She didn't even bother to knock - just barged straight into his bedroom,
as she bedroom, as she had always done. What if he hadn't been dressed? A quick glance at his Winnie
the Pooh (Gran's fault) wall-clock informed Richard that it was not quite seven-thirty.
On a Saturday morning? Bloody Hell! What was
this?
"Would you like a cup of tea, darling?" Georgina Anderson
cheerfully enquired. "I was just making a pot for me and Steve."
Richard's head was throbbing. "Welcome home, Mum.
Long time, no see."
"Richard, you will not speak to me like that, young
man! I'm your mother!"
"You remembered, then? Listen, Mum, I'm really
not in the mood for this, okay? I'm going out."
"Richard, what the...?"
But Richard was downstairs, had grabbed his denim jacket,
and was out of the door, before she could finish her sentence.
Rich didn't know where the Hell he was going, but he had
to get out of that place. He needed to think straight. A million thoughts, and fragments of memories, were racing
around in his brain.
Maybe he should go to John's, he thought, but decided against
it. This was much too early for John, who believed that, if he was up in time to catch the footie on TV on
a Saturday, then that was a bonus. Emma had tried at few times to persuade her boyfriend to alter his weekend "routine",
but even she had long since given up on the lazy sod. Julie's?
No - no way. Julie had been through enough, in the
past few hours, what with walking in on Steve and Sam, and then...
Richard found himself approaching the park. It looked
so different, with the sunlight reflecting on the slide, on which two little kids were playing. Their mum, who didn't
look much older than Julie, was keeping a watchful eye on them both.
Richard sat down, on one of the few benches which had yet
to be vandalised.
Why had Julie pushed him away like that? Richard was
"just a kid". He was "Steve's brother". Yeah, well, that hadn't stopped her from snogging him.
Fucking tease, though Richard - but that was his brother's
language, wasn't it? Not Richard's.
And Steve didn't love Julie - not the way Rich did - or
he wouldn't have bothered with all the Cheryls and Taras and Sams. They were nothing, compared to her.
"Mum, tell him! He keeps on hitting me!"
"Damon, don't hit your sister, please."
"It's not my fault. Amy won't let me have
a go on the slide!"
"Let your brother have his turn, please, Amy."
Richard smiled to himself, even though he felt more like
crying. Two kids - sibling rivalry - now, that was familiar.
An elderly lady, strolling past with her equally decrepit
black poodle, returned the smile, which the old dear had evidently presumed was intended for her.
So, now Richard was "pulling" someone's grandmother,
was he? Bloody marvelous!
He checked his phone. She still hadn't answered his
text messages, or the voicemail.
Richard didn't even want to think about that damn
voicemail.
It was then that Richard spotted Charlotte.
That was all he needed.
