Fully English

CHAPTER 5

I take a moment to collect composure and breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth: inhale, exhale – the coping mechanism my counsellor taught me to practise when my anxiety balloons. On this occasion though I know I'm going to burst.

"Mum!" My voice pops and yell a few more times but it comes out more of a question than a call. I fall deathly silent and listen for an answer. "Mum!" I walk back into the corridor and bow over the banister to see a shadowy figure. "Mum."

The head snaps up and my mother stares right at me, annoyance stained in her every feature. She drops her bag and steps out of her shoes and into her nearby flip flops before going into the kitchen to boil the kettle.

I join her on the landing and watch her sashay back past me "Make me a cup of tea."

She trails the stairs, one step at a time and locks the bathroom: almost immediately, the spray of water can be heard as she begins her shower. Perhaps she had my keys. I search through her bag to no avail and search the entire downstairs.

The click of the bathroom door unlocking alerts me and I retreat to the kitchen to prepare the cup of tea requested. One Earl Grey tea bag left to steep for four minutes before adding a few dollops of milk and finally a tablespoon of unrefined brown sugar. I place a small plate beneath the base of the mug and stalk slowly up the stairs to find mum in her dressing gown and the sweet smell of soap diffusing across her bedroom.

"Your tea," I hold the mug in her air.

She flicks her eyes to signal that I put it behind her on the bedside table. I watch her take a sip with one hand and grab the telephone with the other. Immediately, she punches eleven memorised digits and begins a passionate conversation with one of her girlfriends. I can hear the sound of slurping and muffled conversation from the corridor as I enter my own room.

The sound of my mother's voice reminds me of my conversation with Tasha and I realise I still haven't called her back. My phone flashes red to indicate low battery so I plug in the charger and grab my laptop. It too is dead, despite the plug from the charger being inserted.

I hold the on button for a few seconds for good measure, but still, the empty battery cell signal flashes on the screen before the screen dissolves into blackness. The switches on both sockets are pressed on which makes sense, I rarely switch those things off. So how come the laptop wasn't charged?

My eyes scan the cord for a clue but none arises – the charger is perfectly intact.

I resume my search for my key: slowly taking my room apart, growing more anxious as it grows messy. It's not in a bag, in a drawer, behind a concealment, on the floor, on a table – nowhere to be found. By the time my laptop powers, the state of my room mirrors my state of mind – absolute disarray. I log on and watch the Windows screen appear, picking up exactly where it left off when the battery died.

My desktop file box appears and takes up the screen. I frown, minimise it and click the Internet Explorer to resume the last browsing session. Up pops my email – both personal and university – and I ritualistically check through it. All are opened and read though I don't recall checking either today

Maybe it's poor memory?

My phone blears loudly and I spy the caller ID.

George.

I hesitate but pick up just before the last ring redirects to voicemail. Today had been quite hectic, a regular conversation would do me good.

"Hello George," I say stoically.

"'Sup?"

I quiver. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"