Read Online The Flavours of Love by Dorothy Koomson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dorothy Koomson
Ads: Link
isn’t a celebrity, but here, about sixty people, all of various ages and stages of grey, stand, sit in wheelchairs and lean on walking sticks on the gravel driveway, waving Aunty Betty goodbye.
‘Just so we’re clear,’ I add above the crunch of the tyres on the gravel, ‘you’re going to have to talk to me at some point.’
VI
Imogen and her son, Ernest, are leaving as I pull up outside the house.
They’ve obviously dropped Zane back from school because he will have told them that Phoebe wasn’t in school today. Imogen is always polished, unhurried and calm. She’s a full-time homemaker (her title) and so is always suggesting Zane comes over to hers, that she collects him from school and that he stays over. She started her family young so has a twenty-one-year-old son and an eighteen-year-old son as well as ten-year-old Ernest. The last eighteen months or so, she’s been invaluable with Zane. And with me.
I climb out of my car, as they come off the last step and walk down the short, concrete path. We meet outside the black metal gate, pause on the pavement to talk. Without even glancing in his direction I can feel Ernest’s large green-hazel eyes on me. He always stares at me, mute and suspicious. When he and Zane are together in the living room or upstairs in Zane’s bedroom, or even when they’re in the kitchen and I’m busying myself with something, he’ll talk ten to the dozen. As soon as I engage with them, or I come near them, he clams up and becomes a mute, wide-eyed mannequin.
‘ He’s just scared of you ,’ Zane explained blithely when I asked him about it.
‘ Why? ’ I’d asked.
‘ I don’t know, he just is ,’ Zane replied as if that was an answer.
*
‘Oh, hello,’ Imogen says.
‘Hi.’
Aunty Betty is still ensconced in the car, waiting for me to open the door for her. She’s a princess, after all, and she expects peopleto run around after her. I often indulge her, but not today. Today she’s crossed the line and her recalcitrant silence on the journey home has done nothing to endear her to me. ‘Thanks for picking up Zane,’ I say to Imogen. Ernest’s stare doesn’t waver, doesn’t change. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘It was an absolute pleasure, as always.’ Imogen comes closer to me and lowers her voice, for whose benefit I’m not sure since we are alone on the street. ‘Was everything OK at the school the other day? I’ve just asked Phoebe and she was less than forthcoming.’
I love Imogen. I can trust her, rely upon her, but I can’t tell her this. I don’t need any more judgement. I suspect she will judge me, like everyone who knows has judged me so far. Even Fynn, who did his best to reassure me the other night, probably judged me. They were right to – every conversation I have with Phoebe reminds me where I’ve gone wrong, where I’ve missed an opportunity to guide her, point her the right way. Even if she wouldn’t listen, those conversations – as difficult as they would have been – should have been waiting there like a secondary generator at the back of her mind, ready to kick in and help her when she needed guidance on what to do next.
I’ve failed her – in pretty spectacular fashion – and I don’t need any more external decrees of incompetence about that right now.
‘Yes, it was fine. Well, it will be – we have a few things to iron out first.’
‘Oh, good.’ Her concerned face softens. ‘I was so worried. You’ve been through so much, and you’ve managed to be so brave, I couldn’t bear for anything else to happen to you.’
Neither could I , I think.
‘Is there someone in your car?’ she asks. I turn to look at my blue four-door parked a little way down from my house. Aunty Betty hasn’t moved from the car but she has unwound the window, so she can hear what we’re talking about, while doing a very good impression of being asleep. She’s not, but she’s probably thinking that if she appears asleep we
‘Just so we’re clear,’ I add above the crunch of the tyres on the gravel, ‘you’re going to have to talk to me at some point.’
VI
Imogen and her son, Ernest, are leaving as I pull up outside the house.
They’ve obviously dropped Zane back from school because he will have told them that Phoebe wasn’t in school today. Imogen is always polished, unhurried and calm. She’s a full-time homemaker (her title) and so is always suggesting Zane comes over to hers, that she collects him from school and that he stays over. She started her family young so has a twenty-one-year-old son and an eighteen-year-old son as well as ten-year-old Ernest. The last eighteen months or so, she’s been invaluable with Zane. And with me.
I climb out of my car, as they come off the last step and walk down the short, concrete path. We meet outside the black metal gate, pause on the pavement to talk. Without even glancing in his direction I can feel Ernest’s large green-hazel eyes on me. He always stares at me, mute and suspicious. When he and Zane are together in the living room or upstairs in Zane’s bedroom, or even when they’re in the kitchen and I’m busying myself with something, he’ll talk ten to the dozen. As soon as I engage with them, or I come near them, he clams up and becomes a mute, wide-eyed mannequin.
‘ He’s just scared of you ,’ Zane explained blithely when I asked him about it.
‘ Why? ’ I’d asked.
‘ I don’t know, he just is ,’ Zane replied as if that was an answer.
*
‘Oh, hello,’ Imogen says.
‘Hi.’
Aunty Betty is still ensconced in the car, waiting for me to open the door for her. She’s a princess, after all, and she expects peopleto run around after her. I often indulge her, but not today. Today she’s crossed the line and her recalcitrant silence on the journey home has done nothing to endear her to me. ‘Thanks for picking up Zane,’ I say to Imogen. Ernest’s stare doesn’t waver, doesn’t change. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘It was an absolute pleasure, as always.’ Imogen comes closer to me and lowers her voice, for whose benefit I’m not sure since we are alone on the street. ‘Was everything OK at the school the other day? I’ve just asked Phoebe and she was less than forthcoming.’
I love Imogen. I can trust her, rely upon her, but I can’t tell her this. I don’t need any more judgement. I suspect she will judge me, like everyone who knows has judged me so far. Even Fynn, who did his best to reassure me the other night, probably judged me. They were right to – every conversation I have with Phoebe reminds me where I’ve gone wrong, where I’ve missed an opportunity to guide her, point her the right way. Even if she wouldn’t listen, those conversations – as difficult as they would have been – should have been waiting there like a secondary generator at the back of her mind, ready to kick in and help her when she needed guidance on what to do next.
I’ve failed her – in pretty spectacular fashion – and I don’t need any more external decrees of incompetence about that right now.
‘Yes, it was fine. Well, it will be – we have a few things to iron out first.’
‘Oh, good.’ Her concerned face softens. ‘I was so worried. You’ve been through so much, and you’ve managed to be so brave, I couldn’t bear for anything else to happen to you.’
Neither could I , I think.
‘Is there someone in your car?’ she asks. I turn to look at my blue four-door parked a little way down from my house. Aunty Betty hasn’t moved from the car but she has unwound the window, so she can hear what we’re talking about, while doing a very good impression of being asleep. She’s not, but she’s probably thinking that if she appears asleep we
Similar Books
