Pseudology

Seven.

Picture, below, is of Adrian and Morton when they were younger, playing at the front of the house where the car is driving away.

EDITED 30/7/13

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The thought of cousins repulsed both Adrian and Morton, but there was no other time of the year that made their visit worse. It was New Year’s Eve, 1997 and Adrian was thirteen years old and Morton fifteen, both old enough to have realised their full intellectual potential but still young enough to be childishly-mean. Their mother had always thought that their great intellect had just one side effect-immatureness, but it wasn’t that either of them was immature… they enjoyed being mean. That was all.

They were sitting in Morton’s room with books in their hands when the doorbell rang, ominous and echoing around the house like a crow’s cry. Morton’s eyes glazed over but Adrian’s head snapped up, his ears prickling as he picked out the conversation through the floorboards. Auntie Violet was commenting on mummy’s dress as she did every year, whilst the oldest cousin Arnold, who was twenty, was talking to daddy about university.

“We should make ourselves known, little brother.” Morton muttered slowly, his eyes coming back into focus as he looked at his brother. “Lateness is not tolerated by cousins nor our uncle and aunt.”

“When will Aunt Marie and Uncle Greg be here? I like mummy’s side of the family much better than daddy’s.”

“So do I, but I’m not sure when they’ll be here. Maybe tonight but they’re more likely to come tomorrow morning.”

“They’ll probably get the first train up here,” Adrian huffed. “…which is the eight fifteen from Northampton.”

“Well remembered, little brother.”

“All thanks to you, Morey.” Adrian sniggered, realising that his brother knew he saw no point in being praised for his mental ability.

“Did I hear a hint of sarcasm?” Morton asked curiously, his mind working at full capacity when he noted the odd tone in Adrian’s usually monotonous voice.

“You probably did. I’m trying sarcasm out, do you think it works?” Adrian’s dark hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it out of them with one swift movement of his pale, bony hand. “I’m practising for the next year of school.”

“Try it out on the cousins!” Morton laughed, getting up and placing his book on the bed with a dull thump. “I’m sure they’ll love it.”

“That was definitely sarcasm.” Adrian huffed, also getting up, but he didn’t put the book down. He tucked it neatly under his arms, and both brothers walked from the room, their shoes clunking on the freshly hovered floor.

II

Morton had linked his arm with Adrian’s left, his face stony and a firm death grip was present around Adrian’s forearm, cutting off the blood circulation.

“Let go.” Adrian hissed as they entered the drawing room, which was being used as a reception room until it was time for dinner. Adrian glanced at Morton, who had a small, almost angry smile on his face.

“No, it’s just until we get to meet Aunt Violet, alright? I don’t want a Going Wrong moment.”

“You’re touching me… touching is not good. There won’t be a Going Wrong moment if you let go.” Adrian huffed darkly, adjusting the collar of his shirt with his right hand, noticing that Housey, the housekeeper, hadn’t cleaned it thoroughly enough because there was a small, dark stain underneath the collar.