Positively Negative [Rewrite]

Nov10: Three Little Birds, Don't Worry

FREDDIE

The first meal of the day was rarely a family thing. Forget about the fact that my three other sisters didn't live at home anymore. Weekdays especially were quiet affairs. Lou and I would meet in the kitchen and sit at the breakfast bar eating toast or fruit, depending on how early or late we'd woken up – quarter to seven was usually the time we'd be down, but by that time dad would be rushing out of the house, and mum would be in bed still. Weekends Lou and I would have woken later, but mum usually called Mia to bring her food up. Dad played golf on Sundays at 10, so he was likely gone by the time we deemed it a safe hour to rise, and Saturdays it was the luck of the draw as to whether we'd see him or not. Mum drifted down for tea, now and again.

On this particular Thursday, however, we were all home, and Cath was home too. For once we were making use of the grand table in our dining room, its polished surfaces silently bearing the weight of the elephant. My father was drinking black coffee, my mother drinking tea and a scone. I would have laughed at that; she was the embodiment of British etiquette not only in nutritional taste, but in her obsession with an oppressive reservation that existed under the impression of politeness. Her actions were so carefully constructed, frail and submissive in their execution, and sometimes you had to stare at her for a minimum of two minutes to ensure she was breathing.

Seeing her now, for the first time after my father's diagnosis, showed her behaviour emphasised. Her movements were slower and more deliberate, her eyes flitting here and there and remaining nowhere for any amount of time. Her smile was as brittle as the bones her skin was stretched over, spidery blue veins mapping faint roads along it all.

Silence hovered like a heavy fog, and I hated it, but it seemed none of us – Lou, Cath or I, anyway – knew how to clear it. Mum didn't seem to see a need.

Mia came into the room and paused where she stood. All eyes turned to face her.

"Would anyone like anything else?" She wore a smile, but may as well have been naked for all the reaction she got. We all sombrely shook our heads and, with a nervous nod, she left. Moments after, my father cleared his throat.

"So, you are all aware that I have cancer." There was no reason to reply. He turned to address Catherine. "How long can you stay?"

"I'll stay for as long as I need to-"

"Catherine, your schooling is important. If you will miss a lecture tomorrow then I would rather you return to university tonight." My sister lowered her gaze and continued to pick at her croissant. I glanced at Lou. Her fingers were picking at each other on her lap, and her eyes were blinking too many times for it to be unrelated to tears. "I believe Bethany is getting a lift over here from Paris tomorrow night to stay the weekend. You can come back down then, if you would like. I'll be having an appointment in the hospital and will likely know more about the situation." My father paused to sip his coffee, and I looked up at him. Death, illness, accident.. None of it seems like it could hit you until it does. And when the ugly happens, it still doesn't quite seem a reality. The conversation was like a hand nudging my shoulder gently and saying, "Hey, you, your father's ill", but I didn't want to turn to face the voice and take heed. I would rather have drifted into the crowd and ignored all cautions. Become lost in the lack of knowledge.

"Louisiana, I transferred money into your bank account for your driving lesson this afternoon—"

"Uh," Lou straightened her back. "I—I was going to cancel-"

Dad let the bottom of his coffee cup hit the coaster a little harder that was usual. He ignored the liquid that splashed onto the surface of the table and stared at Lou. "What is wrong with the both of you? So ready to waste money and time. You are taking your lesson today, and Catherine you are to be in your lecture tomorrow, do the both of you hear me?" Both of them nodded, and silence settled again. My mother drank her tea, impossibly, without making a sound.