been really hard for her over the years – but you know that . . . Tea? Milk? Sugar?’ He turned around, still gripping
onto the work surface like it was a safety rope.
Really hard for her over the years . . . What did he mean by that? But you know that . . . I didn’t know, she hadn’t told me. I
started to remember all the occasions we’d been out and how she would just disappear sometimes, putting it down to a variety of
reasons. I’d just accepted it as a quirk, just the way she was, but now it seemed like my questions were about to be answered.
‘Oh, just milk and one sugar please,’ I responded, sinking into the sofa. I was quite disappointed that she wasn’t here, but I just
knew there was something going on. She’d obviously been holding something back from me. Something I needed to know about,
and without her here I stood more chance of finding out.
‘So, what are you doing at the weekend? Anything nice?’ I questioned as the water boiled so violently it shook the kettle hard on
the wooden worktop. Oh, that was original, I thought. Might as well have started talking about the sodding weather.
‘Not a lot, son.’ He laughed slightly, stopping himself by leaning over the mugs and holding his breath for a few seconds.
This made me nervous so I perked up in my seat, watching him closely. I noticed several large bottles of prescription medicine on
the side.
He continued, ‘Well, you know, I can’t do so much these days. Just reading a lot, trying to learn as much as I can about the world
from books. It’s not as if I can get out there. I write a lot too, in those black notebooks over there. I write about what it must be like
to live, properly, you know?’
Something was clearly very wrong with Sienna’s dad. But why hadn’t she told me? Maybe he had cancer, I thought. I felt a wave
of sadness rush over me. I wanted to run out, find her and hold her really tight, but at the same time I began to feel angry that she’d
never told me. She can’t be that close to me, I thought, suddenly feeling like she was a stranger and I was imposing in a world I’d
never been invited to explore. Maybe I had made a mistake by coming here.
The sound of a teaspoon jangling inside a mug snapped me out of my panic spiral.
‘I’m sorry, George, but I don’t know what you mean by these days,’ I said quietly, unable to keep up the pretence that I knew
something I didn’t – but should.
He went quiet; the stirring stopped. Sadness crept over his features and he looked even more tired.
I stood up and started to walk over to him. ‘Here, let me get those,’ I said, reaching out to relieve him of the duty. He turned to
face me, both cups of boiling hot tea in his thin hands, and then suddenly, the most awful thing happened.
As if in slow motion, the life seeped out of his eyes and his legs gave way beneath him, like buildings crumbling under the force
of an earthquake.
I tried, I really did, but it was too late. Every muscle in my body lurched forward to catch him, but I missed. I missed. I failed.
The cups of tea flew into the air, milky brown water spraying all around us before the china smashed into little pieces on the floor.
What must have been searing hot liquid ran down my face, but I felt no pain.
His face was expressionless as he crashed to the ground. I feared he might break in half. The boiling hot tea was all over his legs,
and he lay motionless on the lino. Silence swept over the room. Shit. Fuck.
‘Shit,’ I muttered, my whole body starting to shake. Chunks of vomit started to fill my throat. My vision suddenly became
sharpened, my sense of smell heightened; I was experiencing everything in ultra-sharp technicolour.
Fight or flight, Nick. Fight or flight.
I dropped down to his side, my knees sliding through the tea all around us. I arranged his body into the recovery position, shaking
so much that I felt as if I would pass out. He must have had a heart attack. Oh my
onto the work surface like it was a safety rope.
Really hard for her over the years . . . What did he mean by that? But you know that . . . I didn’t know, she hadn’t told me. I
started to remember all the occasions we’d been out and how she would just disappear sometimes, putting it down to a variety of
reasons. I’d just accepted it as a quirk, just the way she was, but now it seemed like my questions were about to be answered.
‘Oh, just milk and one sugar please,’ I responded, sinking into the sofa. I was quite disappointed that she wasn’t here, but I just
knew there was something going on. She’d obviously been holding something back from me. Something I needed to know about,
and without her here I stood more chance of finding out.
‘So, what are you doing at the weekend? Anything nice?’ I questioned as the water boiled so violently it shook the kettle hard on
the wooden worktop. Oh, that was original, I thought. Might as well have started talking about the sodding weather.
‘Not a lot, son.’ He laughed slightly, stopping himself by leaning over the mugs and holding his breath for a few seconds.
This made me nervous so I perked up in my seat, watching him closely. I noticed several large bottles of prescription medicine on
the side.
He continued, ‘Well, you know, I can’t do so much these days. Just reading a lot, trying to learn as much as I can about the world
from books. It’s not as if I can get out there. I write a lot too, in those black notebooks over there. I write about what it must be like
to live, properly, you know?’
Something was clearly very wrong with Sienna’s dad. But why hadn’t she told me? Maybe he had cancer, I thought. I felt a wave
of sadness rush over me. I wanted to run out, find her and hold her really tight, but at the same time I began to feel angry that she’d
never told me. She can’t be that close to me, I thought, suddenly feeling like she was a stranger and I was imposing in a world I’d
never been invited to explore. Maybe I had made a mistake by coming here.
The sound of a teaspoon jangling inside a mug snapped me out of my panic spiral.
‘I’m sorry, George, but I don’t know what you mean by these days,’ I said quietly, unable to keep up the pretence that I knew
something I didn’t – but should.
He went quiet; the stirring stopped. Sadness crept over his features and he looked even more tired.
I stood up and started to walk over to him. ‘Here, let me get those,’ I said, reaching out to relieve him of the duty. He turned to
face me, both cups of boiling hot tea in his thin hands, and then suddenly, the most awful thing happened.
As if in slow motion, the life seeped out of his eyes and his legs gave way beneath him, like buildings crumbling under the force
of an earthquake.
I tried, I really did, but it was too late. Every muscle in my body lurched forward to catch him, but I missed. I missed. I failed.
The cups of tea flew into the air, milky brown water spraying all around us before the china smashed into little pieces on the floor.
What must have been searing hot liquid ran down my face, but I felt no pain.
His face was expressionless as he crashed to the ground. I feared he might break in half. The boiling hot tea was all over his legs,
and he lay motionless on the lino. Silence swept over the room. Shit. Fuck.
‘Shit,’ I muttered, my whole body starting to shake. Chunks of vomit started to fill my throat. My vision suddenly became
sharpened, my sense of smell heightened; I was experiencing everything in ultra-sharp technicolour.
Fight or flight, Nick. Fight or flight.
I dropped down to his side, my knees sliding through the tea all around us. I arranged his body into the recovery position, shaking
so much that I felt as if I would pass out. He must have had a heart attack. Oh my
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