‘Brian, come on, let the boy leave. He’s probably got homework to do,’ his mum bleated meekly from behind. ‘Just sit down and have some food with m—’
‘I don’t want any of this crap food,’ his dad thundered, his small watery eyes still fixed on Fin’s face. ‘I want to know what our good-for-nothing son meant by what he said.’
Fin took a deep breath and began to count to ten in his head. It was something Eleanor had taught him to do whenever he felt stressed or overwhelmed. He closed his eyes and brought the image of her face to his mind. His best friend. The only person in the whole world who seemed to care that he existed these days.
One … two … three … four.
‘Are you stupid, boy?’
Five … six … sev—
‘Oi!’ Suddenly his dad’s face was so close to Fin’s that he could smell the toxic mix of alcohol, cigarettes and a strange floral perfume on his skin.
‘What?’ Fin’s eyes flashed open. ‘What do you want me tosay?’ he hollered, all semblance of control disappearing at once.
‘How dare you shout at me! Show some goddamrespect, will you?’ his dad spat, showering Fin in tiny flecks of sour saliva.
‘Respect?’ Fin cried. ‘You don’t even know the meaning of the word. You’ll get my respect when you stop treating Mum like a doormat. Staying out late “working”.’ Fin laughed sarcastically. ‘What kind of work are you doing that requires you to come home reeking of booze and cigarettes and other women’s perfume?’ He could feel the heat rising from his skin as the pain poured out of him uncontrollably. ‘I am not a fucking child any more. I see through your pathetic lies, and even though Mum is too in love with you to do anything about it, I’m not. I’m sick of it. I’m sick ofyou.’
Fin could see his dad’s jaw clenching as the veins on his forehead rose threateningly to the surface.
‘Get. Out.’ His dad’s voice dropped to almost a whisper.
Fin cocked his head and took one long look at his dad. The man he had adored and looked up to for so much of his life, now nothing but an embarrassing, lying fraud.
‘Happily,’ Fin snarled, pushing past and running out of the front door.
Now
Eleanor
It was a long time since Eleanor had taken a day off mid-week. When they’d first started working in London, she and Oliver had often called in sick and spent an impromptu day in bed together. Sometimes, if they were really feeling wild, they’d get on a train and take a random trip somewhere for a couple of days. But then things changed, their jobs became more serious … he became more serious. After the fifteenth lecture on responsibility and the importance of clean attendance records, Eleanor had stopped the attempts at spontaneity and reserved her holidays for Christmas and summer only. Now look at her. Setting an ‘out of office’ on a Tuesday evening with absolutely no care in the world.
So you can go and visit an old people’s home.
Totally rock and roll!
‘You coming?’ Sal called impatiently.
‘Yeah, give me two seconds,’ Eleanor replied, shutting down her laptop and shoving it into her bag. It was rare for the pair of them to be leaving the office at the same time andEleanor knew Sal was desperate to get out. Pre-8 p.m. exits were once in a blue moon for her.
‘Comeon.’ Sal looped her arm through Eleanor’s and practically dragged her to the lifts. ‘I don’t want anyone from accounting to see me, otherwise I’ll be here until gone midnight.’ She looked around shiftily.
‘I don’t know how you do it. I know I say it all the time, but it still baffles me. Does Paul mind that you work late?’ Eleanor asked as they stepped quickly into the lift.
‘He doesn’t have a choice.’ Sal shrugged. ‘Besides, he works similar hours so it doesn’t matter that much.’
‘The perfect match,’ she remarked.
‘Yeah, something like that.’ Sal laughed. ‘Although he doesn’t have an Eleanor to keep him sane every day like I do.’ She flashed her a grin.
‘Not every day.’ Eleanor grimaced. ‘Remember, I’m not in tomorrow,’ she reminded Sal, as they stepped out of the lift and into the foyer.
Sal’s face crumpled in disappointment. ‘I still think it’s weird you’re voluntarily using your annual leave for something like that.’
‘I might as well. I’ve got about three weeks’ holiday to take.’ Eleanor paused. ‘And now my romantic trip to France is off the cards, I might as well use it.’
Eleanor’s feelings towards Oliver had mellowed significantly in the past few months, but the thought of their two-week trip to France immediately sent a sharp pang of sadness through her chest.
