Morrison Adams Circles of Subterfuge collection

by H A Dawson

After the session, her father entered the room and had a brief conversation with Sarah before entering into a conversation with Matt about the martial arts kit. He was particularly interested in gum shields, as he had seen some on the internet at a cheap price and needed advice. Since I had moved away and was standing by Matt’s bag, Matt asked me to extract the ones he used.

  I crouched down and unzipped his bag. I couldn’t see them for all the other paraphernalia and rummaged through the contents. Then I stalled. I’d found the gum shield – that didn’t perturb me - but I also noticed a small plastic bag containing white pills.

  ‘Can’t you find it?’ Matt asked.

  I jerked out of my concentrated stare, grabbed the gum shield and hurried to Matt. I didn’t listen to their conversation and remained in a worried state gazing at my feet and imagining all kinds of horrors relating to his possible future.

  Eventually, their conversation ended, and Sarah and her father left the room. As soon as they were out of earshot, I turned to Matt and passed him a worried stare. I intended to broach the subject of the pills, but he had other ideas and was in a hurry to get to the changing room. I knew he had realised my intentions as his expression had turned grumpy and anxious, so I yanked him to a standstill and told him not to ignore me.

  Matt glared. ‘I’m not speaking about this now.’

  ‘So you do know what I’m going to say.’

  He did not reply.

  ‘Why do you keep disregarding what I have to say?’

  ‘Because it’s not your business! Haven’t I supported you enough regarding your father? I’ve been there for every second you’ve needed me and I’ve not questioned your motives.’

  I gasped. ‘So you think I have to do the same back! Matt, they’re entirely different subjects.’

  ‘That might be true, but the end result is the same. I support you and you support me.’

  ‘I would support you if you’d thought through what you’re doing, but you haven’t. I get that you’re ambitious, but at what cost? What you’re doing is wrong! So wrong!’

  ‘I don’t have time for this.’ He opened the changing room door and stepped inside. ‘Do you want a lift home or not?’

  I hesitated. I did, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend a second longer with him than was necessary. Yet should I refuse his offer of a lift, I would have to hire a taxicab to get home, and that aside, I would appear petty and immature. As he had said, he had been a massive support over the last days and weeks. Did that count for nothing? I decided it should, and caught his eye and nodded my appreciation.

  We met fifteen minutes later in the entrance lobby. Whilst the tension between us remained, we managed to be civil with neither of us mentioning what I had discovered in his bag. However, by the time we approached my home, I could hold back no longer and initiated the conversation by telling him I didn’t enjoy arguing with him. He must have sensed what was coming, as he didn’t reply and passed me a tense glimpse.

  ‘I’m trying to accept what you are doing is your business,’ I said.

  ‘It is,’ he interrupted.

  ‘But it doesn’t stop me from worrying. I’d hate it if you made a fantastic career for yourself for it to come crashing down.’

  ‘That won’t happen.’

  ‘I hope not because the repercussions would be immense. You’d be ruined, Matt. Why take the risk?’

  ‘Who said anything about taking a risk?’

  ‘Despite what you might think, there’s always a risk.’

  He did not respond and stopped the car outside my house.

  ‘Please just think about it. That’s all I ask.’

  ‘And if I go against your wishes?’

  ‘I’m hoping you’ll see sense.’

  His expression tensed. ‘So you’re right and I’m wrong.’

  ‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘So what did you mean, Kelly?’

  I unbuckled my seatbelt and placed my bag on my lap. I was too tired to have this conversation and regretted ever starting it. I had hoped to smooth out our differences. The last thing I wanted was to progress our dispute. ‘Can we not do this?’

  Since he didn’t respond, I reached for the door handle to leave the car.

  He stopped me midstream. ‘Don’t I get a kiss?’

  I hesitated and passed him a pained look. How could he disregard our issues so easily? Did our differences mean nothing to him? Clearly, I meant more to him than he did to me. It was a sad reflection of the state of our relationship, making me wonder if I was making everything worse by not ending it.

