The Brilliant Light of Amber Sunrise by Matthew Crow Page A

timing, eh?” she said, and laughed. “I suppose all I’m saying, Francis, is that whatever it takes, I’m going to get you through this. And I’m going to be whatever you need me to be, whenever you need me to be it. I just want you to talk to me. Not to close up. Not to go inside yourself and save it all for the blog or for Chris or for that cretin you knock about with. Just let me know, Francis. Everything I do is for you. It might not always seem that way but it is. So, that’s it really, love. Just let me know what you need, and I’ll be it.”
    I nodded and went to hug her because suddenly I had forgiven her, and felt awful for scaring her, and just wanted to show her that she was always what I needed her to be, even when she was going off on one.
    When she hugged me back she felt weaker than she ever had before. Normally when she hugs me it’s the way she shakes hands with men at work, determined and solid, like she’s proving a point. This time she just sort of sank into me, like she had finished a marathon and I was wrapping her in a foil blanket.
    â€œGood night, love. No more Internet tonight,” she said. “Try and get some sleep.”
    She turned off my lamp and closed the door behind her. I waited until I heard the creak of the last stair before I picked up my laptop and carried on making my playlist.

CHAPTER FOUR
    â€œIn the face?” Chris said, genuinely shocked. I hadn’t intended to say anything, but once he had arrived and we were alone I thought I had better address the issue, just so he knew where we were at as a family.
    â€œYeah, but not hard. At first I was angry and thought about pressing charges, maybe even divorcing myself from her, like a Culkin or something.”
    â€œMaybe you should have.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I’ve forgiven her now. I just think it’s all a bit much for her. She’s doing really well, mostly. . . . She’s all right.”
    â€œShe’s the sort of woman they name hurricanes after,” said Fiona. She was kneeling on the kitchen bench, stretching her arm to the very back of the food cupboard. Mum had taken Grandma out shopping and told Chris he had to come and spend some time with me. The second the car had left the drive Fiona turned up with an empty carrier bag and she and Chris began swarming the supplies.
    â€œShe’s started hiding the good stuff at the back, behind the flour and stuff. Just dig deep,” Chris said, opening the fridge and fleecing a tub of margarine and two packets of string cheese.
    â€œDon’t tell her I told you,” I warned him.
    â€œI think we’d better call it a day,” Fiona said, pulling out a family-sized carton of stir-in pasta sauce before closing the cupboards. “Little and often . . . that way she’s none the wiser. She’ll just think Punch-bag’s got his appetite back.”
    â€œSpoken like a master criminal,” Chris said, sealing up the bag. “Oh, one more thing.” He opened the freezer and took out a packet of chicken breasts and two bags of chili Mum had frozen for emergency midweek meals. “For protein,” he said to me, half apologetically.
    Fiona grabbed the bag and ruffled my hair before fleeing the scene of the crime. We heard her shut the door behind her and we were alone.
    â€œDo you want to watch a film or something?” Chris asked.
    â€œIn a bit,” I said, texting Mum to say we needed butter. I didn’t want him to starve but even I wouldn’t tolerate dry toast on his behalf. She texted straight back, asking me to relay to Chris that he was to stop foraging in her cupboards, and that Fiona was to vacate the premises and perhaps ask her own mother for food donations. I will not recite what she said word for word due to my modesty and discretion.
    By the time Mum got back from shopping it was the in-between hours, when it’s too late for lunch and too early for