Brushing the biscuit crumbs from the quilt, I turn over and lie on my side. Paul has suggested I have ‘a nice bath’ but I don’t want to move because if I do then this all becomes real. If I lie here and think hard enough about her then maybe I can bring her back.
I close my eyes and I’m back in that house. I must’ve been around eight. We’re sitting round the table waiting for him to come home from the pub. I’m chatting away to fill the silence but my mother and Kate are just looking at each other. I can see the fear in their eyes. I’m not stupid, despite what they think. Mum’s cooked a chicken pie from scratch. It was perfect when it came out of the oven but that was three hours ago and now it sits in the middle of the table getting cold and dry.
‘Oh, this is ridiculous, Mum,’ cries Kate, slamming her hands on the table. ‘We can’t just sit here all night. It’s almost nine o’clock and I have to do my history homework. Just slice the bloody thing and heat his up when he gets in.’
My mother folds her hands in her lap and bows her head. It looks like she’s praying.
‘You know he likes us to eat together, Kate,’ she says, her voice quivering. ‘Now please don’t make a scene, not tonight.’
‘Me make a scene?’ she exclaims. ‘Me? This is crazy, Mum. If he wants us all to eat together then why can’t he get himself back from the pub?’
‘We could watch the TV?’ I suggest, but my mother frowns at me. ‘There might be something nice on.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Sally,’ she snaps. ‘Don’t talk nonsense.’
The iciness of her voice rips into me and my eyes start to water. I put my head back and try to keep the tear that is balancing precariously on my eyelid from falling on to my plate. Then I feel a hand on mine. A gentle squeeze, telling me that everything is going to be all right. I turn my head and see her smiling at me. My big sister. She smiles and for that moment we all feel okay. She has the ability to convey such reassurance with her smile.
But then the front door slams and we all sit erect, silent soldiers on parade. The colour drains from my mother’s face and my heart begins to pound.
‘Now remember, Kate,’ whispers my mother. ‘No antagonizing him; okay?’
Kate goes to reply but before she can he is there in the doorway, filling the room with the stench of stale cigarette smoke and whisky.
‘Fuck me, it’s the three witches of Macbeth,’ he slurs as he stumbles towards the table.
He grabs hold of the corner and almost sends a plate flying.
Kate sighs dramatically and I glare at her, willing her not to provoke him.
‘What you sighing at, eh?’ he sneers as he slumps into the chair next to mine. ‘Something wrong with your lungs?’
‘Come on now, let’s all be nice,’ says my mother as she takes the knife and begins to slice at the pie. As always, she serves my father first. I watch as she spoons the vegetables on to his plate carefully, her hand shaking as she deposits a pile of carrots and peas next to the pie.
Kate is next, then me. Finally, she cuts a tiny sliver for herself.
‘Right, tuck in,’ she says. She nods at Kate as if to say ‘keep quiet’ but Kate is busy stuffing the food into her mouth as fast as she can. As soon as she’s finished she’ll be up the stairs.
I begin to eat but my throat has gone dry with the tension and as I try to swallow a piece of pastry it wedges and I start to choke. Kate thumps me on the back and I grab for my glass of water.
‘Jesus Christ,’ yells my father as the food finally goes down and I sit trying to get my breath back. ‘What you trying to do to us?’
I look up but he is not addressing me. Instead he has his hand on my mother’s wrist.
‘No wonder the poor kid choked,’ he snarls. ‘This is fucking inedible.’
He sticks his fork into the pie and starts flicking bits of pastry across the table.
‘Look at that. It’s not cooked properly. And it’s dry.’
Beside me I can feel Kate’s temper start to rise, like heat spreading across the table.
‘What do you think, sweetheart?’
He is talking to me.
‘Do you think it’s dry?’
I look at my mother. She is smiling at me, but her eyes are scared.
‘Erm, I . . .’
‘Come on, I’m asking you a question,’ he slurs. ‘Is it fucking dry?’
I know what will happen if I don’t agree with him. He’ll get even angrier and take it out on them. I just want this all to stop.
‘Yes,’ I whimper. ‘It is a bit dry.’
‘Oh, nice one, Sally,’ yells Kate, clattering her cutlery on to her plate. ‘For God’s sake!’
‘Come on now,’ whispers my mother, putting her hand on Kate’s arm. ‘Don’t rise to it.’
My father is silent but we all know this is bad news; the longer the silence the worse the punishment.
‘You can eyeball me all you want. I’m not scared of you,’ says Kate.
Oh no. I look up at her. She is sitting with her hands on the table, glaring at my father.
‘You should be,’ he mutters.
‘What’s that, Dad, I didn’t hear you?’
She’s goading him now. My heart is in my mouth as I wait for the explosion. One, two, three . . .