the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 44: Christmas, 1976

Subway's no way for a good man to go down,
Rich man can ride and the hobo, he can drown;
And I thank the Lord for the people I have found,
I thank the Lord for the people I have found...

- "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters" Elton John, 1972

Nothing could be trusted to stay stagnant forever, not even the dour Lupin Estate. Though little had changed in actuality. The ground was still painted in damp rather than fresh wisps of snowfall, and Lyall Lupin's preference for keeping an ever-revolving array of staff hadn't waned, though Remus was pleased enough to find that the maid who brought him tea in the morning wasn't as stingy with the milk and sugar as the last had been.

A new litter of pups had been born in late-November to the even-tempered Zenyatta and a stud from some breeder in the Midlands. Remus knew better than to name them without his father's consent, but the runt of the litter was grey all over with a spotted nose and reminded him of Dusty. Secretly he dubbed the pup Smokey.

Ever man's bestest friend, Dusty still greeted him with enthusiasm—Giles even more so. They spent his first night back loosing to each other in cards and Remus had a great lie-in the following morning. Outside of that, the halls were quiet and the house was calm. The only agitation came at supper time, when Remus took his meals in the dining room with his only father for company. Those were usually quiet too.

On the rare occasion Lyall would put down whatever document he was pouring over and acknowledge his son's existence. Mostly Remus wished he wouldn't, but that was probably one of the only reasons he did.

"How are your classes?"

"Fine."

"I hope they're teaching you proper politics."

"What does that even mean?"

His father answered with another question. "Are they still pushing the socialists's agenda?" He asked. "Or have they moved onto things that might actually be useful in life?"

Remus stubbornly pushed his peas around his plate. "They teach us history."

"That'll be a no then."

A roll of the eyes, and; "Whatever you say, Dad..."

Lyall raised a brow and set his empty glass down, wiping his hands on the cloth napkin.

"I'll be returning to the office early. Goddamn Labour Party has ordered a thirty million pound cut to public expenditure, meaning that the whole bloody country's about to go up in flames. It's like those lunatics in office want a crisis. There'll be strikes in the streets next, I expect. As if we need the traffic. I'll be staying in the city for the duration. You'll remain here with Giles. Use the time to study. I don't want you running around the streets—not when you're about to return to school. Do you understand me?"

"Was that a rhetorical question?"

"Do you understand?"

Remus set his jaw. "Yes, sir."

Eyeing him sourly, Lyall pushed his chair back from the table and stood, gathering a fistful of documents. Remus saw it coming before it happened—he would stride from the room without another glance and wouldn't look at him until another inevitable dinner the following evening. No, 'goodnight son' or 'have a good day tomorrow'. Certainly no 'I love you's. It irked him, but not because he needed any of that. He didn't want Lyall's attention, but the urge to scream in his face—Look at me!—it was so strong. Maybe it was just acknowledgement that he wanted.

"My literacy professor liked my final paper," Remus said suddenly, before his father could leave. "He said it was the best in the entire year. That I could probably be published one day."