8
8
W HEN YOU GET HOME that afternoon, you find your mum with a number of cardboard boxes. The boxes are big and strong – designed for people who want to pack up all their belongings to move house. Your mum is putting stuff in them. To be specific, she is putting books in them. Some of the books are books she owns – How to Overcome Low Self-Esteem , How to Sail. Others are library books – How to Start Your Own Cleaning Business , The Lawful Route: Is the Lawyering Life for You? You don’t think she should mix library-owned and self-owned books, but she is doing just that as she tips them all into a moving box.
After she’s done with the books, she moves on to the dresser, with its photo albums, crockery, fancy cups, and special cutlery. She packs the things haphazardly. As a result, she breaks an ornamental spoon, curses under her breath, then notices you standing there.
Her cheeks are red. You take this to mean she is stressed or worried or angry or confused. She looks at you. The look she is giving you is vague, her eyes not quite focused.
You expect her to ask how you got home. Considering she didn’t pick you up, it would be a good question. But your mum doesn’t ask this. Instead, she tells you about the boxes.
‘So these boxes are my stuff,’ she says, ‘and these boxes are items of shared ownership.’
‘OK,’ you say. You feel annoyed she is not asking how you got home. The journey was a nightmare. You had to walk the whole way by yourself even though you’ve never before walked the whole way by yourself. For the entirety of the twenty-four-minute journey, you felt vulnerable, afraid, confused, and concerned.
‘You wouldn’t believe how expensive boxes are, darling. This lot cost me a hundred quid.’
‘All right,’ you say. You feel annoyed your mum spent so much on boxes. She could have at least given you some bus money this morning, or maybe just picked you up herself.
In an attempt to communicate your annoyance, you force out a sigh and walk stompily to the kitchen. When you get there, you are startled: your mum has packed up everything in the kitchen too. There is no kettle or toaster, no mugs or cups. When you open the cupboard to look for the squash, there is no squash either.
This is terrible news. You’re very thirsty after your long journey. You want a glass of squash. You can’t have water. You don’t like the taste. You need squash.
You go to the home phone in the hallway, then you hesitate. You don’t like phoning people up. But you also don’t like finding your own way home or being thirsty in a house with no squash.
‘Hi, Dad,’ you say, after he picks up.
‘Angel, what’s the matter?’
‘There’s no squash.’
‘No squash?’
‘None.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘No.’
‘Well, why don’t you have another look?’
‘I think Mum’s packed it away.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s packed the whole kitchen away. There’s nothing in there.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good lord.’
Your dad tells you he’s coming home. ‘I’m coming home. I’ll be ten minutes, OK?’
‘OK.’
When you hang up, you go back to the living room. ‘Dad’s coming home,’ you tell your mum. ‘I just called him.’
Your mum doesn’t respond to this comment. Instead, she starts packing another box. This time, she fills it with photograph albums.
Impatient, you wait for your dad in the driveway – pacing its length and breadth. Thirsty, you think about maybe drinking some water from the outside tap. Then you remember how bad plain water tastes and think better of it. i
When your dad pulls up in his car, he tells you that you haven’t done anything wrong – but that it’d be best if you lie low in your bedroom this evening. He will bring your tea up later. He needs to help your mum unpack. He says this hurriedly, like he needs to get rid of you quickly.
‘What does lilo mean?’ you ask. ii
‘Lilo? Oh, lie low.’ He opens the boot and removes his work bag. ‘It just means you need to hide.’
Before your dad opens the front door, he asks you a seemingly random question. ‘How was school?’
‘School?’
‘Yeah.’
You shake your head. ‘They think I’m stupid.’
‘Oh, I’m sure they don’t.’
‘They do.’
Upstairs in your room, you read about why rainbows happen in the book titled Why Do Rainbows Happen? The book doesn’t explain anything about the light spectrum. Instead, it explains how God once killed almost everyone on Planet Earth.
Downstairs, your mum and dad are yelling at each other. Your mum is talking about the police. They are going to kill her at any moment, she says. Hence, she has to pack up her items to make it easier for the pair of you after her death.
Your dad is refuting these claims. The police are not going to kill her at any moment, and so there is no need for her to pack up so many belongings. At some point, he runs out of patience. ‘You’ve lost it,’ he tells her. ‘You’re gone in the head.’
You hide in your bedroom, lying low under the duvet. Later, your dad brings you some dinner and some apple-and-blackcurrant squash. You know this because when you wake up the next morning, it’s there, waiting for you – all of it cold, all of it delicious.
Further reading:
So Your Family Member Is Psychotic
Who’s Out to Get You Today? A Short History of Paranoia
Why Do Rainbows Happen?
Footnotes
i Your tastes have developed since your mud-soup-drinking days.
ii A lilo is an inflatable in the shape of a bed. People lie on them while they float on water.