  It was time to speak out. ‘Is this working?’

  ‘Of course, it is,’ he said in an unexpected perky voice. ‘Why can’t we have a difference of opinion? It’s normal, isn’t it? In fact, it would be less normal for us to agree all the time.’

  He continued to speak in a convincing manner by progressing onto other positive aspects of our relationship. He also made a joke about my refusal to kiss him. It was a pleasing moment and I couldn’t help but smile.

  It was only when I’d left the car and was opening my house door that I reflected on that fact that he had prevented me from instigating our breakup. He must have known what I had been intending to do and he was desperate for it not to happen.

  It was disappointing, causing me to realise that I was going to have to try harder next time. I couldn’t string him along for any longer and needed to do what was right. However, the more I thought about it, the more I felt my reluctance rise. I didn’t like the thought of him not been there for me over the days and weeks to come.

  My family was about to undergo a terrible time.

  I needed Matt beside me. I needed my best friend.

  Chapter 8

  I had just finished my shift and was due a few days off. Since I was planning to spend the following day at Benholt and I wanted a little time to myself thereafter, I had agreed to see my mother today. It suited me perfectly and would help me relax, after which I would nap for a few hours before trying to get back into a different sleeping routine. I smiled at the thought. I was glad I didn’t require the regular eight hours sleep every twenty-four hours, otherwise, I’d feel terrible.

  My mother was an early riser too, and since she worked a flexible shift as a supervisor to a team of Data Entry clerks in a bank’s Information Technology department, she’d arranged for a few hours off. My visit suited us both.

  I took a taxicab to her home, but on the way, I’d realised that I’d forgotten to post a couple of letters, so, I vacated the taxicab at a local post box a short distance from her house. I suppose I could have popped out, delivered the letters, and returned to the taxicab to continue my journey, but in my fatigued state, I didn’t give it consideration. Not that it mattered; it was a beautiful morning with bright sunshine and a clear blue sky, and with birds singing in the nearby trees.

  I walked through an alleyway to approach my mother’s house via a rear entrance and listened to a car door slamming, the happy chatter of children, and an engine initiating. Then, as I strode along the street, I gazed through the house windows and absorbed sleepy looking children flopped on a sofa eating cereal, and a woman carrying out an exercise routine on a mat.

  Despite having worked a shift system for a few years, I still found it strange that my day was ending when other people’s was beginning. Rather than feeling saddened by the notion that I was missing out on a day of sunshine, I felt blessed to have the extra time to do things. When I worked the day shift, I woke early – usually about four o’clock in the morning – and lay in bed passing the time. I didn’t like the wasted time, but neither could I motivate myself to get up and do something. At least, when I worked nights, I had a reason and one that it usually involved seeing people.

  I was close to my parent’s home, and to save time, I strode down a track passing the neighbouring houses, my intention to enter their property by the rear gate. As I neared my destination, I heard the sound
of voices, and one of them was male. I couldn’t see who was chatting, but it was apparent from the increased volume of the male that the discussion was growing intense. From what I could gather, he wanted contact with someone. I assumed the other person was denying his request.

  I opened the rear gate. As I did so, I heard a female voice telling the man to leave. I recognised the woman immediately. It was my mother and the two of them were speaking at the front of the house. Curious, I pushed shut the swing gate and hurried along the path leading to the front. When I got there, the man had departed, presumably in his car since I couldn’t see anyone in the street, and my mother was striding from the front gate back to the house. Her expression was anxious, her head low and her shoulders slumped.

  I called out her name.

  She jolted and looked up. ‘Where’ve you come from?’

  ‘The back. The taxicab dropped me off at the post box. I had letters to deliver.’

  She hurried inside.

  I followed on behind and dropped onto a chair. ‘Who were you talking to?’

  ‘No one.’ She filled the kettle with water and flipped the switch. ‘It’s not your concern.’

