Chapter 1
Sarahrolledhereyes.In the chair beside her, her mother did the same.
‘Cricket?’ Sarah muttered to herself, wondering what had got into her father. He knew Sunday afternoons were a chance for the females of the house to catch up on their favourite soap operas. It was both unusual and irritating that he’d suggest commandeering the television to watch sport.
‘Oh, ignore him. Likes to assert himself sometimes.’ Cynthia tutted, her neck folding into multiple layers as she tipped her chin down and fixed her eyes on the television. ‘Two G and Ts thanks, Colin,’ she called to her husband.
Sarah and Cynthia reached the first advert break before they realised their drinks had not appeared. ‘I’ll go see what Dad’s up to,’ said Sarah, heaving herself up out of the recliner.
She wandered through the house, following the worn path in the carpet made from years of routine and traditions.
‘Dad?’
There was no sign of her father in the kitchen. The gin bottle stood in its usual place, tucked in front of the brandy and whisky that were only opened on Christmas Day.
‘Dad?’
Sarah spotted her father bent over a flower bed in the garden. The first bursts of spring colour peeked out of the beds guarding a bowling-green-perfect lawn. She opened the door, shivering at the nip in the air.
‘Dad? What happened to our drinks?’ Again, Sarah’s father gave no answer, so she slipped on a pair of old Crocs and crossed the lawn. Perhaps he was going deaf? She’d suggest her mother take him for a hearing test. ‘Dad?’
‘What is it, love?’ Colin’s voice hinted at fatigue, and if Sarah heard right, impatience.
‘It’s Sunday afternoon. You always bring us a gin and tonic on Sunday afternoons. Is everything all right?’
‘Everything’s fine. I thought you could get your own drinks for a change.’
‘Hilarious,’ laughed Sarah, patting her father on the back and heading back into the house.
Back in the conservatory, Cynthia looked up at her daughter and raised an eyebrow.
‘Dad’s being weird. I’m sure he’ll bring the drinks through soon. He’s out in the garden.’
‘He spends more and more time out there these days. Anyone would think he’s trying to get away from me.’
Sarah reached over and patted her mother’s hand. ‘Don’t be silly, Mum. You know what Dad’s like.’
‘Sometimes I think he loves those bloody plants more than he loves us.’ Cynthia chuckled, her laugh turning to a choke as a lungful of cigarette smoke caught in her throat.
Sarah tried to concentrate on the television screen, focusing her eyes on an argument between a fictional husband and wife. But something niggled her. Yes, her dad loved his garden, but the only time she could remember him forgetting their drinks in twenty years was when he had the flu. Perhaps he was sickening for something? Perhaps he had dementia, or Alzheimer’s? Sarah shuddered. As much as she loved her mother, the thought of being her sole companion didn’t fill Sarah with joy.
By the time the second soap opera came on, Cynthia’s plump feet tapped a drumbeat on the floor, her fingers doing the same on the chair’s armrest.
‘Shall I just get the drinks?’ asked Sarah, knowing it was only a matter of time until Cynthia blew her top.
‘No! Just because your father’s playing silly buggers doesn’t mean you should assist him. COLIN? COLIN!’
Her shouting gave Cynthia another coughing fit. She turned puce, banging her chest and sucking in big wheezy gulps of air.
‘Dad? Mum could do with a drink.’ Sarah heard a bang in the kitchen. Was that a door slamming? Or a foot kicking a cupboard?
By the time Colin appeared with a drink in each hand, Cynthia’s breathing had calmed, the coughing fit leaving her with a sheen of sweat on her blotchy skin. Colin set the drinks down on the coffee table with enough force that gin lapped against the edge of the glass, spilling onto the polished wood.
‘Coasters?’
Colin stared at his wife, a look in his eyes Sarah hadn’t seen before. ‘No.’
‘What do you mean, no? Get the coasters, you lazy bugger. We don’t want to ruin the table.’
