stretched out in front, and a socked foot resting on the coffee table.
That’s how it was as Simon read his picture book of The Lion King. Nanny Noo bought it for him from a charity shop and it became his favourite because when it gets to the part where Pumbaa and Timon start talking about Hakuna Matata, Dad would try to sing it. It was so funny because he didn’t know the words properly, and he’d always get partway through, then find himself doing that King of the Swingers song – which isn’t even from The Lion King. I guess you had to be there, but it was really funny.
Except this night, as I sat on the watching stair, they didn’t get that far, because when Simba’s dad died in the buffalo stampede, Simon went quiet.
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’
‘What if Daddy dies?’
I couldn’t see Dad properly. It was hard to hear him too. But you get to know the sort of answer someone might give. What my dad would have done was make his funny face with his eyes all wide, and say something like, ‘Blimey, sunshine. D’you know something your old pa doesn’t?’
Usually that would be enough to make everything okay, but this time it wasn’t, because Simon said it again. ‘What if you die? What if— What if you both die?’
If he got himself wound up he’d struggle to get his breath, and that made things worse. Before I was born there was a time when he couldn’t breathe for so long that his skin turned blue. That’s what Mum told me, anyway. And even as she explained how he’d had a small operation, so it should never happen again, even as she told me that, she looked afraid.
‘Who would— What would—’
He was clutching at his chest. I must have looked like a superhero, bursting through the door – my dressing gown billowing like a cape. It was probably the shock that startled him out of it, and I’m not sure he even heard what I said, but what I said was, ‘I’ll look after you Simon. I’ll always look after you.’
We read the rest of the story as a family. And when it got to Hakuna Matata, we all sang King of the Swingers. I’ve never seen my parents look so proud.
Dad gulped back the last of his wine, and went to refill his glass. Mum placed her hand over his.
‘We’re tired. Let’s go to bed.’
‘I’m ashamed of my own son.’
‘Please, don’t.’
‘Well I am. And not for the first time.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You know exactly what it means, don’t pretend that you weren’t too.’
‘Don’t you dare. How— You’re drunk.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes. You are. He’s our little boy for Christ’s sake.’
Dad slunk to the end of the sofa, and all I could see was his socked foot resting on the coffee table.
a cloud of smoke
Jacob fastened the clips on his side, and watched me fasten the clips on mine. ‘It goes in the third notch,’ he said.
I knew that already.
He liked to be sure.
When she was secure I took the remote control and pressed the ↑ button, jerking the mechanical arm into life, lifting her slowly into the air. ‘It’s so kind of you to help,’ Mrs Greening said.
This was a good day for her, some days she didn’t talk. I think Jacob preferred it when she didn’t talk.
He emptied her bag of piss into a plastic jug, whilst I put fresh sheets on the bed and fluffed her pillows.
‘I think I’ll go in the chair today,’ she said.
Jacob positioned the electric wheelchair, and supported her neck and head as I pressed the ↓ button. In the kitchen the microwave went ping , and he said, ‘I’ll go.’ Then he disappeared to collect her tea.
‘Do you know where your tray is?’
‘Over there, on the bedside table.’ She pointed, but even that was difficult for her. She had better days and worse days. On the really bad days, she found it hard to do almost anything.
I attached the tea-tray into the slot on the front of her chair, and she asked, ‘Are you as good to your mother?’
‘What? My mum
That’s how it was as Simon read his picture book of The Lion King. Nanny Noo bought it for him from a charity shop and it became his favourite because when it gets to the part where Pumbaa and Timon start talking about Hakuna Matata, Dad would try to sing it. It was so funny because he didn’t know the words properly, and he’d always get partway through, then find himself doing that King of the Swingers song – which isn’t even from The Lion King. I guess you had to be there, but it was really funny.
Except this night, as I sat on the watching stair, they didn’t get that far, because when Simba’s dad died in the buffalo stampede, Simon went quiet.
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’
‘What if Daddy dies?’
I couldn’t see Dad properly. It was hard to hear him too. But you get to know the sort of answer someone might give. What my dad would have done was make his funny face with his eyes all wide, and say something like, ‘Blimey, sunshine. D’you know something your old pa doesn’t?’
Usually that would be enough to make everything okay, but this time it wasn’t, because Simon said it again. ‘What if you die? What if— What if you both die?’
If he got himself wound up he’d struggle to get his breath, and that made things worse. Before I was born there was a time when he couldn’t breathe for so long that his skin turned blue. That’s what Mum told me, anyway. And even as she explained how he’d had a small operation, so it should never happen again, even as she told me that, she looked afraid.
‘Who would— What would—’
He was clutching at his chest. I must have looked like a superhero, bursting through the door – my dressing gown billowing like a cape. It was probably the shock that startled him out of it, and I’m not sure he even heard what I said, but what I said was, ‘I’ll look after you Simon. I’ll always look after you.’
We read the rest of the story as a family. And when it got to Hakuna Matata, we all sang King of the Swingers. I’ve never seen my parents look so proud.
Dad gulped back the last of his wine, and went to refill his glass. Mum placed her hand over his.
‘We’re tired. Let’s go to bed.’
‘I’m ashamed of my own son.’
‘Please, don’t.’
‘Well I am. And not for the first time.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You know exactly what it means, don’t pretend that you weren’t too.’
‘Don’t you dare. How— You’re drunk.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes. You are. He’s our little boy for Christ’s sake.’
Dad slunk to the end of the sofa, and all I could see was his socked foot resting on the coffee table.
a cloud of smoke
Jacob fastened the clips on his side, and watched me fasten the clips on mine. ‘It goes in the third notch,’ he said.
I knew that already.
He liked to be sure.
When she was secure I took the remote control and pressed the ↑ button, jerking the mechanical arm into life, lifting her slowly into the air. ‘It’s so kind of you to help,’ Mrs Greening said.
This was a good day for her, some days she didn’t talk. I think Jacob preferred it when she didn’t talk.
He emptied her bag of piss into a plastic jug, whilst I put fresh sheets on the bed and fluffed her pillows.
‘I think I’ll go in the chair today,’ she said.
Jacob positioned the electric wheelchair, and supported her neck and head as I pressed the ↓ button. In the kitchen the microwave went ping , and he said, ‘I’ll go.’ Then he disappeared to collect her tea.
‘Do you know where your tray is?’
‘Over there, on the bedside table.’ She pointed, but even that was difficult for her. She had better days and worse days. On the really bad days, she found it hard to do almost anything.
I attached the tea-tray into the slot on the front of her chair, and she asked, ‘Are you as good to your mother?’
‘What? My mum
Similar Books
