Chop Chop by Simon Wroe

Author:Simon Wroe
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-04-17T04:00:00+00:00

2. OTHER WORLDS

You can’t stay here,” I said, fumbling with the key.

“Can you believe your mother?” he said.

“The landlady will kick me out,” I said.

“All over a poxy watch,” my father puffed, barreling up the narrow stairs behind me.

“There’s no space,” I said.

“Course there is.” He took in the room without turning his head.

“I’m very busy,” I said.

“Did someone murder a goat?” he asked, pointing to the umber stain beside the armchair.

“Several pans in the fire,” I explained.

He was seen to eye the bed discreetly. I walked over and lay on it to stake my claim. Two minutes with the man and already this was my frame of mind.

“You should get a hotel,” I said, looking up at the moldering ceiling with an expression that I suppose, to the outside observer, might have come across as pious. “You’d be more comfortable.”

“No cash,” he said. He kicked off his shoes, unfurled his sleeping bag and cast it out into the wedge between bed and door. “Good thing you’ve got that job,” he added.

Was that a trace of slyness in my father’s tone? Did he know? I could not bear to tell him I had lost it.

“See?” Crouching, he edged his head gingerly beneath the sink and slid down. “Loads of space.”

“Your feet are in my face,” I pointed out.

He grumbled, raised his head, smashed it on the U-bend of the sink and swore with enthusiasm, then shifted to face the other way.

“There we go,” he proclaimed, opening his arms in an expansive what-I-have-accomplished gesture, whacking his right hand against the door. He swore again, with a note of exhaustion this time, and said he couldn’t understand what I was making a fuss about. Then he paused, propped himself on his elbow and looked around.

“Hang on,” he said suspiciously. “Where’s the TV?”

“I don’t have one.”

“What?” he cried in utter indignation. “My own son, without a telly!”

Floorboards creaked on the stairs outside. The pink slippers of Mrs. Molina were on the prowl.

“Shhh!” I hissed.

My father cut short his objections. We waited in silence for the threat to pass. Further creaking came from the corridor, then fell quiet. There was scratching at the keyhole, followed by a lengthy burst of aerosol spray into the room. The ghostly smell of artificial roses descended around us. My father’s face was a mask of consternation and disgust—well worth seeing. I glared at him before he said anything. The creaks began again, moving down the corridor, and we relaxed.

“Jesus Christ!” My father exhaled loudly. “What was that?”

“The landlady.”

“She’s a bloody maniac!” he said crossly.

And though he was probably right, and god knows I harbored no great love for Mrs. Molina, I felt suddenly angry that he should pitch up here so casually and begin throwing stones at things he knew nothing about, things that had nothing to do with him. How dare he criticize my landlady? What gall he had to swear at my chipped sink! I had not asked him to come. He was not paying for the service.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.