Basket cup that sparkled under the cotton cloth in his
hand.
“Oh, hello, son. I didn’t know
whether or not you’d be eating at home. Sorry I haven’t started to make
anything yet.”
“I don’t expect you to wait on me
all the time, Paps. I can look after myself,” I said, kicking myself for my
tone. It wasn’t Pappa’s fault I was losing grip on the one woman I’d ever truly
desired. “Will soup be all right for you?”
“Soup’s good.” He nodded.
I pulled a can from the cupboard.
“Kendrick around?” I asked, as I opened it and poured the thick liquid into a
microwavable container.
“Haven’t seen him all day. I’ve
been meaning to ask you if you’ve had chance to have a word yet?”
“A bit, but I get the impression
he wants to work rather than study. I’m hoping his absence is a sign he’s
actually turned up to class today.” The microwave pinged and I shared the soup
into bowls.
“Yes. Let us hope so. Jobs are
hard to find, and doing well at college would stop him hanging around with
those low lives.”
“What low lives?” I asked, moving
the can of silver polish to one side and replacing it with a bowl.
Pappa slurped his soup. “I’ve
seen that Murphy boy dropping him off on a few occasions, different car every
time, most likely stolen. Boys like him are bad news. Come from bad stock.” He
waved his spoon and a splodge of soup landed on Best Hanging Basket. He’d be
pissed when he noticed that, and had to clean it again. “His father in and out of
prison for pushing drugs, mother in the psych ward. What chance has a kid got
with parents like that? Liam Murphy probably has his spot behind bars already
reserved, and I wouldn’t like to see Kendrick going down with him.”
Me neither. With my worst suspicions
confirmed, the urge to find Kendrick gnawed at my insides, as I wiped a piece
of bread across the last of my soup, but I didn’t have the time. I had fifteen
minutes before I was due to meet Cora, and I still had to change.
Choosing to cover my T-shirt with
a lightweight, cotton sweater—which erred on the tight side since hitting the
uni gym—almost identical in colour to my thin, black jeans, I studied my
reflection. Kendrick was right. A trip to the barber’s wouldn’t go amiss. I
hadn’t had a fringe that touched my nose since I was fourteen, when I first saw
Sweeney Todd and refused to have my hair cut for a year. Other than that, I
looked good, and I was reasonably convinced that I portrayed the right amount
of maturity needed to convince Cora I could be in her life. I arrived next door
at twelve-thirty on the dot.
She was waiting.
Chapter Nine
I stepped inside. “Ready to go?”
She nodded and swivelled to grab her
purse from the hall table. As she turned, her flirty skirt flew up to reveal
the back of her knees, and the sheer, almost see-through, sleeveless blouse
rippled with the movement of the air. It was a very distracting outfit. How was
I supposed to keep the trip professional when she looked like that? If she wore
something similar for her date, I knew exactly how much the guy would be dying
to get his filthy hands on her, and the thought filled me with dread.
“You might want to put on a
jacket,” I noted. “It looks like rain.”
“Maybe. But it’s warm. I’ll be
fine.” She paused with her key in the lock, waiting for me to exit. “Are we
doing this or not?”
It was a short journey to the
local DIY store, housing a small gardening section at the back, and before long,
we were standing amongst the plant pot filled benches, reading the accompanying
information tags. I stood back and watched as Cora took pleasure in sniffing
the blossoms and running her fingers through the soft tufts of the alpines. If
that was her thing, I had a tuft she could finger, no problem. I noticed she
was still wearing her wedding ring, and once I’d seen it, I couldn’t ignore the
fact. If someone had shit on me, as her husband had done to her,
hand.
“Oh, hello, son. I didn’t know
whether or not you’d be eating at home. Sorry I haven’t started to make
anything yet.”
“I don’t expect you to wait on me
all the time, Paps. I can look after myself,” I said, kicking myself for my
tone. It wasn’t Pappa’s fault I was losing grip on the one woman I’d ever truly
desired. “Will soup be all right for you?”
“Soup’s good.” He nodded.
I pulled a can from the cupboard.
“Kendrick around?” I asked, as I opened it and poured the thick liquid into a
microwavable container.
“Haven’t seen him all day. I’ve
been meaning to ask you if you’ve had chance to have a word yet?”
“A bit, but I get the impression
he wants to work rather than study. I’m hoping his absence is a sign he’s
actually turned up to class today.” The microwave pinged and I shared the soup
into bowls.
“Yes. Let us hope so. Jobs are
hard to find, and doing well at college would stop him hanging around with
those low lives.”
“What low lives?” I asked, moving
the can of silver polish to one side and replacing it with a bowl.
Pappa slurped his soup. “I’ve
seen that Murphy boy dropping him off on a few occasions, different car every
time, most likely stolen. Boys like him are bad news. Come from bad stock.” He
waved his spoon and a splodge of soup landed on Best Hanging Basket. He’d be
pissed when he noticed that, and had to clean it again. “His father in and out of
prison for pushing drugs, mother in the psych ward. What chance has a kid got
with parents like that? Liam Murphy probably has his spot behind bars already
reserved, and I wouldn’t like to see Kendrick going down with him.”
Me neither. With my worst suspicions
confirmed, the urge to find Kendrick gnawed at my insides, as I wiped a piece
of bread across the last of my soup, but I didn’t have the time. I had fifteen
minutes before I was due to meet Cora, and I still had to change.
Choosing to cover my T-shirt with
a lightweight, cotton sweater—which erred on the tight side since hitting the
uni gym—almost identical in colour to my thin, black jeans, I studied my
reflection. Kendrick was right. A trip to the barber’s wouldn’t go amiss. I
hadn’t had a fringe that touched my nose since I was fourteen, when I first saw
Sweeney Todd and refused to have my hair cut for a year. Other than that, I
looked good, and I was reasonably convinced that I portrayed the right amount
of maturity needed to convince Cora I could be in her life. I arrived next door
at twelve-thirty on the dot.
She was waiting.
Chapter Nine
I stepped inside. “Ready to go?”
She nodded and swivelled to grab her
purse from the hall table. As she turned, her flirty skirt flew up to reveal
the back of her knees, and the sheer, almost see-through, sleeveless blouse
rippled with the movement of the air. It was a very distracting outfit. How was
I supposed to keep the trip professional when she looked like that? If she wore
something similar for her date, I knew exactly how much the guy would be dying
to get his filthy hands on her, and the thought filled me with dread.
“You might want to put on a
jacket,” I noted. “It looks like rain.”
“Maybe. But it’s warm. I’ll be
fine.” She paused with her key in the lock, waiting for me to exit. “Are we
doing this or not?”
It was a short journey to the
local DIY store, housing a small gardening section at the back, and before long,
we were standing amongst the plant pot filled benches, reading the accompanying
information tags. I stood back and watched as Cora took pleasure in sniffing
the blossoms and running her fingers through the soft tufts of the alpines. If
that was her thing, I had a tuft she could finger, no problem. I noticed she
was still wearing her wedding ring, and once I’d seen it, I couldn’t ignore the
fact. If someone had shit on me, as her husband had done to her,
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