattern too?" My dad asked.
"Frank." Mum warned. He retreated back behind the paper he was still somehow reading. "Anyway, presents!"
My mum reached behind her chair and pulled out two gift bags and pushed them towards Dad and I. I jumped out of my seat and walked to the door.
"One sec." I pulled it open.
I jogged lightly upstairs and retrieved the presents for them both from inside my suitcase. I was out of breath from making my way up two separate flights, so took my time coming back down.
I arrived back in the living room to find my dad trying on a new jumper and my mum wrapping a bracelet around her wrist. I went back to my seat and tossed their presents onto their piles.
I began to open mine with low expectations. I knew what I was getting. Something practical. Smart shoes were the normal gift. I picked out the first gift which was obviously a shoe box and unwrapped it. For the second time since coming home I was shocked. Inside was not a dull pair of shoes but a remote-control helicopter. I laughed.
"What's this?" I said looking at Mum.
"Oh, I just thought it was fun." She smiled.
I began to look over the box.
"It's brilliant thanks." I said.
It really was. I unwrapped the rest of my gifts which were more of the norm and then sat back looking at the helicopter. I laughed again.
I tried to appreciate the rest of Christmas Day for what it was. The warm feeling I’d had in the morning carried me through to dinner time and I indulged in a few glasses of red wine. A few glasses quickly became the vast majority of the bottle and by the time I’d polished off the final slice of turkey I was feeling the opposite of merry. The wine had flooded my system and brought the demon to the surface. I was keeping up the smiles and the pretence of enjoyment but inside I was aching.
I’d started to wonder what Christmas Day would’ve been like with Erin. She’d have made an attempt at helping with food but she was never much good at cooking. I would’ve been head chef for the day. I’d have made jokes about her setting the table like she does in work. I wonder what she’d have got me? More importantly I thought about what I’d have got her? Lots of different ideas came to mind as I thought about all the different things she liked. I could’ve got her a gift card for her favourite shop, some new pyjamas, a bottle of prosecco, maybe even book us on a little break. It would’ve been great. But now there was no way I could ever plan ways to spoil her again, and I had no one to blame but myself.
After dinner, my dad went for a cigar on the patio whilst I helped Mum clear the plates away. I washed up in silence as she nattered away about the mince pies she’d slaved over. I nodded and grunted in her general direction but I was being consumed by the thought of the Christmas that could’ve been. I was holding the cupboard door open with one hand and holding a glass in the other. My hand was twinging with pain as I held the glass but I didn’t pay it much notice, I was too lost in my own misery. I stared at the open space between myself and the wall.
“Give me that, you’re stood there like Piffy.” Mum said from behind me.
“Who?”
She grabbed the glass out of my hand and placed it in the cupboard. She turned back around and went back to cleaning the sides.
“Go outside with your dad, go on, you’re no use to me in here.”
I went to argue my case but couldn’t find the energy so trundled away from the kitchen. I jerked the patio doors open and stepped out onto the stone patio overlooking the back garden.
My dad was leant back in a wooden folding chair, with a cigar wedged between his gums. I walked towards him and dropped down into the empty chair besides him.
He looked up as I arrived and then went back to looking over the garden. I pulled my cigarette packet out and popped one into my mouth. My dad tutted as he noticed what I was doing.
“What?” I said.
“Still smoking then?”
“Aren’t you?” I nodded at his cigar.
“I smoke one of these a week, how many of those do you smoke a week?”
“I don’t know, eighty, hundred maybe. But everyone knows cigars are a hundred-times worse than cigarettes so.”
I lit up at the conclusion of my point. My dad sighed.
“So, James, what are you doing with yourself?”
“Oh, do we have to do this?”
“Do what?”
“You know what, you ask me what I’m doing then slate me for it, let’s just cut to the chase and you can have a pop at me now.”
“I’m not asking you so I can have a ‘pop’ at you.”
He even did the little ‘air quotes’ with his fingers.
“No? Well you could fool me.”
The silence hung between us for a moment.
“How the band?” he asked, using the tone of voice he reserves solely to crush my dreams.
“I left it.”
“Why?” he sounded shocked.
I eyed him up and down.
“I had a bad gig, and it’s just not for me anymore.”
“One bad gig and you’ve quit?”
“Why do you care? You hated me being in a band anyway.”
