Memory Lane by Laurence Gough

Author:Laurence Gough [Gough, Laurence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2016-06-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Willows was up at seven. He pushed aside the curtain and looked out the bedroom window. Rain. By seven-thirty he’d showered and shaved and was down in the kitchen, making breakfast. The coffee pot had finished dripping by quarter to eight and the toaster popped about thirty seconds later. He buttered the toast, sprinkled on a mix of cinnamon and sugar, filled the Starbucks mug Sean had given him and sat down at the dining room table with a copy of the Sun. It was his habit to start with the sports section, work his way backwards through the paper until he was finally ready for the doom and gloom of the front pages. The Canucks continued to flirt with the possibility of missing the playoffs. The Grizzlies were doing about as well as could be expected. He was reading a lengthy piece about a golfer who’d earned just under half a million dollars for playing fifty-four holes, in the sunshine, in Hawaii, when Annie came into the kitchen.

“Morning, Dad.”

“Good morning, honey.” He tilted his cheek for a kiss. The hug was an unexpected bonus.

She said, “You’re up kind of early, for someone who was up so late.”

“Time and tide…” Willows went back to the article on the golfer. His dad had played the game with considerable skill. In his mid-twenties he’d turned down an offer to work as assistant club pro. Willows had swung the driver pretty well when he was in his late teens. What had turned him away from the sport? He couldn’t remember. A healthy disdain for money? He hoped not.

Annie carried the kettle over to the sink, poured in some water and put the kettle on a back burner. She turned on the gas and then came over and sat down at the table. She poured cereal into a bowl, milk over the cereal. She began to eat.

Willows ate a piece of toast, drank some coffee. “How’s school?”

“Okay.”

“How’d the math exam go?”

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

Willows went back to the article on the golfer. He tried to imagine himself being paid five hundred grand in bloated U.S. currency simply because he was skilled at pounding a dimpled white ball. No matter how great the stress, it was still easy money, if you had the talent to earn it. He heard Claire’s footsteps on the stairs. Annie glanced up as Parker entered the kitchen. Her smile was as wide as her face.

“Hi, Claire.”

“Morning, everybody.” Parker bent and kissed Annie fleetingly on the cheek.

Willows thought Parker looked almost as tired as he felt. Small wonder. They’d worked until a little past three in the morning, toured the most popular of the city’s gay clubs with photographs of Donald E. Mooney and the high-ranking cop Pat Timmins had fingered — a senior inspector named Mark Rimmer. It was thirsty work but Willows hadn’t touched so much as a beer. The cigarette smoke and strobe lights had given him a headache. As far as he knew, they’d learned nothing of value.

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