Chapter 8
934 Words
Mitch leads the way to breakfast. I follow her, carrying Vicky in her travel-cot.
My wife…
My daughter…
Ahead of us, the kitchen is a cacophony of clamour and clatter and chatter, echoing down the hall.
My mouth is dry…
Why?
A normal life…
I wanted this…
James, in jeans and a cable-knit pullover, sleeves rolled up, is at the hob, moving between pans and plates and grill like a conjurer on speed. He flashes a smile at Mitch as she enters; nods an acknowledgement to me as I hesitate in the doorway, then pauses, looking fixedly at me for a moment.
Mitch takes a seat next to Jenny, pulling up a side-table…
My other daughter…
… who is occupied with feeding Cara…
My grandchild...
Seated in a highchair, her face and bib are spattered yellow as Jenny spoons something eggy into her mouth. The tray of the chair swims with God-knows-what.
Right next to Cara, Beth feeds Adam bright orange mush. It’s a messy process. His tray too, and the plastic mat on the floor, accommodating both chairs, is a slush-bespattered disaster zone.
Jenny holds back a bright green Mickey Mouse spoon, loaded with egg. “Here comes the aeroplane…” The spoon makes an arc through the air and Cara, burbling, opens her mouth wide.
At the last moment, chubby fingers grab the spoon from Jenny, aiming more-or-less at their owner’s face. A small portion of the food is delivered to her mouth. The remainder slops down face, bib and tray. Cara tries again, jabbing down into the bowl of egg with the spoon, scooping up a little, spilling most. Next to her, Adam has lost interest in his orange slop, stretching out wriggling fingers to Cara’s bowl.
Jenny watches with critical eye, then slices toast into finger-sized pieces, giving one to Cara and offering another to Adam. He grabs it, then champs at the end, not so much eating it, as pulverising it.
Mitch pats the side-table. “Just pop Vicky down here, would you, Larry.” As I set down the cot, she produces her bag of baby-feeding kit.
At the other side of the table, Michael is telling some tale to Haswell, illustrating his words with waves of a toast-clutching hand. He breaks off halfway through as Adam raises a wail of protest, pudgy arms still grabbing toward Cara’s bowl.
Normal life?
Complete f*****g chaos…
James, poking at a sizzling frying pan, flicks eyes to mine, away to his pan, then back to me, once more holding for a moment. He sweeps the room with his gaze. Returns to me. Head inclining, he smiles slightly and nods me to a seat. “Larry, poached eggs?”
“Thank you, yes.”
“Two or three?”
“Two, please. But I’ll do it. I can see you have your hands full.”
He wavers, reluctance shining out. “It’s not a problem. I can manage. Take a seat.”
“I’m happy to help...” Still, he hesitates… “I didn’t realise your control issues extended to the kitchen.”
James’ expression darkens. Mitch coughs and lays a hand on my arm. “Larry, it’s James’ kitchen. He’s in charge here.”
James’Was that rude of me?
Perhaps…
Injecting the joke into my voice, “My plans for world domination didn’t include ousting James from his beloved hob. I was just trying to…”
James awards me a dry look, then turns for the fridge. “Poached eggs coming up. Let’s all play to our strengths.” The toaster clicks and four golden slices pop up. “Help yourself to toast.” He regards the toaster critically, sucking in his cheeks. “I need to get a bigger one, don’t I.”
The doorbell rings. Michael stands, half a slice of toast in hand, still chewing. “I"ll get it. Are we expecting anyone?”
Mitch looks up from Vicky"s bottle. “I"m giving Kirstie the final fitting for her wedding dress this morning. Ryan’s probably with her.”
As Michael exits the kitchen, Cara bangs on the tray of her high chair, with her spoon, setting the plastic bowl rattling. Vicky burbles and hiccups. Beside Beth, Adam joins in with Cara, banging his own spoon.
Michael returns with a smiling Ryan, a beaming Kirstie.
“Kirstie! Ryan!” Voices rise. Chairs scrape back from the table to make space as Michael pulls in one extra chair, Haswell another.
James cracks eggs into simmering water, then puts the lid on the pan and sets it to one side. “You two joining us for breakfast?”
Ryan rubs at his arms. “Thanks. Don"t mind if I do, James. It"s cold out there.”
Mugs and plates clatter. Adam and Cara start a mush-throwing contest. Jenny and Beth relieve them of their spoons and bowls, then lift them out of the highchairs, placing them in a playpen set to one side.
How do people stand this all the time?
Two perfectly poached eggs, nestled on golden toast, are set before me, two more in front of Kirstie and Ryan, and James finally sits down to his own breakfast, actually just a slice of toast and black coffee. “So, if it’s not world domination today, Larry, what’s on your timetable?”
I pour myself more coffee, keeping my attention on pot and mug. “Nothing in particular.”
In truth, the day yawns ahead of me. Boredom is a new experience.
What do people do with their time?
What people do with their time?A normal life…
*****
- Writer
