‘Yes, I know that,’ I say, filling a mug from the kettle. I’m really not keen on discussing this now. ‘You haven’t seen my cup, have you? The china one Prish bought me? It’s been missing since Eddie moved out. He must’ve taken it—’
‘It’s just,you know,’ Frank interrupts, with clearly more pressing matters to discuss. ‘About your dad being here. It’s just …’
‘I do know.’ I nod.
Frank exhales. ‘I mean, dinner on the dot of six, never mind that I’m barely in through the door—’
‘Iknow, Frank—’
‘And earlier tonight, I’d literally just gone into the bathroom and he was banging on the—’
‘He’s old!’ I exclaim. ‘If he needs to go, he needs to go, Frank. He can’t help it …’
‘Okay, but what about the way he commandeers the TV? When’s the last time we watched something we wanted?’
I’m about to protest, but of course he’s right. ‘Cash or Crashdrives me mad too, you know.’
‘But it’s not just the watching, is it?’ he goes on. ‘It’s the shouting at the telly. The ridiculing those poor people who get the questions wrong.I’dget them wrong! Did you know the name of the stately home owned by the Marquis of Bath?’
‘Um, it’s Longleat—’
‘But you know what the worst thing is?’ He raps his knuckles on the table. ‘We don’t eat here anymore, like we used to, all of us sitting around together like a proper family. Now we have to eat through there, off trays on our laps, with the TV on at full volume. We can’t eventalk—’
‘—I know, Frank, I hate it too!’ I turn away from him, pull open the washing machine door and yank out a clump of damp washing that falls onto the floor. ‘D’you think I don’t mind those things?’ I straighten up and glare at him.
‘The trays, the blaring TV,’ he rants on. ‘It’s like living in an old people’s home! And it’s fine, we can deal withit, but don’t be all huffy and storm out of bed because I didn’t feel like—’
‘Frank, I didn’t storm!’ I cry out. ‘And it won’t be for much longer—’
‘I’m sorry but he’s being unreasonable,’ he announces.
‘I know he is, Frank. I know. He always has been.’
‘But he hasn’t always beenhere.’
‘No, but I’ve always had to deal with him, don’t you see? Can’t you imagine what it’s been like all my life? I feel sorry for him now and I want to help him. But just because he’s had botulism doesn’t change who he is as a man, how unreasonable he is—’
I stop dead. Dad has appeared, with silvery hair askew, in the kitchen doorway.
‘Oh, Dad.’ My heart is banging hard.
He purses his lips and blinks slowly. ‘Unreasonable, am I?’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘Unreasonable bynot dying?’
‘Dad! I didn’t meanthat,’ I start. ‘Please. We were only talking. Things just get a bit much sometimes. And why are you up? Are you feeling okay?’
‘Just came down for a drink,’ he growls, stomping to the cupboard and snatching a glass and filling it to the brim from the tap. ‘Aren’t you always saying I should drink more water?’ He takes a noisy slurp then bangs it onto the worktop and leaves the room.
‘Dad, please come back! I’ll make you some tea …’ I scuttle after him, but he is already heading upstairs.
I follow him and we stop, facing each other on the landing. ‘Please, Dad.’ I touch his arm. The sight of himstanding there, a little stooped in his faded old tartan pyjamas, crushes my heart.
‘It’s all right,’ he snaps, looking away.
‘It’snotall right. I don’t want to see you upset. Look, Ana’s coming over at the weekend especially for your birthday—’
