Chapter 11

Seymour’s days seemed to have no focus now and worry about Angie filled his whole mind and soul. It even drove him to answer Thelma back the next evening at dinner. She was watching his unenthusiastic attempts at eating and reprimanded him with, ‘You shouldn’t waste good food like that. You’re moping again, young man, that’s what you’re up to. I know it hasn’t been much fun for you here, but it was all we could do under the circumstances. Your mother…’

‘Well, if you really want to know what I think, she’s always making a stupid big drama out of everything,’ Seymour snapped, weary of it all. ‘It’s like cloak and dagger stuff, this hiding out…It wasn’t even needed. She just likes all the fuss.’

Thelma looked at him, astonished, as though a piece of her furniture had spoken.

‘Like a TV soapie, the way she carries on,’ Seymour said, not knowing the effect his outburst had caused, for he was looking with distaste at the plate holding the unappetising heavy food Thelma always served, no matter what the temperature. ‘Dad’s not really like what she makes out, he’s not a criminal. What’s he ever done that’s so awful, anyway, except going round the pubs? If people got off his back he might manage a bit better. You can’t blame him for wanting to see me now and then, either. She should have let me stay at that caravan park till school went back. I didn’t mind it. One night it was nice—everyone had a barbecue down by the river and Dad got hold of someone’s guitar. I never heard him play before, never even knew he could! She never asked me if I wanted to stay on there, just told me to pack my things up. It wasn’t…fair. He gets lonely, like everyone else…’

‘As he deserves to be!’ Thelma said tartly. ‘I don’t know how you can sit there and defend him after all the trouble he’s caused! That shiftless…Why, he never ever got a proper home together for you all, not to mention Marie having to work all these years to meet the bills. If anyone deserves your support, young man, it’s your poor mother.’