Ash

Dad’s car isn’t in the drive any more. Probably just as well. Cos if I saw him right now I’d probably do something stupid – something I’d regret for the rest of my life. I leave my bike out the front and go inside, run straight upstairs to the back bedroom.

The room looks like nothing’s been touched. All the sheets are pristine, like no one’s been here, like Dad didn’t come back with someone. Like I imagined it all. I begin to doubt myself. Maybe I did imagine it.

I turn and leave the room, go back down the stairs, into the kitchen. I heard Dad in here earlier. The draining board’s empty. I open up the dishwasher and pull out the drawers with a dull clunk. Nothing in there except the plates from last night, a couple of mugs and the breakfast stuff from this morning. No sign that anyone’s been home during the day. I shove the drawers back, close the dishwasher. And then I just stand, staring, not really even thinking. Lost. Empty.

After a while I go over to the cupboard, grab a pint glass and fill it with water. Then I head back up the stairs to my room and shut the door behind me. I go over to my iPod and switch it on, turn it up loud.

A bit later I hear the front door shut and Mum putting her keys down on the worktop in the kitchen.

‘Ashley, I’ve got your tea here,’ she shouts up the stairs.

My mind is made up. I wait a second, try and prepare myself. Not that anything could prepare me for this. And then I go downstairs, taking each step slowly. As I get to the bottom the smell of Chinese takeaway hits my nose. Mum’s in the kitchen, getting plates and bowls and cutlery out, opening takeaway cartons. She looks up and smiles as I walk towards her. I think about coming straight out with it. Telling her now. I open my mouth and try and think what to say. But I can’t do it. Maybe it’s the smile on her face. Maybe I’m just too much of a coward. I don’t know.

‘You OK, Ashley?’ Mum says without looking at me. ‘I got some takeaway in.’

I look at the food so I don’t have to look at Mum. ‘Chinese?’ I say, cos I don’t know what else to say.

‘Yeah. Barbecued ribs, sweet and sour pork, special fried rice, beef in oyster sauce,’ she says, pointing at each of the cartons. ‘Thought we could have a treat. Your dad won’t be back till late as usual, I expect.’

I look up at her for a second, expecting to see a look in her eye, like maybe she knows what I know about Dad. But she’s not even looking at me, she’s just scraping the food into bowls. I walk past her. ‘Do you want a drink?’

‘Yeah,’ Mum says. ‘I’ve been dying for a coffee all afternoon.’

So I grab the kettle and fill it, take it over to the side and plug it in. I fetch two mugs and the jar of coffee and spoon some into each cup. And then I stare out of the back window into the garden. My mind starts to wander, about what happened today. About the bag. About Dad. It’s been some shitty day. And it can only get worse.

‘Penny for them,’ Mum says.

I turn round. ‘Uh?’

‘Your thoughts,’ Mum says. ‘Penny for your thoughts. You were miles away.’

I nod and smile, but it isn’t a real smile. I try and think of something to say. Do I tell her now? I look away from her. ‘Just thinking about exams and stuff,’ I say.

Mum smiles. ‘Listen,’ she says, ‘don’t you worry about that. Whatever grades you get, we’ll both be proud of you.’

Which is a lie. I know. Cos Dad has been on my back for weeks about revising and making something of my life. But I smile back at Mum anyway, or at least I try. ‘I know. Thanks.’

Mum goes through to the lounge carrying a tray of Chinese food. I stare out the back door at the garden, wait for the kettle to boil, cursing myself for not saying anything to her. When the kettle boils, I make the coffee and carry the mugs through to the lounge.

‘Thanks, love,’ Mum says.

I put my mug down and help myself to some food. Normally if Mum had brought Chinese home for tea I’d pile my plate high cos I love Chinese food. But right now I don’t feel hungry. I don’t feel like eating at all.

Mum’s put the TV on. There’s some talent show blaring out. I sit and watch as I try to eat. There’s a man on there juggling chairs. It looks impossible. He drops one and then they all come tumbling down to the ground. He gets buzzed out by the judges.

Mum laughs. ‘That wasn’t very good,’ she says. ‘You at least should have rehearsed if you’re gonna go on national telly.’

I nod my head. Although, to be honest, I couldn’t give a shit about talent shows. They’re lame.

I scoop a forkful of special fried rice into my mouth as the next act comes on. It’s a father-and-son act. They say they’re gonna tap-dance. Jesus.

‘Oh, I like these,’ Mum says, watching the screen, her fork hovering above her plate.

‘Mum,’ I say.

‘Yes?’ she says. She keeps staring at the screen as the dad and his kid tap-dance.

‘What time’s Dad gonna be home?’

Mum doesn’t answer. I don’t know if she’s even heard me – she’s just staring at the screen and smiling. ‘What?’ she says. ‘Oh, your father? I don’t know. Late, I should think.’

I don’t say anything. I just think. She can’t have a clue what’s going on, what Dad’s really up to, otherwise she wouldn’t say it like that, would she? She’d be angry, bitter. She’d feel like I do.

‘Why’s he always working late?’

Mum sighs. She turns and looks at me. The adverts come on the TV. ‘To keep his business afloat,’ she says. ‘It’s not easy running your own company.’

I sigh. I want to go over to Mum and shake her. I want to shout the truth at her. I don’t want to keep this secret on my own. I want her to know.

‘Sometimes he comes home at eleven at night, though, Mum,’ I say. ‘He can’t be working right through till then, can he?’

Mum takes a sip of her coffee and puts the mug back down on the side table. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, who else is gonna be around at that time?’ I say. ‘What business can he be doing?’

Mum raises an eyebrow. ‘There’s lots he can be doing,’ she says. ‘Accounts. Phoning clients in America. All sorts.’

I sigh. I can’t believe she’s defending him. I have to tell her. She turns back to the TV as the next act on the dumb talent show starts. ‘Mum,’ I say. My voice comes out uneven.

‘Yes,’ she says. She doesn’t look at me.

‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

She still doesn’t turn round.

‘Something important.’

Mum turns to look at me. She smiles.

I open my mouth. ‘I . . .’ I stop. I don’t know how to say this. ‘I . . . Dad . . .’

Mum sighs. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Spit it out. I’m missing my programme.’

I look down at the floor. I can’t believe I can’t say this. I never have a problem with words. They always come easy to me, they’re always just there. They usually come out before I’ve even had a chance to think about them.

And then I hear Dad’s car pulling into the driveway.

Mum turns and looks out of the window at the drive. ‘Speak of the devil.’

I get up. There’s no way I can tell her now. I run up the stairs and shut my door just as I hear the front door open and Dad come in.