BooksBarbecue
Back The Library
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. THE LIBRARY
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Contents
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. EPILOGUE
  54. Questions for your Book Club
  55. Acknowledgements
  56. About the Author
  57. Become an Aria Addict

Dad had gone out. I checked the fridge. No beer – that was something. There was a pasty, some cheese, milk and a new tub of margarine. The freezer contained four pizzas and lots of fish fingers. I looked in the cupboard. There were cereals, a couple of tins of curried chicken and an open bag of rice. Also some soup and lots of tins of beans. I sighed at the sight of the beans. No, correction, two of them were beans and sausages – it looked like Dad had been getting adventurous in my absence. I settled on pizza as being the best option.

While the oven heated up I got out some cutlery and laid the table, like I used to do at Maggie’s. This table was way smaller but it would do the job. Maggie does things properly and eating on your lap is lazy.

I heard the front door open and Dad came in carrying a white paper bag, which he held up like a prize. ‘I thought we’d have a treat. Fish and chips.’

He looked at the laid table. ‘It’s all right; we can eat them on our laps in front of the TV,’ he said. ‘I can’t get over Maggie not having a telly.’ He chuckled to himself.

I picked up the cutlery and went through to the living room. I had missed the TV. Especially when I’d first moved in to Maggie’s but I’d quickly got used to not having one. Our evenings of reading, chatting and watching the puppies had become my normal.

Dad joined me and passed me my plate, which had a large piece of battered cod, with a lump of twisted chips on it – not a vegetable in sight.

‘I bet you’ve missed this eh? Being out in the sticks. No telly. No shops.’ He stuffed a chip in his mouth and made a murmur of pleasure. ‘You can’t beat proper chips.’ He looked at me and paused. ‘Well, get stuck in, Tom.’

I looked at my plate. The smell of grease was overpowering. ‘At Maggie’s we cooked fresh every day. Usually stuff she’d grown.’

‘Right.’ He looked deflated but only for a moment. ‘Not fish and chips with your old dad, though is it?’ He gave me a nudge and a wink.

‘No. No, it’s not.’ I smiled at him. I knew this was him making an effort. But it was a bit depressing that this was his idea of living it up – having enough money left over to have fish and chips once a week.

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