‘Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘What day’s today?’
‘Today? Wednesday.’
‘Aye, that’s what I thought. Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘I passed my driving test yesterday, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, course you did.’
‘Aye, that’s what I thought.’
‘You alright, son?’
‘Yeah, no, I’m just, I’m just checking because everything’s all over the place.’
Dad looked at me and nodded slowly.
‘Do you want to come down and get some breakfast? Get some strength into you? You haven’t ate anything since yesterday morning.’
I was lost in my head trying to piece together some sense. Then a twang hit the back of my nostrils.
‘Oh, I can smell the bacon now,’ I said. ‘I’ll come down in a minute.’
‘Dead on,’ Dad said, getting up and walking out, leaving the door open.
My body sat up when he left, a smooth sleepwalker motion, up and out of bed. I pulled on a hoodie, glided across the floor, out onto the landing, down the stairs and sat on the third step with the phone on it. I lifted it and dialled a number I knew by heart.
‘Hello, Feeney’s Funeral Home,’ came the familiar voice on the other end.
‘Mr Feeney.’
‘Brendan? Is that you?’
‘Yes, it’s me, Mr Feeney.’
‘Goodness, I’m terribly sorry, young fella. How are you?’
‘Mr Feeney, can I come in tomorrow?’
There was silence on the other end.
‘I really need to come in tomorrow. Can I?’
‘Of course, Brendan, whatever you need, of course, I’ll be here all day.’
‘Thanks, Mr Feeney. See you tomorrow.’
‘Aye, Brendan, see you the’mara.’
I set the phone down and walked into the kitchen. Mum was frying mushrooms and sliced potatoes on the pan, eggs were boiling in a pot and Granny’s old hourglass egg timer was on the counter; the top half was empty and the bottom filled with sand.
48
