Unspoken Colours

Chapter 2

"So how was football?" Mum asked on the drive home.

"Yeah it was fine," I shrugged. "Is Dad home yet?"

"Yes, but he's in his office, so..."

"Don't disturb him, I know,"

"Come on, Michael, you know he's busy at the moment, what with work and everything. They have a big project on at the moment and your fathers hoping to win the pitch," she explained. "By the way, we're picking George up from karate."

"Why? It's so close to home why can't he just walk already?"

Mom looked out the window and ignored my question.

"Mum! He's like nine years old and he can walk home by himself for god sake, I did when I was nine."

"Well I must care about his safety more then sorry,"
"How was work today?"
"Yes it was okay, had a women who accidentally hammers a nail into her finger, it wasn't the best sight in the world but there's definitely worst things to have happened, oh and that man I was telling you about last week? He woke up from his op, so today was a good day,"

Mom worked as a paediatric nurse, aka a children's nurse, and had recently been given the role as head nurse but in the A&E department at a hospital close to London, which is where about we lived.  Being head nurse meant a promotion but it meant dealing which much more, to put it simply, horrible cases of illness. So I always asked how work went, and she can never say too much, so always ended with telling me whether it was a good day or a bad one.

I tried to reassure her, but there was no point as everything worried her. Even me- her sixteen year old son- walking across the road worried her. I often joked about her giving up her current job to become a professionally worrier. Surprise, surprise, she never laughed.

When we picked up George he droned on all the way home about his new orange belt in karate; on and on and on.

"I could tackle you now and beat you up, Michael!" he shouted, smugly as if he were ten feet taller than me, rather than barely reaching my shoulder.

"You wish," I said, putting my headphones in to drown out his annoying squeaky drone.  He punched my arm, but Mum slapped his hand away and told him off.

I'm stronger than you too,"

"You aren't," I laughed. "Trust me."

"Fight me!" he yelled. "Fight, fight, fight!"

"Stop that now!" Mum said, raising her voice. "George Green you can calm down or face the consequences. It's your choice and your mistake. What do you choose?"

"To stop," George frowned and then slouched back into his seat in retreat.

Oh yeah. You can tell she's a kids nurse.

When we arrived home I noticed the light from Dad's study on one of the second floor windows. No one really knew what he did in that study, Mum claimed it was 'work' or 'important phone calls' but I don't think she even knew herself; not that it bothered me at all, because when I got in I ran straight past his study up to my room in the attic. Yes, the attic. It sounds like some sort of dingy hole, but the attic had been converted a long time ago and so I had my own floor I could shut the door too and be in my own little world. There was endless space to fill so by the time I got to sixteen (my current age, by the way) I had a TV, a computer, and a half sized foosball table, which I barely used but still looked good.

"Michael, Beth's here!" Mum called up the stairs.

"What?" I yelled.

Beth couldn't be here. I'd only just got back from hockey and all I'd managed to do is have a shower- and I wasn't even dry. Besides, I don't even remember asking her to come round.