‘Eddie, could you give us a minute please?’ Frank snaps and reluctantly, Eddie slopes out of the kitchen.
‘Frank,’ I start as we face each other, ‘I’m sorry. It was a completely spontaneous thing last night.’
‘I’ve been trying to call you!’
‘Have you? I’m sorry, my phone ran out of charge. We just had a few drinks after work. And it went on a bit late, and we were having such a lovely time …’ I stop, catchingmyself babbling excuses. ‘I needed time with my friends,’ I add firmly.
‘Why?’ He blinks at me.
‘Hasanyoneseen my gown?’ Eddie cries out from the hallway, which must have alerted my father, as now he’s coming downstairs to join the jolly gathering. He appears in the kitchen in pyjamas and slippers, looking rumpled and pale.
‘What were you doing in the garden last night?’ he asks Frank.
‘Nothing.’ Frank removes a loaf from the bread bin and drops two slices into the toaster. Weird behaviour, I decide – to suddenly busy himself by making breakfast.
Dad looks at me, as if awaiting an explanation. ‘I don’t know, Dad. I wasn’t here—’
‘Shewasn’t here,’ Frank crows. ‘She was out all night—’
‘Can you stop calling me “she”?’ As Frank’s toast pops up, I grab his arm and lead him out into the back garden. But Dad follows us, and Eddie reappears a moment later.
‘It’s the ringtone,’ he insists, still brandishing my father’s old phone.
I glare at my son. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Listen!’ He makes it ring, shrill and tinny like a child’s toy phone. ‘I can’t handle that—’
‘Those powders came again,’ Dad announces, ‘with my medications. The ones that are meant to help mymovements.I thought you were going to stop them?’
‘I tried to, Dad. I left a message—’
‘The ringtone,’ Eddie starts again.
‘You can’t handle a ringtone?’ I snap. ‘How are you going to handle a screaming baby at four a.m.?’
‘Why don’t youchangethe ringtone?’ Frank thunders.
‘I’ve tried! It won’t change! It must’ve been made when they only had one ringtone. Like when they only had one channel on TV—’ Eddie breaks off suddenly and peers at some unidentifiable object at the bottom of the garden, close to the shed. I follow his gaze. A small pile of something has been dumped on the grass. It’s smouldering a little, I realise now.
‘What’s that?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’ Frank looks down at his feet.
‘I told you,’ Dad announces. ‘Frank was out here last night. I saw him—’
‘Were you having a camp fire?’ I blink at him.
‘Are youall right, Dad?’ For once, Eddie looks concerned.
‘I burnt your robe,’ Frank mutters.
We all stare at him. ‘You …burnt my robe?’ Eddie pales in the weak morning sunlight. ‘Have you gone completely mad?’
Frank shrugs. ‘Maybe. Yeah, maybe I have.’
‘Frank!’ I splutter.
‘Well, you know,’ he says in an eerily measured tone. ‘You weren’t here and I was worried and couldn’t sleep. And I’m sick of the sight of it, y’know? That fucking robe? So I thought, what can I do, while I’m pacing about, worrying about where Carly is?’
