Read Online Creeps by Darren Hynes - Free Book Online Page B

finally she says, “Who’d cook for your father? Dead in a week, he’d be. What?”
    â€œNothing. Thought you were gone for good.”
    She uncrosses her arms and looks like she might go over to him, but she stays where she is. “How can I leave you ? Wanda too, but especially you because when I look at you I see me.” She pauses. “What’d he say after I left?”
    â€œNot much. Rocked in the rocking chair, then went over to the chesterfield and fell asleep.”
    His mother reaches up into the cupboard and takes down two mugs. Drops tea bags in. “Besides, I can’t very well up and leave my Woolworths job, can I? People depend on me and the place is always packed and Jerry, the cook, says it’s because I’m good with the customers. Sure, just the other day I had a man say I was the prettiest thing he ever met and what a shame it was that I was married and who was the lucky devil?” She pauses. “Don’t tell your father.”
    It’s quiet for ages, then the kettle whistles.
    His mom prepares the tea and brings it over.
    Wayne blows and takes a sip.
    â€œToo sweet?” his mother says.
    He shakes his head. “Perfect.”
    They drink and say nothing. Finally his mother goes, “Should be more like Wanda. The world could blow up and she wouldn’t care.”
    Mumbling from the living room then. They listen. It goes quiet again. His mom says, “Even in his sleep he’s got to have the last word.”
    They just sit there.
    The fridge kicks in.
    The grandfather clock chimes.
    â€œYou sick of us fighting?”
    Wayne gazes into his mug. “I don’t know.”
    She slides forward, her face close to his. Green green eyes and she smells like Juicy Fruit. She goes to speak but stops herself, then tries again. “He’s an alcoholic.”
    Wayne holds her stare.
    â€œYou know what that is, I suppose?”
    He nods.
    She sits back. Rests her hands in her lap. Looks past his shoulder and, for a moment, appears lost.
    Wayne lets the word settle. Alcoholic. He thinks about needing things—his notebooks and his Razor Point extra-fine pens and his alone time— wondering if that might make him an alcoholic, too.
    â€œWe’ll always come second to him,” his mother says.
    Wayne takes his final gulp and pushes his mug aside and figures that second isn’t so bad. In a race that’s a silver medal. If you’re the second chosen in street hockey that means you’re nearly the most sought-after player. In a play, second best might mean being relegated to a supporting role. No shame in that though. Supporting characters often steal the show. People notice seconds. And thirds. Fourths even. Wayne would be happy being fifth or sixth. No, there’s nothing wrong with second. Even if what’s first is a bottle of Bacardi Dark.
    â€œAt least there’s always food on the table,” his mom says. “Hot water. And you’ve got plenty to wear. Wanda’s always got the latest gadget.”
    Wayne thinks of Marjorie’s sneakers. Her hands without mittens.
    â€œCertainly couldn’t survive on my Woolworths salary.” She finishes off her tea and says, “Are you coming by after school tomorrow for your free fries and gravy and Pepsi in the tall glass you like?”
    Wayne nods. Gets up and takes their mugs to the sink.
    His mom says, “Thanks for waiting up.”
    Wayne looks at her, then away.
    â€œYour father certainly wouldn’t do it. Not unless I had a case of Canadian tucked under my arm. Scraping at the door like a dog then.”
    Wayne dries the mugs and puts them away. Foldsthe drying towel and hangs it over the oven door handle.
    â€œWish you’d rub off on your father.”
    Wayne yawns.
    â€œGo to bed. You won’t be fit tomorrow.”
    He turns to go.
    â€œNo kiss or what?”
    He goes over and kisses her cheek and when he starts to pull