Chapter 17
Arthur
One thing I hadn’t missed since coming to Uni, was the sticky lipstick residue Mum always left on my cheeks after insisting on planting the world’s most slobbery kiss. In fairness, she was just excited at the prospect of actually seeing me, rather than confined to the four corners of a phone screen. She randomly texted me yesterday before Ember’s party and told me that they were all coming to visit me for lunch today. As happy as I was at the fact that them visiting me meant that they’d pay for my lunch, the short notice had meant that I’d had to get up an hour earlier this morning to deep clean the room. You’d think that a room that was the size of a shoebox would be super simple to clean, with a few wipe-downs of the bathroom, and a quick up/down of the duvet to make the bed. But my stomach tightened as I knew that Dad would nitpick every inch of my room and label me lazy if he found something that was even remotely dirty. It was a joke really, considering that I knew for a fact that his and Mum’s bedroom looked like a shithole, but that’s the king of hypocrisy for you. Either way, I scrubbed the room within an inch of its life, mixing bleaches and multi-surface sprays like a kid making potions in the bathroom with a variation of weird and wonderful products, (read: Libby made potions, definitely not me), I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if I’d accidentally given myself some sort of toxic chemical reaction from the fumes, if the raging burning sensation from my nostrils and eyes were anything to go by. It was stupid, they’d only be in my room for like 5 minutes before we went out anyway. I even suggested that they just meet me outside in the car park, but to no avail, they were clearly desperate to keep tabs on me. I guess one silver lining was that I didn’t end up having a muzzy head this morning, so there was that at least. However, looking down at the photo that Ember sent last night, I smiled, wondering whether she had been so lucky this morning. I hadn’t heard anything from anyone, so all I could imagine was that they were either all blacked out in their beds right now, or had a head over the toilet. A chill shrilled through me at the thought, there were worse things that I could be spending my day doing right now.
◆◆◆
Miraculously, Dad didn’t seem to find any gripes with the room this time, but I could tell by the face like a slapped ass that he was currently sporting, that it had been Mum’s idea to visit. She’d asked where I wanted to go for lunch, and in true indecisive Kirby family fashion, we all ping-ponged unhelpful phrases like ‘I don’t mind’ and ‘it’s up to you,’ that didn’t help anyone come to any sort of solid solution. Eventually, I just opted for The Boston Tea Party, mostly for convenience purposes as I noticed it was the only place near us that didn’t look packed full of tourists. I’d never actually been inside here before, from the outside, it just looked like your bog-standard coffee house, sitting on the edge of Bath Square so you could watch the hustle and bustle of the city with every sip. But the exterior was deceiving compared to the interior. Full of faux plants, leafy greenery and deconstructed dimly-lit chandeliers peering over the tubbed seats, it looked kind of expensive. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful that my parents offered to pay, but I didn’t want to take the piss. After all, we weren’t made of money and we certainly weren’t lavish spenders when it came to food, usually opting for the fast-food choice every time. I knew Dad was going to be pissed at the price, I could see it coming a mile off.
As if on cue, Dad peers down at the menu and exhausts an unenthused sigh before exclaiming, “￡10.50 for a breakfast muffin? That’s a rip-off!”
I didn’t miss the immediate turn of heads following the volume of his voice.
“We are in Bath Adam,” mum tuts trying to defuse the situation, “You know everything’s more expensive.” She wasn’t wrong.
Dad vigorously shakes his head, “Well, I’m not giving them a penny. It’s nuts. If establishments continue selling their food at these kinds of prices, they’re not going to have any customers left soon!”
“Oh stop being so dramatic. We’ve come to see Arthur, it’s only a one-off, I’ll pay for it if it’s that much of a problem!,” Mum replies, slightly raising her voice to get his attention, but thankfully not enough to draw any from elsewhere.
His eyes dart sharply towards me now, “You just had to pick the most expensive city for university didn’t you.” Here he went again, classic dad, flipping the script on me as always.
“Dad, just stop,” Libby mumbled through gritted teeth, obviously not taking kindly to the attention either.
“For God’s sake Adam, I’ve said I’ll pay,” Mum rolls her eyes at him, before turning to me, “Arthur, I’m sorry about this, what would you like love?”
Doing my best to shake off the wave of anxiety flooding my chest as I realise more eyes are fixated on our table now, I mutter, “I’ll have a breakfast please.” Mum nods kindly before looking at Libby, “And Lib, what would you li-
“￡15.00!”, Dad shrieks, staring at the menu. “Arthur you’ve got to be taking the piss there.”
Mum’s face heats as she clearly notices the audience around us. I can tell that she doesn’t know what to say. She always means well and she tries to lighten the mood where she can, but it’s obvious that when the detonator begins to tick, indicating that it’s going to go off any second, she loses all sense of solution. Meaning, when it’s obvious that Dad is about to lose his shit and blast off into space like a rocket, she doesn’t see the point in wasting her efforts trying to bring him back down to earth.
“Uh-is everything okay? Can I take your order or help you with anything?,” a petite blonde waitress, who looked like she was probably a student too, sheepishly asks my dad. She was braver than me, that was for sure.
“Yeah, you can help me by explaining why the fuck your prices are so expensive, it’s a joke!,” he spits out. I can feel the embarrassment seeping through my body as the girl fumbles about, trying her best to decide how to manage his rudeness.