“No, I didn’t. I mean I won’t lie to you and say I thought it was the best career choice, but I never hated it. You like singing.”
“Well, not anymore. I’m retired.”
My dad laughed.
“You’re 25, you can’t be retired.”
“Well I am.”
“No girlfriends on the scene?”
“Nope. Not even a little bit.” I somehow kept my voice level at the same time.
“Why aren’t you living in Manchester anymore? Are your friends still there? Did you have an argument?”
“What’s with all the questions? It’s Christmas not Quizmas.”
He didn’t even smile at that. Erin would’ve. Erin loved puns.
“I’m interested in my son, is that such a crime?”
“No. I guess not.”
“How’s work?”
“Eurgh, I quit, okay, I quit that too. I quit the band and living in Manchester and the job. You happy now? I failed. I failed and I quit.”
I’d stood up now, meaning to head back inside, he’d won again.
“James, sit down.”
I sat back down.
“Yes?” I was trying to keep the plethora of emotions currently bubbling inside me away from the surface.
“You haven’t failed. Tell me why you quit work, you need a job.”
“I... I... had a bad shift.” It was hard to lie to my dad, he seemed to be looking directly into my soul.
“One bad shift and you quit your job, one bad gig and you quit the band?”
“Yeah.”
“Sounds like you wanted to quit.”
“Yeah I did.”
“So why are you upset about it? If it’s what you wanted.”
“Stop analysing me. It’s not that simple.” I said.
“Can’t you get it back, the job, the band?”
“No. No it’s done.”
“Well if it’s done why worry? It’s done.”
He stood up and stubbed
his cigar out and walked across the patio. He clasped the handle and pulled it down. He turned back to me before he entered.
“Are you coming in?”
“In a sec.” I waved my cigarette in the air.
He nodded and pulled the door open before disappearing inside.
I took a deep drag of my cigarette and looked around the open space. Maybe he was right. It was done, why should I be upset? It’s done, it’s all done. The job’s done, the band’s done, Erin’s done. My life was done.
Chapter Fourteen- The Big House
Has there ever been a period of time known to man which takes longer to pass than Christmas Day to New Years’ Day? You lose all semblance of what day it is. It’s just a never-ending cycle of boxes of Roses, Only Fools and Horses and turkey sandwiches.
The fact that I had no concrete plans of what do with the rest of life made the time go even slower. I’d sit in the TV room (I know, I know) and stare at the flashing screen for hours. What on earth was I going to do? The worst bit was I didn’t have any motivation to do anything. I would be quite happy to sit here for the rest of my days, drinking whiskey and crying whilst I watched Noel Edmonds visit sick children.
My dad made a few passing comments to me during this time about ‘getting up’ and ‘helping him in the garden’. That was never going to happen. It was freezing cold out there and he was wrapped up in layers shovelling dirt from one end of the fence to the other. Pointless. My mum tried to broach the subject of work with me, clearly my dad has clued her in, but I kept brushing it off by finding some sort of chocolate-covered distraction.
I was in my new fortress of solitude. I thought the flat above Ronnie’s would be my new life but I was wrong, this was it, whiskey and no rent. Ideal.
Tom and Ryan both text me over Christmas wishing me all the best and asking about my plans for New Year’s Eve. I kindly let them know I was busy but I’d make sure to see them after New Year. I wasn’t going out. No way. I’d sit in on New Year’s Eve, drink myself into a coma and collapse into bed before midnight. A fitting end to a truly terrible year.
My mum however, seemed to have her own ideas about my New Year’s Eve plans;
“Why don’t you come to the golf club with me and Dad? There’s a singer on, I heard he’s very good.”
“Not a chance.” I said, as I turned the volume up and cracked open a beer.
“Why not, it’ll be fun, what else are you going to do?”
“I’m staying in. Here, have a Celebration.”
I threw her one, she snatched it from the air.
“Stop doing that. No, you’re not, you’ve sat in that chair for four days, you’re coming with us.”
“I’m not going out with my mum and dad.”
“Well one day you won’t have a mum and dad. And you’ll wish you’d have come.”
Eurgh, the guilt-trip card.
“Fine. God I’ll come. But I’m not staying long.”
After Mum had put the kibosh on my New Year’s plans, the rest of the week seemed to go a lot quicker. I was frantically trying to find an excuse not to go, but I couldn’t think of a good one. The last thing I wanted to do was spend the night around a load of arseholes talking ‘shop’ and being introduced as ‘Doctor Rowland’s son’.
