Straight to You

FRIDAY 3 OCTOBER

FRIDAY 3 OCTOBER

Last person in the office. Again. The sales clerks and the customer service officers were long gone, leaving him behind to try and catch up in the silence. With an in-tray full of files and an inbox full of unanswered messages, it had been another one of those days. Actually, it had been another one of those weeks. He glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised how dark it was beyond the harsh glare of his computer screen. Almost six. It felt much later, no doubt because of the disorientating mix of early evening darkness and midday-like heat. The staff had been moaning about it all afternoon. ‘It’s like autumn’s forgotten to turn up,’ he’d heard Gail say.

‘Or summer’s refused to go,’ Janice had agreed. ‘I’m starting to miss the cold. It’s supposed to be twenty-eight degrees out there today. Christ knows what temperature it is in here. It’s too hot to work, I know that much.’

Steven’s mobile lit up and began to vibrate, startling him. How long had he been staring into space? The brightness of the phone made the dark even more apparent. A picture of Sam filled the small screen. ‘Hey,’ he said, answering it fast.

‘Never mind hey, where the hell are you?’

‘Still at work. I told you I’d probably hang back and try and get a few things finished.’

‘I don’t believe you . . .’

‘Why, what’s the matter?’

‘You never listen to a bloody word I say.’

‘I do.’

‘Then what was the last thing I said when you left this morning after you told me you were going to work late?’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘I said you couldn’t. Remember why? Does the date not ring any bells?’

He looked at the calendar. ‘s**t. Dad’s birthday.’

‘Exactly. See, what did I say? You never bloody listen.’

‘I do listen. It’s been crazy here. I’ve had to deal with loads of stuff I wasn’t expecting and—’

‘—and I’m not interested. Get home, please. I’ll phone your mom and tell her we’re running late. We’ll have to meet them at the pub.’

‘Okay. Sorry. Look, I’ll leave now and I’ll be home in twenty minutes. I’ll go in what I’m wearing and . . .’

Steven stopped talking. She’d hung up.

#

The last thing any of them wanted on a day as hot as today was a full carvery dinner but it was Dad’s birthday, and what Dad wanted on his birthday, Dad got. He sat at the head of the table like a spoiled kid, paper napkin tucked into his collar like a dodgy cravat. ‘Happy birthday, Jim,’ Sam said, kissing him on the cheek and handing him his present and card.

‘Happy birthday, Dad,’ Steven dutifully added.

The bar was crowded but the restaurant was half empty and they were served quickly. Jim’s plate was piled high with meat and vegetables, almost as much as the rest of them combined. ‘I’m paying for it, so I might as well eat it,’ was his questionable logic.

Steven’s mom Brenda was sitting to her husband’s right, her daughter, Steven’s sister Jessica, sitting opposite her. Jessica’s boyfriend Tom (who rarely looked out from under his ridiculous floppy fringe and hardly ever spoke) sat next to her, opposite Sam. Steven sat between them at the other end of the table facing Dad, working hard to get through a meal he didn’t particularly want. It was obvious he didn’t want to be there. His detachment didn’t deter his mother. ‘So how’s work, Steven?’ she asked, yelling down the table.

He forced down a mouthful. ‘What can I say? Work’s work.’

‘He’s really busy at the moment, aren’t you Steve?’ Sam said.

‘I’m surprised, what with this heat,’ Brenda said.

‘Bloody hell, Mom, the rest of the world doesn’t stop just ’cause it’s hot. The heat just means everything takes that much more effort.’

‘I read something online,’ Tom said from behind his curtain of hair, surprising everyone with his unexpected interjection. The rest of the table fell silent with anticipation. ‘I was on this Prepper site yesterday.’

‘Prepper site?’ Brenda asked, confused. ‘Is that something on the Internet.’

‘Preppers are cranks,’ Steven said quickly. ‘Folks who spend all their time thinking the world’s about to end.’

‘Most are cranks,’ Tom continued, unfazed, ‘not all. So I was reading this post that said this heat’s all down to some cyclical activity in the centre of the sun.’

