Read Online The Minnow by Diana Sweeney - Free Book Online

completions on the card table.
    I’m not sure why I’m quiet, so I don’t know what to say when Nana asks. It’s probably because I’m being swept along with the Minnow and I’m not sure I wanted any of this in the first place.
    A counsellor talked to me at the hospital. She said all kinds of stuff about responsibility and preparation. I realised I’d only been thinking in small chunks. I told her I felt anxious whenever I thought about the future. The counsellor said it was an understandable reaction. She said this while staring at me and nodding her head which made me feel really uncomfortable. Papa, who was sitting beside me throughout the session, said, ‘Just stare back at her until she looks away.’ So I did. The counsellor flinched and looked down at her watch.
    â€˜Round one to you,’ said Papa, elbowing me in the ribs.
    Round two was all about the big picture. Bill always said the big picture was for Hollywood. ‘Small chunks is all most folk can handle,’ he’d say. ‘Any more and you’re just asking for trouble.’ I realised I was starting to think of Bill in the past tense.
    â€˜The big picture is all about imagining the future,’ said the counsellor, pausing and looking at me for a response.
    â€˜Oh, right, here we go,’ sighed Papa, a little too loudly. I was glad only I could hear him.
    I said nothing, so she continued. ‘For example,’ she said, ‘I have a vegetable garden. At the moment I’m growing parsley and cauliflower, but I plan to add potatoes, beetroot and herbs. Maybe some spring onions.’
    Papa couldn’t help himself. ‘What does she want? A round of applause?’
    â€˜You see,’ she went on, mistaking my silence for interest, ‘a garden is about planning and hard work, but I had to imagine it first, design it in my mind.’
    â€˜Oh, Christ, this is tedious,’ said Papa.
    I love Papa, but I hate it when he does this. He knows I can’t react. If I tell him off in front of the counsellor, she’ll think I’m crazy. But I had to say something soon—I just couldn’t think of anything appropriate.
    â€˜Do you see?’ she asked, one eyebrow raised.
    â€˜Yes, sport,’ said Papa, standing behind the counsellor and leaning over her shoulder, smirking at me. ‘Tell the nice well-meaning shrink that you see just fine.’
    This was too much.
    â€˜No!’ I said, almost shouting, ‘I don’t see.’
    Papa fell silent and the counsellor leaned forward. She stretched her arm towards me and I thought she was going to touch my knee, but then she changed her mind and settled back in her chair. She waited for me to say something else.
    â€˜Before the flood, I used to think I’d be living at home with Mum and Dad and Sarah forever,’ I said, ‘or at least till I was old enough to leave school.’
    â€˜That’s my girl,’ said Papa. ‘It’s about time someone stopped fart-arsing around and cut to the chase.’ He was sitting next to me again. He took my hand and patted it gently. We both looked at the counsellor. She appeared distraught.
    â€˜I’m sorry for your loss,’ she said. ‘This must all seem so irrelevant.’
    â€˜No, really?’ said Papa, in his sarcastic voice.
    â€˜Not really,’ I lied.
    The three of us sat in silence.
    I could hear the hum of the fish tank down the hall.
    â€˜Don’t worry, sport,’ said Papa as we left the counsellor’s room. ‘No one is expected to predict the future.’
    â€˜Then why, when you’re pregnant, does everyone assume there’s some kind of plan?’
    â€˜A plan makes people feel comfortable, that’s all.’
    â€˜Then why do I feel more comfortable without one?’
    â€˜I don’t know, sport. You’ve always been something of a free spirit.’
    Dad had great plans. Mum said so all the