  ‘It’s a bit early for visitors, isn’t it?’

  She did not respond and holding a fixed stare, grabbed a mug from the cupboard and added coffee and milk.

  ‘Did he want to speak to Dad?’

  She shot me an angry glance ‘Like I said, it was no one.’

  I looked at lap and mumbled my apology. It wasn’t no one. It was someone important, someone who troubled her immensely. Was it one of Dad’s landscaping customers? It seemed logical but as far as I was concerned, it didn’t justify her panicked state - unless, of course, there were legal implications or a lot of money was involved.

  As far as I could remember, after the onset of Dad’s illness, one of his key workers had taken over the running of the business. Given it was someone who had been employed by him for years, I believed him trustworthy and capable of handling difficult customers. Although I suppose if someone wanted to sue Dad, then he would need to speak to him in person.

  I gazed sidelong at my mother. She remained unusually quiet as she poured the water into the coffee mug, presumably thinking about the stranger at the door, and passed it across. Her obvious distress bothered me. It was regrettable that she didn’t feel able to speak to me, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She had suppressed her emotions where Dad’s heart problems were concerned as well. Dealing with issues privately was her way.

  ‘You can talk to me, Mum,’ I said.

  She shot me a troubled glance. ‘About what?’

  ‘Anything. I’m not a little girl anymore and I don’t need protecting.’

  She went to the fridge and extracted bacon and eggs. ‘Do you want beans too?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘You can make yourself useful and get two croissants from the breadbin and put them in the oven. It should be hot enough by now.’

  I did as instructed, then returned to my seat. I felt frustrated that she wouldn’t speak to me about her troubles. She wasn’t the easiest person to communicate with. It was probably the reason I’d always been closer to my father.

  The thought of him caused a moment of sadness to wash over me. I didn’t like thinking of him living his days in a hospital bed. He would be far better at home, where he could occupy his mind. And the man at the door was unlikely to have created extra stress. ‘It’s only business,’ he would have said. ‘Not life or death.’

  ‘Was the man at the door one of Dad’s customers?’ I asked.

  ‘What?’ Mum said, spinning around.

  ‘Dad is good in a crisis. Perhaps you should let them speak.’

  ‘He wasn’t a customer,’ she said and placed the bacon and eggs into a sizzling frying man. ‘I don’t know where you get your crazy ideas from.’

  I held a determined stare. ‘But he was after Dad, wasn’t he? I couldn’t hear everything, but I heard enough.’

  Mum didn’t respond, and hurried from the kitchen and proceeded upstairs. Passing me by, she asked me to keep an eye on the food and added she would be down in a few minutes. She didn’t give me a reason for leaving. If I had to make an educated guess, I would have said she was avoiding my questions.

  Why did I worry her so much? I wasn’t acting harshly nor making unfair judgements. I would be on her side, regardless. Surely, she should know that. Yet it seemed as though she didn’t trust I’d respond in a manner she approved of, as she had made it clear that she wasn’t going to share her concerns; hence, my decision to stop pursuing the matter.

  I continued with the meal preparations while periodically glancing through the hallway and listening for sounds of movement. I hadn’t heard the toilet flush, nor had I heard her footsteps, and wondered what she was doing. Since the food was ready, I decided to go find her.

  I progressed up the stairs. The bathroom door was open but her bedroom door closed. I wasn’t certain what to do, and pressed my ear to the wood and strained to listen. Yet I learned nothing; there was no indication she was speaking to anyone on her phone, nor could I hear any muffled whimpers.

  I tapped on the door. ‘Mum?’

  Since there was no response, I opened it up and peered inside. My mother was perched on the opposite side of the bed apparently doing nothing.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said and stood up. ‘Is breakfast ready?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then we’ll eat.’

