Chapter 2
Chapter Two
‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick. Look at you, you’re soaked to the skin. Don’t come any closer, that carpet was cleaned not two weeks ago. I’ll get you a towel.’
Pauline Winstanley had been in the living room waiting for her son to come home, reading a People’s Friend and stealing occasional glances at the carriage clock on the mantlepiece.
Anthony had been due home more than five hours ago.
He had said over breakfast that, if the forecast storm materialised, he might have a walk down by the front and watch the waves crashing in and the lightning dance across the horizon. He loved bad weather.
Anthony remained in the porch, dripping onto the Flotex. He didn’t dare step inside his mother’s pristine house.
‘Here,’ she said, handing him a fluffy white towel. ‘Where did you go?’
He began vigorously drying his hair. ‘I went down the front. The waves were massive,’ he said with a smile.
‘For five hours?’
‘No,’ he said, turning away and unlacing his shoes.
‘I suppose you haven’t had anything to eat.’
‘I’ve had three bags of crisps and a chocolate bar.’
‘Very healthy.’ Pauline rolled her eyes. She took the soaked towel from him. ‘Take those clothes off. I’ll put them straight in to be washed. There’s still plenty of hot water, you can go up and have a bath.’
‘I’m not taking my clothes off here.’
‘And I’m not having you walking all through my clean house with your dirty clothes brushing against my wallpaper, thank you very much. Come on, off with them. Don’t look like that, I’ve seen it all before.’
‘Mu-um.’
Pauline sighed. ‘All right. I’ll go into the living room, and you can run upstairs. Give me a shout when you’ve done.’
‘Close the door then,’ he called out as his mum disappeared into the lounge.
Pauline put another bar on the fire. She closed her magazine and placed it neatly on the coffee table.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace.
Her dyed red hair was neatly coiffed, and she fingered it slightly.
She stood back, breathed in, and looked at her figure.
She didn’t think she looked too bad for fifty.
She was going out for a meal with Leo on Friday.
He was a lovely man and always commented on how she looked.
It was another fortnight before her hairdresser appointment, but she wondered if Renee could fit her in to snip off her split ends on Thursday.
‘I’m ready,’ Anthony shouted. He didn’t really need to tell her as there was no mistaking the thundering sound of heavy feet bolting up the stairs.
Pauline went into the hallway where her son’s clothes were dumped in a soggy heap.
She picked them up, held them at arm’s length so she wouldn’t get wet and took them into the kitchen.
As she loaded them into her new front-loading washing machine, she stopped as something caught her eye.
The trousers were torn on the left knee and there were muddy scuff-marks all over the bum.
And, if she wasn’t mistaken, a stain of red that looked like blood along the back pocket. What had that boy been up to?
She stuffed the clothes into the machine, filled the drawer with powder and softener and put it on a high wash. Those stains needed removing.