‘Yep – was just with Brian,’ he shouted over his shoulder already halfway up the stairs. He could see his bedroom door at the top of the landing just a few metres away. He was almost there, his hand reaching for the door when he heard his mother at the foot of the stairs.

‘Paul?’

He froze. ‘Yes?’

‘Can you turn around please?’

Reluctantly, Paul turned to face his mother, her gaze scanning him from top to toe and he knew she was trying to ascertain what he’d been up to.

‘I was worried,’ she said eventually. ‘Why didn’t you say you were going out? You’re never up this early and I’d made breakfast for you.’

‘Sorry, Mum,’ he replied. His fingers tapped the door handle, desperate to be out from under her scrutiny.

‘So, where have you been?’

‘I told you already,’ he said impatiently, ‘out with Brian. We rode our bikes through the woods. Like we do every Saturday.’

At the sarcasm, his father appeared, a stern figure, who even on the weekend dressed as if he was going to the office.

‘Don’t speak to your mother like that,’ he ordered, coming up behind her.

Fuck you.

‘Like what?’ Paul retorted. It was a risk. He saw his mother’s left eye twitch with anxiety as she discreetly signed a warning by touching her left earlobe.

‘It’s all right, Bill,’ she soothed.

‘No, it’s not all right, Maureen, he’s been moody and difficult for months now,’ snapped Bill, working himself up. ‘What’s he got to be moody about? The boy doesn’t want for anything. His whole future ahead of him.’

Paul and his mum locked eyes, sensing the danger.

Not today, Dad, do not do this today.

‘Come on, Bill, why don’t we go and have a cup of tea and a scone. It’s only eleven. Let Paul get on with his homework.’ Maureen trailed off, starting to move away from the bottom of the stairs. But the tenseness of her shoulders showed Paul that she was already regretting quizzing her son with Bill in the house.

‘You don’t help matters, Maureen, spoiling him the way you do. He has to learn,’ stormed Bill and Paul held his breath already anticipating his father climbing the staircase towards him; but to his relief, he saw him follow his mother into the kitchen and he knew Maureen would make him a hot chocolate later when his dad had calmed down by way of an apology.

He was free.

For now.

He didn’t hesitate. Opening his bedroom door, he closed it behind him and lay on his bed letting his mind take him to the night before, but try as he might, his father’s face twisted in anger kept inserting itself, his mind like a faulty slide projector.

18

‘Will you stop going on, woman! You never, ever stop!’