  Her voice was chirpier than it had been, yet it seemed false. Of course, I could be reading too much into her puffy skin tone and the stress lines on her face, but I didn’t believe I was. Nevertheless, given her obvious reticence to speak out, I let her believe I wasn’t concerned and dished out the food while speaking in the most cheerful voice I could muster.

  It took a while for my mother’s tension to dissipate and the tone of her voice to sound more relaxed. When she did, my immediate thought was to raise the subject again, but clearly, it would be a silly thing to do. Instead, I spoke of my father and told her how during my visit at the weekend we had watched a few of my childhood videos.

  ‘He said you had.’

  I stilled and wondered what else he had shared.

  ‘He said you still have his computer.’

  ‘Matt has it. I intended to collect it from his flat but I haven’t got around to it. Does he need it?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Just drop it in when you can.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Have you seen him since the weekend?’

  ‘I popped in briefly after my shift a couple of days ago, but I didn’t stay long. He wasn’t fully awake and the nurse wanted to give him his meds.’

  ‘I’m sure he appreciated seeing you.’

  I smiled. ‘He did. I popped in during the night too whilst I was on a break. He was sleeping like a baby.’ I studied her plaintive stare. ‘His skin tone is looking a bit brighter.’

  ‘I think so too. The rest is probably doing him good.’

  ‘Is the meeting with his team going ahead today?’

  ‘It’s been put off until tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, how come?’

  ‘Staffing problems I believe.’ She passed me a strained stare. ‘Don’t go getting your hopes up, Kelly. Your father is a sick man.’

  I was stunned. ‘You’re giving up on him!’

  She grabbed the dirty plates and carried them to the dishwasher. ‘I just think we should consider the possibility that there might not be a solution for him.’

  ‘Of course, there will be! Aside from his heart, he’s a healthy man. That has to count for something.’ I paused to consider her visit to see the cardiologist. ‘Do you want me to go with you?’

  ‘It’s not necessary.’

  Together, we cleared the table, putting sauces and the condiment set into a cupboard in the kitchen and placemats into one in the oak dresser. Then I folded the lace table
cloth and laid it across the end of the table putting it in its usual place under a vase of flowers.

  As we passed into the lounge, I remained lost in thoughts. I was desperate to draw Mum out from her gloom, but I dreaded making things worse. Yet the more I thought about it, the more I realised I had little to lose. She wasn’t the type of woman to fall out with me for long. In addition, if I was brave, I might learn something more about the stranger who’d appeared on the doorstep, as for a reason I couldn’t fathom, his presence seemed significant.

  I glanced at my mother who was sorting through a pile of magazines. ‘I’m sure Dad’s cardiologist has a plan for him,’ I said. ‘We mustn’t think this is the end.’

  She shot me a worried glance.

  ‘They can do so much these days. And as you said, he’s a survivor. If anyone can get through this, it’s Dad.’

  She did not reply.

  ‘You must miss him being around.’

  ‘That goes without saying. But it’s worse for Bruce. He’s bored-sick in the hospital. I think that’s why he wanted his computer – so he could occupy himself with something.’

  ‘I thought you said he’s not bothered.’

  ‘Did I?’ She perched on the edge of the armchair, her eyes carrying a worried look. ‘Perhaps I did.’

  Her comment confused me as did her nervous reaction having realised I’d caught her out. I wondered if she knew Dad was trying to track down Bex and that she didn’t want it to happen. Whilst it seemed plausible, when I reminded myself of my father’s comments relating to her ignorance, I dismissed my notion as fanciful.

  ‘I hope they do make a positive decision for him,’ I said. ‘It’d be a huge boost for him to be able to return home.’

  ‘So long as he doesn’t get drawn back into training again.’

  ‘I agree.’ I paused. ‘There again, his fitness is what’s likely to have kept him alive.’

  ‘It could have also pushed him over the edge.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He said he was feeling tired on the night it happened. If he hadn’t insisted on going to the sports centre, and if he’d rested as a sensible person would have done, we might not be in this position.’