STANDING IN THE STREET
, I hesitated with my hand on the low garden gate. Beyond it, the building had once been a majestic Georgian townhouse with cream coloured walls and tall sash windows. Now, the walls were flecked with dirt and stained with damp. In places, the rendering had fallen away, revealing the dull brown bricks beneath. Cracked white paint peeled away from the window frames, and every pane of glass was dim, streaked with grime.

My dad’s flat was on the third floor, and sometimes when I arrived for a visit I’d find him looking out the window, waiting for me. But not today.
I hope he hasn’t forgotten
, I thought. He should’ve been expecting me—he’d called the night before and asked me to come over. Still, it was only just 11 o’clock, and Dad didn’t always surface before lunch.

I let myself in through the garden gate and walked slowly toward the front door. A path made from cracked paving slabs led through the small front garden, and next to the path stood a neat stack of plastic crates: glass, cans, paper and cardboard ready to be collected for recycling. The crate of cans was almost overflowing, and I couldn’t help but notice that most of the cans bore the brand name of a certain extra-strength lager.
They might not all be his
, I told myself. But I wasn’t convinced. I shook my head and stepped up to the front door.

The flat had an entry phone system, and Dad answered straight away.
That’s good
, I thought,
at least he’s up and about
. I leaned forward to speak into the intercom. “Hi, Dad. It’s me.”

“Hi, Jake. Perfect timing. Come on up.”

I smiled to myself. It sounded like this was one of his good days.

When I got the top of the stairs, he was waiting for me at the door into his little flat. “Come in, come in,” he said. “I’ve just put some coffee on.”

“Great,” I said. “Smells good.”

He ushered me into the living room then disappeared into the kitchen. I could hear him singing to himself as he made the coffee. “Do you want any help?” I called.

“No, no. Just sit down, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“OK.” I went over to the couch, and just for once I didn’t have to move a pile of laundry before I sat down. The TV was on, although the screen was frozen on the credits for a TV show.

“Here we are,” my dad said as he came into the room carrying two large, steaming mugs. “Just the way you like it.”

He set the mugs down on the small table then joined me on the couch. “Thanks,” I said, picking up the mug and inhaling the fragrant steam. “You make the best coffee.”

“The secret is in getting the right beans,” he said. Then he gave me a sideways look and wrinkled his nose. “But I’ve probably told you that before.”

I smiled. “Just once or twice, Dad,” I said. “Just once or twice.”

He chuckled softly under his breath. “Sorry. Stuck record.” He sipped his coffee, closing his eyes to savour the taste. “Nicaraguan. Just roasted last week.” He glanced at me. “I bought them online. Had them delivered.”

I took a drink and made a show of enjoying it. The coffee was good. It didn’t taste all that different from the brew I could buy on any high street, but there was no way I’d say that to my dad. “It’s really great,” I said. “Kind of nutty.” I hesitated. “But getting it delivered—isn’t that a bit expensive?”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Jake. I do have a job you know. It may not be much, but it pays the bills.”

“I know, Dad. I know. It’s just…I worry, that’s all.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “It’s all fine, Jake. I get a staff discount on my groceries, so I won’t starve. And this place isn’t so bad.”

I looked around the room and had to admit that when it was tidy like this, the flat seemed homely—cosy even. I forced a smile and nodded, but something in my expression must’ve given me away.

“What’s up?” He asked. “Things not so good at home?”

I looked down at my hands. “No, it’s all fine. Really.”

“You know, you can always come and stay with me.”

“I know,” I said. “But you’ve only got the sofa bed. It’s all right for a night or two, but that’s all.” I paused. “And we’d be falling over each other.”

“You mean, you don’t really want to leave your mum on her own.”

I shrugged. “Well, there’s that too.”

For a long thirty seconds we let the silence hang in the air. “Don’t forget your coffee,” Dad said. “Don’t let it go cold.”

“Sure.” I took a long drink of coffee and felt that first buzz as the caffeine got to work.

My dad cleared his throat. “Maybe you’re right, Jake. Maybe it’s time I found somewhere bigger.” He hesitated. “You know…I’ve been thinking about going back into teaching.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I think maybe I’d like to give it another try.”

“Wow, Dad. That’s amazing. Are you sure you’re—you know—ready for that?”

He looked me in the eye and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m fine,” he said firmly. “Everything is fine. And frankly, I think you might have a little more faith in me.”

“It’s not that, Dad—” I started, but he wasn’t listening.

“I was always a good teacher,” he went on. “I loved working with the kids. And I did a pretty good job of getting you through your exams when you wouldn’t go back to school.”

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. “That’s not fair. You know I
couldn’t
have gone back. I lost four years, Dad.
Four
years.”

Dad stared at me for a second, his eyes hard, but then his expression softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all right, Dad. It’s all right. We’ve both…we’ve been through a lot.”

Dad snorted. “You could say that.” And there was the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. “But you’re home now, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess so.”

Dad looked at me for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. Then he leaned forward, sitting on the edge of his seat. “I’ve been thinking. It’s time for you to finish your education. It’s not too late. You could still get into college, or do a part-time course.”

“I don’t know, Dad. We’ve been through all this before.”

“Maybe you just weren’t ready back then,” Dad said. “But now, after all these years, surely it’s time to get your life back on track. You could still get into university. You were always a bright boy. It breaks my heart to know you’re just pushing papers in an office.”

I looked down at the floor. “It’s not papers—it’s all on computer.”

“You know what I mean. It doesn’t sound very exciting anyway. I’m sure you could do a lot better for yourself.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“It’s been a long time, Jake,” he said softly. “Seven years.”

I looked up at him. “You’re right, Dad. I know you are. I should put it all behind me. But somehow, I just can’t let it go.”

Dad nodded in sympathy. “Are you sleeping properly these days?”

“Not really,” I said. I took another sip of my coffee. “I keep dreaming about it. And it’s so vivid. It’s like I’m back there.” A shudder ran through me but I hid my unease, twisting around to shift the sagging cushions on the sofa.

“I understand,” Dad said, and something in his tone made me give him a questioning look.

“You need to know what really happened,” he went on. “I know what that feels like.”

Another awkward silence crept into the room. We sipped our coffee and fidgeted.

BOOK: Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3)

5.05Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads