Man Of Few Words

Chapter 55

Look, I'm just going to try to sum up my last couple of days at Mum and Dad's house before I forget what even happened.

Over lunch – and yes, it was really good ham – I told Mum what had happened. Well, actually I asked her if she knew about the accident, starting with the vaguest, most general details and very carefully narrowing it down until I had an idea of what she did (and didn't) know about it. Then I basically told her, "Yeah, well he told me that."

I don't think she knows that Dad was fingering his girlfriend at the time he killed her, but maybe she does know and would prefer not to talk about. But I don't think she knows. I think Dad and I might be the only people who do.

She did tell a few things that Dad hadn't mentioned though. Neither he nor the other driver were charged with anything, nor did either lose their license. The police investigation concluded that there wasn't enough evidence of wrong doing by any driver, and neither tried to blame the other. It was a narrow road with poor visibility. Accidents happen.

Based on what dad told me, I reckon both drivers fucked up and knew it, but made an unspoken pact not to point fingers. Not to finger each other, if you will.

I'm not even sorry for that joke. I'm terminally ill. I get to have a morbid sense of humour. It's one of the only benefits.

Mum said that Dad had told her that Wendy's family had been particularly understanding and sympathetic towards him. She said that talking about them seemed to particularly upset him, but she wasn't sure why. I think I can see why.

But I didn't tell her that, or any of my other theories. I just played it as ignorant as I could then, when I felt like the whole "Dad's big crash" conversation was drying up, I asked her to bring me back to London as soon as possible. She seemed a bit taken aback, but agreed to do it the following day on the condition that Dad had pulled himself together by then.

She actually didn't seem that bothered that he was hiding in the bedroom. "He gets a bit like that sometimes," she said in a matter-of-fact sigh. He eventually emerged some time in the middle of the afternoon while Mum and I were quietly watching something incredibly boring, but cosy, on TV. He went to the kitchen where he ate alone and in silence, then he joined us in the living room to make small talk and mumble inane observations and questions about the TV programme. Mum responded curtly but gently each time. I didn't say anything.

When the show finished, I wobbled to my feet and announced that I was going out for one last look around the village before I went back to London "tomorrow". Dad didn't seem to react at all to me mentioning that I was getting the hell out of Dodge.

I didn't give a shit about seeing the village again. I just needed to not be in the house. I went wandering all over the place. I even went to Cullingdon and pottered about the school grounds. It was dark by the time I got back. I ate a few slices of bread with nothing on it, then went to bed.