‘Doesn’t take a brain surgeon to work out it’s to do with the sun,’ Steven sighed. This little drip really pissed him off at times. Scruffy sod. What kind of person wears torn jeans and a faded Nirvana T-shirt out to a restaurant?

‘I know that. It’s just they were saying the activity is off the scale this time. Right off the scale.’

‘So?’

‘So there’s people panicking.’

‘There’s always people panicking.’

‘It hasn’t rained for weeks.’

‘That’s not so unusual.’

‘It is.’

‘It was the summer.’

‘It was the summer. It isn’t now. It’s supposed to be autumn.’

‘Just get over it, mate. We’ll wake up in a few days and it’ll be cold and peeing down again and we’ll all be moaning because we want the sun back.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

‘I am.’

‘We could do with some rain,’ Brenda said, seizing on a gap in the conversation and trivialising things as usual. ‘You’re right, Thomas, it has been a while since we’ve had any. You should see the state of the garden . . .’

‘It’s not just about us though, is it?’ Jessica said, standing up for her boyfriend. ‘Tom was telling me about this earlier. There’s barely been any rain anywhere. Everywhere’s burning up.’

#

Steven was relieved when his plate was finally empty and even more relieved when everyone politely declined dessert and went out to the beer garden. It wasn’t easy being around his family at the moment, his mother in particular. She tried hard – too hard – to avoid mentioning the baby, and it was obvious to the point where he thought it’d be easier for all concerned if she just started every conversation with, now I’m not going to talk about the baby, but . . . When she collared Tom to ask him if the people he’d been speaking to online had any real idea when she could expect the weather to break because it was playing havoc with the lawn, and when Sam and Jess were equally occupied catching up with each other, he bought his dad a pint and sat with him a short distance away from everyone else. Floodlit but still eerily dark, it looked like the middle of night out in the beer garden, but when Steven closed his eyes it felt more like the middle of day.

‘You all right, son?’ Dad asked.

‘Fine.’

‘You don’t seem yourself.’

‘Well who else do I seem?’

‘Don’t get smart. You know what I mean. Got stuff on your mind?’

‘No more than usual.’

‘How’s work?’

‘Same old, same old.’

‘As long as you’re not overdoing it.’

‘I’m just doing what needs to be done, that’s all. It’s just that there happens to be a lot needs doing right now.’

‘And how’s Sam?’

‘She’s okay. You’ve spent all night with her, Dad. You can see that.’

‘I know, but you need to keep an eye on her. She’s been through a lot. You both have.’

Steven swigged from his drink and swiftly redirected the conversation. ‘So how’s your birthday been, Dad?’

‘Birthday’s a birthday at my age, son. The number’s not important. It’s just a chance to catch up with you and your sister. We don’t see enough of you both, you especially.’

‘I know. It’s difficult.’

‘I’m sure it is. We need to make time, though, we all do. Your mother and I are just as bad, always waiting for you to come to us. The distance is the same both ways. We could come and visit, we just don’t want to get in the way, that’s all.’

‘You wouldn’t be getting in the way.’

Dad sipped his pint, thinking. ‘I was a cocky little bugger when I was your age. You’re far more sensible than I was. That’s why you’ve got the big house and the nice car.’

‘Times have changed.’

‘I know, son, but it’s not just that. You’ve worked harder than I ever did, maybe too hard. I reckon we should both have just tried to aim a little closer to the middle.’

‘It’s either the beer or the heat, Dad, but I don’t have a clue what you’re on about.’

‘Probably my age,’ he said, chuckling to himself. ‘Don’t fall into the trap of spending every hour working, that’s all. You need to keep an eye on her, son.’

‘Who?’

‘Samantha. She might tell you she’s okay, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt, women are rarely straight with you. When your mother says one thing, I have to listen to how and when she says it to work out what she really means. They play mind-games.’

‘You’ve definitely had too much to drink, Dad.’

‘Take the piss all you like, sunshine,’ he said, looking up from his beer. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. I know more than you and your sister ever give me credit for. I may act like an old goat, but I know what’s what and like I said, keep an eye on her. Get your priorities straight.’