‘We wanted to talk to you,’ she beamed.
‘How’s the exams going, son?’ Conrad asked, closer to Maya than she would’ve liked. His breath fell across her shoulder and down her chest.
‘They finished ages ago,’ Isaac deadpanned.
‘How’s the job?’ Maya asked. Was Conrad so out of touch with his son’s life that he’d forgotten term finished and now he was working?
‘It’s good thanks, Mum.’
Maya moved the conversation on to talk about the Christmas and New Year trip, or more like they all argued about it. Conrad wasn’t backing down, neither was Isaac and Maya knew it was impossible for her to get time off and be away from Whistlestop River.
Isaac ended the debate with, ‘I’m nineteen years old; I think that’s old enough to make my own decisions.’ He didn’t say it in anger, he didn’t direct it only at Conrad. But he did say it with an air of finality, tiredness at having the same argument weighing his words down even though he wanted to make his point.
Maya knew exactly what Conrad’s reply would be too and he didn’t disappoint. ‘Son, me and your mother are funding this little escapade?—’
‘University is not an escapade,’ Isaac butted in. ‘It’s study. It’s my future.’
Maya could’ve applauded her son; it was the sternest voice he’d ever used talking to his dad who thought university a waste of time, a waste of money, that Isaac and the rest of the people at university should join the real world and get a job.
‘Let’s talk when you’re home,’ said Maya.
‘See you soon,’ he said in reply. And then he came closer to the camera as he leaned forward to end the call.
‘Why did he have to end it so quickly?’ Conrad spat. ‘He’s a bit soft if he can’t deal with a little confrontation. No son of mine is going to be soft.’
Isaac was soft but in a good way. He was kind, empathetic, just two of the things his father very much wasn’t. ‘You and Isaac need to sort out your differences. You wanted me here because you were going to talk to him, which I assumed meant you were going to be reasonable.’ She’d known he wouldn’t be but again, she had to stay in character as herself.
‘I was reasonable! And it’s not like I’m asking him to take a holiday in a concentration camp. He should be bloody thankful. A lot of kids would be.’
‘Most kids his age do what they please at nineteen.’
‘Maybe that’s the problem.’
She couldn’t let tonight go sideways; there was too much riding on it. ‘I’m glad he cut the call short because I’m really, really hungry.’
‘Better sort the dinner then.’ But she could tell he was glad of the reprieve from more differences of opinion about their son.
In the kitchen, Conrad checked the timer for how long was left before everything was ready and, true to form – and because he hated wine – he plucked a small glass from the cupboard and set it down next to the bottle of vodka.
‘Here, let me,’ she offered before he could attempt to open it.
Conrad got the Coke while Maya poured a measure of the spirit, slightly more than he’d usually have but not enough to alert him, and she topped it up with the Coke. If she played this well tonight, she could get him relaxed and the more he relaxed, the more he’d drink which usually had the benefit of sending him to sleep. It had frustrated her when they were first married, but in later years, she’d come to appreciate the peace and quiet.
Maya took the vegetables from the oven rather than have him try one-handed and put them into a serving dish. ‘We can help ourselves.’
‘Bit posh but okay,’ he sniggered.
She set the vegetables on the mats in the centre of the table in the dining room and while he couldn’t see her, she poured the rest of her wine into the flowerpot on the sideboard with an apology to the plant for not giving it the nutrients it needed.
‘Let me get you a top-up,’ he said as soon as she went back to the kitchen and he assumed she’d drunk it all. ‘Knew it was your favourite.’
Another thing about Conrad was that he liked to have company when he was having a drink. He’d never liked it when she only had one glass and then stopped. He thought it was dull and it left him in a bad mood, which she really didn’t want tonight.
‘I’ll do it,’ she told him, ‘you spoon out the chicken.’
She pulled the wine from the fridge and poured a glass full, but while he took one plate at a time through to the other room, she poured half the wine away and topped the glass up with water. Conrad came back for the second plate and when he disappeared with that one, she topped up his glass with a little more vodka.
He winced at his first sip at the table. But it was a taste he liked. He’d just think she was rubbish at judging quantities and sure enough, he focused on filling his face with his food.
