The Troubles

Third Hand Guitar

Joe seemed too tired to acknowledge that Elliot's presence was something he hadn't expected, but he gave his friend a sleepy grin, before dropping down at the breakfast table, grabbing one of the pancakes of the middle of the table.

"Wha's the special occasion?" he asked. 

"Ma wants tae impress the guest," Seamus grinned from next to Elliot, earning a light smack over his head from Mrs McCormick. 

"I want to feed the guest," she corrected him, humour seeping through her sternness, as Joe shared a look of amusement with Elliot. Seamus shoved the rest of the pancake into his mouth, before standing up and pulling on his jacket.

"Seamus - where -?" 

"Just going' out wi' Ben and the boys, ma, don't you worry." He gave her a reassuring wink before setting outside, as she shook her head in exasperation, shaking out the kitchen towel. 

"Honestly." 

The door shut, and Elliot finished his food. 

"Thanks Mrs McCormick, tha' was delicious." 

"No problem, Elliot!" she beamed at him, as Joe continued to share his cheeky grin, bending over his pancakes as half of it fell out of his mouth. Elliot noted that Joe's ma was a very stereotypical housewife, flour practically coating her hands, and the jovial manner in which she addressed people. That is, of course, until the doorbell rang, and she opened it to reveal Elliot's dad. His face was set like stone, and when he saw Elliot, he let out a sigh: of anger or relief, he had no idea. 

"Mrs McCormick," he said, stretching his neck up a little.   

"Elliot's just here, Mr Morris," she said, smiling lightly. 

"What makes you think you can have my kids stay a night at yours, without coming to see me?"

"It was very spontaneous, Mr Morris, I assure you -"

"Spontaneous, indeed? Elliot, come on."

Joe waved a small bye to Elliot as he gave him an exasperated look and stood up, walking to the door.

"Merry Christmas, mate."

"Thanks Mrs McCormick," Elliot said, as he reached his dad. 

She gave Elliot a beam, before turning back to face his dad, with a cold expression. 

"Perhaps if you gave your son a little credit, and didn't ignore him so often he wouldn't have had to spend a night here."

"I'm sorry?" challenged Elliot's dad, his eyebrow raising in heated anticipation. "Who the fuck are you to tell me that?" 

"I'm just telling you," she said softly, as Elliot awkwardly shuffled his feet. "Go easier."

Elliot's dad held her gaze stonily, before patting Elliot's shoulder, and turning away from the door. 

"Come on, El."

"Merry Christmas, Mrs McCormick," he managed to get out. 

Elliot heard the door shut carefully behind them, as his dad marched ahead in the snow. 

It was only two days until the next argument, although now that the bottling up of emotions for so long was finally breaking free, it was only understandable. After cycling back from Joe's again, Elliot discarded his bike outside and ran inside, to the undeniable stench of beer. He walked forwards to hear a low chatter, and a laugh broke out; the room was even more hazy than it usually was.

"Da?"

As he rounded the corner he saw a group of men crowded around the table, cards in their hands and a pile of money in the centre; Fred looked proud to be amongst them. Beer bottles were everywhere, it was evident his dad had invited a load of drunkards round.