Seven Point Eight by Marie A. Harbon Page B

liked it or not, Max was about to turn my reality upside down again.

3
    Key to the Door

    Saturday 19 th November 1988

    The smell of roast chicken filled the kitchen, enhanced by the additional aroma of thyme. Ava glanced over at the array of vegetables sitting obediently in their serving dishes, plus the array of condiments awaiting attention. Everything was behaving itself.
    With the radio blasting ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ by Guns ‘N’ Roses, she performed a little secret dance while her guests chatted at the table in the next room. She even slipped in a quick mime of the chorus, using a kitchen implement as a mock microphone, but the timer pinged and interrupted.
    Ava grabbed the oven gloves and reached down to take the chicken out. As she grasped the roasting tray, a surreal sight greeted her eyes. Wrapped around the succulent chicken, she saw two entwined snakes, writhing and poking their tongues out. Ava suppressed a shriek and dropped the tray on the floor.
    God damn these hallucinations!
    They were beginning to affect her everyday life now, and caught her at the most inopportune moments…like cooking for her entire family for her 21 st birthday meal.
    One of her flatmates, Emma, poked her head around the door.
    “Everything okay?”
    They both looked at the roasting tray on the floor, and figured everything wasn’t actually under control. Emma’s hand shot to her mouth, and Ava rescued it before it looked even sorrier than it already did. Thankfully, the chicken hadn’t launched itself onto the tiles, and no one else witnessed the culinary travesty.
      “You’re the only person I know who cooks for everyone on her birthday,” Emma commented, assisting Ava in transferring the platters to the dining table, which was already laden with cutlery.
    The whole family sat around the table, almost arm to arm with the tight squeeze. Ava and Emma set the chicken onto a plate while her father, David Kavanagh, offered to carve. He possessed a natural air of authority, interlaced with good humour and a warm smile, so he joked about his army days as he sliced the chicken.
    Everyone began to help themselves to vegetables. Ava’s flame haired sister, Ginny, slapped the wrist of her husband as he reached over her, and he shot her an irritated glance. In her early thirties, she appeared quite athletic, as if she threw javelins for a living or rode horses, a modern Boudicca to her Roman looking partner. They seemed to have a relationship similar to the Iceni and Romans too, but curtailed their altercations for Ava’s benefit.
    “That’s a beautiful scarf you’re wearing, Ava,” her mother commented. “It looks really vintage.”
    Caroline Kavanagh’s eyes fixated on the red silk scarf around Ava’s neck, which she’d tied loosely.
    “I found it recently,” she explained.
    She gave Ava a broad smile, exemplifying her once carefree and hedonistic nature, as if she’d been a flower power queen in the sixties.
    As they tucked into their meal, her father poured the wine and everyone raised their glasses.
    “Happy birthday!”
    She tried to shrug it off with modesty, but appreciated their toast. However, her gaze drifted over to the two empty chairs.
    “Well, almost the whole family is here,” she said.
    After a short while, Ginny decided to make polite conversation with Ava as the men discussed cars and technology.
    “So, is there a special man in your life?”
    Ava wanted to grit her teeth, as her oldest sister always became obsessed with other people’s relationships. Instead, she forced a polite reply. “No. I split with Michael a few months ago.” The regrets were difficult to hide though, and her voice faltered a little.         
    “Sorry to hear that, you were such a promising couple,” she consoled.
    “No harm in leading a single life,” her other flatmate, Jason, interjected.
    “I thought you two were going to leave for the States after you’ve finished your degree. This is