“Well? Cat got your tongue or something?,” he asks nastily.
Before I realise that I’ve even said it, I whisper under my breath, “It’s literally breakfast dad, grow up.”
Immediately, he turns his attention away from the waitress, and directly onto me. His face was a merge of red-hot fury and embarrassment.
“If anyone here needs to grow up, it’s you,” he sneers.
“Oh-uh-I’ll just leave you to decide what you’d like for a minute then,” the waitress says through an anxious gulp, walking off and looking like she’d have rather the ground swallow her hole than face my dad again. I feel you there.
My breathing becomes rapid as the other workers glue their eyes on us now, they might as well have their popcorn at the ready and make a movie of it at this rate.
“Adam, let’s not go there,” Mum sighs like she’s had enough. We all have.
“No, let’s go there,” he says, fobbing her off. “what’s this about you running away because some drunk girl was sick over you?”
I gulp, I told Mum that in confidence. Plus, that was months ago now, I didn’t know why he felt the need to start rehashing it or even what it had to do with anything.
“You need to get a grip and be a man, Arthur. You can’t let this ‘anxiety’ keep getting in the way of everything.” He air quotes the word ‘anxiety’ like it’s a made-up concept.
“Adam that’s enough!,” Mum whisper-shouts.
Not knowing what else to do, I let him continue, sitting in horror as I let him berate me and tear me down little by little.
“It’s all in your head anyway.”
Now that pissed me off. It wasn’t just all in my head. I knewhow I felt, and those feelings were unfortunately very much real. He was acting as if my anxiety was like some sort of maladaptive daydream, one I could switch on and off again at the press of a button. I wished it worked like that.
Fiddling with the corner of the menu as he casually insults me, he adds, “Do you have any idea how burdening it is Arthur? You have your mother worried sick most days whilst you’re away. Constantly worrying about whether you’ve hurt yourself, whether you’ve been bullied, or whether you’re coping with the stress or not.”
So I was a burdennow? As much as I hated letting him get to me like this, I felt like I’d just taken the biggest kick to the gut, winded and gasping for air.
“We Facetime loads,” I respond, cursing myself for whispering. “I told you things had been better recently,” I switch my attention to Mum who is looking at me sympathetically.
“I know darling,” she says with apologetic eyes.
Dad guffaws, “that doesn’t mean that she believes you. The crux of it is Arthur, you need to decide what you want. If you want to stay at uni, you’re going to have to grow some balls mate because all you’re doing at the moment is bringing everyone down with you. Me, your mother, Libby, your friends.”
“Adam, stop. Arthur has lots of lovely friends who are there for him, don’t you?” Mum asks, looking at me.
Before I can even respond, Dad is already butting in. “Ah yes, that girl that I’ve heard your mum and Libby gossiping about most evenings- what’s her name again?,” he asks sarcastically.
I don’t know why he’s doing this; I don’t even want to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but I worry that he’ll keep pushing if I don’t.
“Her name is Ember and I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” I mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
Dad nods now, “That’s the one. Just make sure to remember one thing, she’s not your personal therapist Arthur.”
I wanted to punch him in the face. He knew nothing about me, and he especially knew nothing about her. Not once did I see our relationship like that, and she knew it. Right?
“I know it sounds harsh, but I can’t keep walking on eggshells around you all the time Arthur. Sometimes things need to be said, no matter whether they’re harsh or not,” he takes a breath, “every day that you’re here I’m just waiting for something to be wrong, for the bomb to drop, and that’s not fair on us.”
Surprising myself, I bite back. “Well, I’m sorry that my mental health is such a burden for you Dad. Sorry that I’m ‘not being fair’ to you by having fucking feelings.”
He begins shifting ever so slightly backward from his seat. His face was reddening so deeply, you’d think steam was going to start pouring out.
“Sorry that me being here and trying to get an education bothers you that strongly. I’m sorry that you couldn’t have a different son,” I add, my fingernails digging into my palms at my sides as I try to contain the adrenaline of standing up to him whilst also trying to curb the crippling fear that accompanies it.
Dad exhales, the calm before the storm. I felt within every inch of my core that he was about to lash out.
“MAYBE I WISH I DID!,” he shrieks at the top of his lungs. The sound was that booming, it must have travelled through the windows, considering a mass of Pigeons even flapped away in fear.
“Noted.” I whisper, absorbing every emotion and sucking it in tight.
With that, I gather my jacket from the back of my chair, and head out back through the way we came in.
“Arthur!,” mum shrieks, running after me with Libby at her side and dad nowhere to be seen.
I turn around to face her and pray that she doesn’t see the humiliation written all over my face.
“He didn’t mean any of that- you do know that don’t you?,” she asks.
There she went again defending him.
“I’m not stupid,” I said firmly. “He made his feelings loud and clear- in front of everyone.”
Sympathy washes all over her face as she squeezes me tight. “I’m not saying that he wasn’t in the wrong. Anyway, let’s just let him cool off by himself for a bit, okay? Why don’t the three of us get some lunch instead, my treat.”
Libby rubs a reassuring arm on my shoulder before we start making our way through the streets. “Don’t take anything that he said to heart,” she whispers.
But I knew it was already nineteen years too late for that.