New Year's Eve by J G Murray

Author:J G Murray
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ethan was oddly silent and still.

With his long, gangly limbs, he normally seemed to take over any sofa he sat in. Tonight, however, he was tucked into a corner, staring into space, bereft of all his usual tics and fidgety mannerisms.

I passed him a plate of reheated dinner. He took it, barely acknowledging me, his eyes fixed.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, perching on the armrest of the sofa just above him.

His head turned slowly to me. Then he nodded, but slowly, like his neck didn’t want to let him. ‘Thank you for this,’ he said. He looked down at his dinner, but no part of him seemed interested in eating it. He held it politely, like a child who’d just unwrapped a bad present at Christmas. ‘At work today …’ His voice trailed off.

I thought I’d already seen the worst of his job’s impact on him. I’d seen the stress, the anger, the tendency to close off from me. But I’d never seen him like this, as if he were reeling from shock.

‘Was it the usual bullshit?’ I offered. ‘Or …’

He swallowed, taking a moment before answering. ‘That’s right. The usual bullshit,’ he finally decided. He looked down at his food again and picked up the fork to toy with the contents of the plate.

I tried to change the subject.

‘I’ve made a decision. I’m going to look after Beatrice’s kid a bit, teach him some music. Hopefully I can get the neighbours on side. Plus I might get round to understanding how this place actually works.’

‘That’s good,’ he murmured. I wasn’t convinced he’d listened to a single word I’d said.

‘Plus, you know, she’s paying me pretty good money. It’s what you said, right? Milking the rich families of north London for all they’re worth?’

Ethan murmured again, with the small part of his brain that had paid attention, ‘That’s good. That’s good …’

He put his fork down, the food untouched, and took my hand. ‘You’re the best.’

‘Ethan … what’s going on?’ I said. I remembered how, one time, we’d decided what animals we most resembled. One of the silly conversations that couples pass the time with. He’d chosen something sweet but uninteresting for me, like a songbird. I hadn’t said it, but I’d always considered Ethan as a mole, burrowing blindly through life. Never stopping, never looking back.

And yet here he was. Reflecting. Taking stock. Today must have been an absolute shocker.

‘I was thinking about my dad again earlier,’ he said. ‘My brother and I, we always talk about him like he was an absolute legend. The funniest guy, ruthless with everyone. But sometimes I reckon it was all just anger. Dad was angry all the time, at everyone. At being unemployed, at the council, at my mum. He never really had a good word to say about anyone, you know? I don’t ever remember seeing him and my mum kiss. Not once. I don’t want to be like that.’

‘You’re not.’ I thought back to scrappy Ethan, who I used to have to pull out of precarious situations in pubs.

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