I walked to my window and watched the world outside awaken. The postwoman doing her rounds. An early morning jogger. A family packing for a summer holiday, loading up the boot with suitcases, and a little boy with a bucket and spade ready for the beach, his parents wearing hiking shorts and T-shirts that were just a bit too colourful to be worn at any time other than when going on holiday.
Life inside my house began to awaken too, as I heard Dad peeing in the bathroom, the creak of his steps down the stairs, Mum walking across the landing and turning the shower on, the mumble of the news on TV downstairs as Dad began his breakfast ritual. Sounds that were all so familiar and yet I felt like I’d never heard them as distinctly as I did then. ‘Time waits for no man,’ as Mr Feeney said.
With my first step away from the window, the gauntlet of the day opened up. I dressed. I stepped out of my room, the sweet smell of Mum’s coconut shower gel coming from behind the bathroom door. I went downstairs to the kitchen with steam from the just-boiled kettle in the air and the hum of the porridge pot in the microwave.
‘Morning,’ said Dad, standing by the kettle. ‘Happy birthday.’
The words must have sat strangely on his tongue the way he said them, I could see it in his face, and they were strange to hear too, somehow the traditional greeting felt out of place on that day with what was ahead; but what else do you say to someone whose birthday it is?
‘Thanks,’ I replied.
‘Are you taking something to eat?’
‘Aye, maybe just a banana.’
‘You’ll need more than that. Bowl of porridge?’
He knows I don’t like porridge.
‘No, a banana’s fine.’
‘Bit of toast?’
‘No, just the banana.’
‘No peanut butter or nothing with it?’
‘Dad, can you not just let me eat what I want to eat?’
I squeezed the words out to cap the frustration; the day had enough in store without an argument to start things off.
‘No, aye, that’s dead on,’ he said as the microwave pinged.
I went into the dining room with my banana and sat at thetable eating it. By the time I’d finished Dad came in and put his bowl of porridge down opposite me.
‘I’ll maybe have a cup of tea,’ I said, going back into the kitchen.
I reboiled the kettle.
‘Did you sleep at all?’ said Dad from the dining room.
‘Not really. You?’ I said from the kitchen.
‘Not really.’
I poured hot water onto the teabag in the mug.
‘What time will we head to the test centre?’ I asked.
‘Whenever you’re ready, we’re time enough yet.’
‘Dead on,’ I said, getting milk from the fridge, splashing a bit in the mug and fishing the teabag out; making every second of the tea-making process stretch, but when it was done I went back into the dining room and sat opposite Dad. He’d finished his porridge and was staring into the empty bowl.
‘Keeps you going,’ he said, meaning the porridge.
‘Yeah,’ I said, taking a sip of tea.
‘Do you want to do presents later?’ he asked.