Once the final evening of the year arrived I started to filter through the clothes I had piled up around my room to find something appropriate. Eventually I went with my ever-tightening black jeans and a plain white t shirt. I had a relatively smart jacket I dragged over my shoulders. I made my way downstairs and with each step considered throwing myself down them to avoid going. I was greeted by Mum putting the final touches to her hair in the mirror besides the front door. My dad was impatiently striding back and forth in the living room twiddling his keys around. He was fully suited-up.
My mum looked up at the sound of my feet hitting the floor.
“Oh James, you’re not wearing a t-shirt, are you?”
“Yes, what’s wrong with it?”
“You look scruffy. Frank, he can’t wear a t-shirt, can he?” she said, turning to my dad.
“I don’t care, we’re going to be late Di.”
Mum turned back to me.
“What about that shirt I got you for Christmas? The checked one, that’s nice.”
I gulped. She was right, it was nice. It also didn’t fasten.
“No, it’s not right for black jeans.”
“Well put your chinos on!”
“Mum we need to go, come on.” I said.
I marched past her and pulled the front door open. My dad followed me out and we arrived at the car just in time to hear my mum click the lock. My dad stuck his keys in his door and pulled the handle. We sat in silence in the car for a moment before Mum pulled open the passenger door and engulfed us in a cold chill.
“Rush, rush, rush, it’s only eight o clock.” She pointed at the digital clock above the radio.
“Yes, it started half an hour ago Di.” My dad said.
He shifted the gear stick into reverse and lifted his leg causing us to roll backwards down the drive.
“Are we going to leave the car at the club and get a taxi back?” she asked.
“Depends. I might only have the one drink.” My dad said.
“But it’s New Year’s Eve Frank, you’ve got to have a drink.”
“I will, I just said, I’ll have one.”
The tension was rising between them. I was sat in the dead centre of the back seat looking back and forth between them like it was the Wimbledon final. I decided to break the tension.
“Well, I’m having more than one. I’m getting smashed.” I was half-joking.
My dad’s eyebrows raised on command. I knew I could bring his wrath my way fairly quickly, at least it would stop him and Mum being at each other’s throats all night.
“You will not. I have some pretty senior colleagues here tonight, I won’t have you making a show of me.”
“I didn’t even want to come to this thing, so I’ll drink all I want.”
“You will not.”
“I will.”
We continued in this pantomime fashion for the rest of the journey. I continued to push his buttons in all manner of ways. I even threatened to sing in front of everyone. A song with ‘plenty of swear words’ I said. Mum smirked when I spoke as my dad’s head grew redder and redder.
We pulled up in front of the golf club and found ourselves in a queue for the car park.
“See, this is why we should’ve left earlier.” My dad pointed to the cars queued in front of us.
I looked out the window at the club. It looked like a large state house. My dad’s previous golf club looked more like a leisure centre, but this one seemed much more up-scale. It almost looked like a ski-lodge. There were flood lights pointing down onto the gravel drive we were stationed in which illuminated the white brick on the front of the club making it glow in the darkness.
My dad was drumming his fingers against the wheel with impatience. He kept looking out at the drive and shaking his head. I was toying with the idea of winding him up further when what looked like a small child pulled open the driver’s door and popped his head into the car.
I almost threw the second punch of my life, fearing we were being robbed by this extra from Rugrats, but before I could even consider clenching my fist a warm smile broke across the youth’s face.
“Ah, Dr. Rowland!” he said.
“Timothy.” My dad chimed back at him.
“Mrs. Rowland.” He said with a smile at my mum.
“Hello.” She replied.
He then turned his attention to the backseat. He raised his eyebrows at me.
“Don’t worry about me, I just came with the car.”
“What?” he said.
“Ignore him.” Said my dad. “So, they’ve got you lot doing valet service tonight?”
“Yeah me and two other caddies.”
“Well thank you Timothy.”
Timot
hy stepped backwards and allowed my dad to get out the car, he then raced around the back of the car and ripped open my mum’s door. She smiled politely at him and stepped out too. I realised then I too wouldn’t be subject to this treatment as Timothy had clearly taken my dad’s advice. I pushed my door open and dragged myself out from the seat.