Man Of Few Words

Chapter 43

It took Dad quite a long time to come back from the toilet. I pictured him struggling to relax because of the pressure of recalling then having to tell the story of his earliest memory. I actually laughed a little at the thought, breaking the stiff silence between Mum and I.

"What?" she said, forcing a smile and batting her eyelids.

"Nothing," came the reply, and she accepted it.

"Right," announced Dad with affected enthusiasm as he re-entered the room, the plumbing still swishing and swashing behind him.

"This had better be good," Mum teased. "You've kept your audience waiting."

"Yes... well..." said Dad, faltering already, "Anyway, I was born at the Royal Buckinghamshire Hospital on Sunday, the 13th of February, 1949."

If this was supposed to impress me and Mum, it didn't. We both knew he was stalling.

"It's a nice hospital, but not as grand as it sounds," Mum interjected. "Your father's not a prince!"

Mum laughed, then quickly tailed off and cleared her throat.

"Your earliest memory, Dad?" I urged gently.

"Well," he began, then paused as if this wasn't taking long enough already, "I'm not sure if this really is my earliest memory. You know... but something that came to mind was... silly really..."

Mum and I resisted the urge to interrupt, but we both tried to hurry him along by staring intently at him.

"So, er..." (has he always been like this?) "When I was a boy, there was a very old house opposite the pub in the middle of the village. You remember Woodmount, don't you? Where we used to visit Grandpa Desmond..."

He seemed to be slowing to a halt, so I nodded briskly in an effort to spur him on.

"So yes, this old house was being... I want to say it was being done up, but it was almost being rebuilt really. They were working on it for a very long time. Anyway, I remember standing and watching the men working on the house. They didn't seem to mind. And the thing that stands out for me was seeing one of them squirting Fairy Liquid into the cement mixer. I thought it was very strange. You know, I thought... was he washing dishes in there?"

"Why was he doing that?" Mum seemed genuinely curious.

"I don't know," Dad admitted. "I didn't really ask questions. I just watched."

And so the conversation continued, in much the same vein. Stilted, but not without warmth. They both shared more childhood anecdotes, revealing their least and most favourite teachers, and the most trouble they ever got into at school, and the crushes they had, and the bullies they hated...

After I think almost two hours of this, I suddenly started to feel very tired. Dad was just beginning a story about what he claimed was an ingenious method of feigning illness so as to avoid school on a rainy day, when I made to stand up, and wobbled as I did so.

"Are you okay, David?" Mum gasped.

I didn't say anything. Just stood there in a shaky, stooped position, waves of dull nausea and pain casually drifting through me.

"Markus!" Mum said quietly but urgently.

I heard the leather of dad's chair creak as he got to his feet. Still staring at the floor, I saw him approach in the corner of my eye. I held out my hand and weakly waved then pushed him away. Then I took a deep breath, cautiously stood up straight, and shuffled out of the room without saying anything.

"David..." Mum began.

"I think it's best to j..." I think I heard Dad saying as I made my way to my room.

There I lay, but didn't really sleep. After an hour or two a soft, apologetic knock came at the door, and Dad peered in.

"Your mother would like you to know that dinner is ready," he said.

I just nodded.

"You can have it in here if you want. I'll bring it on a tray."

"I'll come later," I murmured, barely audibly.

"Need anything else for now?"

I just about shook my head.

"Okay..."

He closed the door.

I got up much later, after Mum and Dad had gone to bed, and helped myself to some leftover sausage casserole and mashed potatoes. It was good, even if it was cold. I actually ate all of it and didn't feel sick afterwards.

After eating, I watched TV with the sound muted, channel hopping 'til my eyelids got heavy and I dozed off. Then I dragged my half asleep self to bed, where I slept a little more before deciding to seek out this here antiquated PC.