However, Eddie’s sudden tolerance of Orange Cremes suggests that things have taken an even darker turn.
He sighs and tosses down the sweet wrapper to join the others on the floor. ‘Can youpleasestop dropping wrappers?’ I ask.
‘I’ll pick them up later.’
‘Well, you say that but you never do. You just leave it all, Eddie. A trail of litter for me to—’
‘I said I’ll do it later,’ he snaps.
‘No need to speak to me like that!’ It’s another mythical thing – this ‘later’. When is that exactly? In fifty years’ time when, presumably, he’ll still be lounging in his robe, the only difference being that his father and I will no longer be around to buy Quality Street, pick up his wet towels from the bathroom floor and the roll-up butts he leaves scattered around by the back door? (He’s long since shed any discomfort about us knowing he smokes.)
His best friends Calum and Raj left home straight after school, both heading for Edinburgh University. It’s not that I compare Eddie to them, or believe that he should have gone to university too; of course I don’t. He reckoned it wasn’t for him and, beyond making gentle suggestions for courses, his dad and I weren’t going to pressurise him. However, four years have spun by and throughout that time, he’s seen his old mates less and less. Soon Calumand Raj’s holidays were no longer spent back here in Sandybanks but travelling with girlfriends or groups of new friends. Or they’d stay in Edinburgh, which had clearly become ‘their’ city, working at the Festival or in various clubs and bars.
Then straight after uni, both of the boys landed grad-scheme roles at the same company, so now they’re proper professionals. Their parents aren’t braggers but whenever we run into each other around town there’ll be an update. ‘He’s not earning heaps,’ Raj’s mum told me recently, ‘but he’s getting by and loving his job. What’s Eddie up to these days?’
‘Not an awful lot,’ I replied with a grimace.
‘Aw, I’m sure it’ll all work out. Give him my love, won’t you?’
Wouldn’t Eddie like to nip over to Edinburgh to see his oldest friends? Whenever I’ve suggested it, he’s snappedYeah-maybeand stomped away.
I can’t understand why he’s allowed his closest friendships to drift. It’s not as if the boys had moved to Alaska; Edinburgh is only two train journeys away, each one less than an hour. And his sisters aren’t like that. They’ve always maintained contact with old friends, despite the physical distances now. Eddie still has a few mates here but their numbers are dwindling as, one by one, they move away too. Soon, I fear, there’ll be no one left. And then what will he do?
He’s glaring at me now, willing me to leave the room. ‘Can you stop looming over me? It’s freaking me out.’
Mechanically, like a robot programmed to follow instruction even under intense provocation, I lower myselfon to the arm of a chair. ‘So, if that job’s not for you, then maybe you could—’
‘I don’t need you to plan my life for me, Mum.’
A terse silence hangs over us. ‘All right. But how about going back to college?’
‘College wasn’t my thing.’
‘So, whatisyour thing?’
‘I don’t know!’ he announces. ‘I don’t have one. I mean, I haven’t decided what it is yet.’
‘But, love, everyone needs athing.’
‘Well, I don’t. I’m not like you, happy to trundle off to the library every day of my life for years and years andyears—’
‘Eddie!’ It’s like a punch to my gut. ‘D’you realise what it’s done? This job of mine that you seem to think of as so tragic?’
‘I didn’t mean that.’ He looks away. ‘I just meant—’
‘I’ll tell you what it’s done,’ I cut in. ‘It’s kept this family together. How else d’you think we paid the mortgage and bills and bought food when your dad’s schemes went tits up?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ he cries.
‘I’m justsaying. I’m making a point.’
‘Well, don’t!’ he shouts. ‘Don’t make points!’
‘But I only—’
‘—And don’t suggest jobs for me because I’mnevergoing to be tax inspector—’
‘But I never said—’
