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‘Oh, but you’ve only just got here. We simply haven’t had company for weeks.’
‘Clari!’ Dad bangs his fist.
Silence. The clink of cup against saucer and the faint noise of traffic from the distant outside. He still has the power to render me and Mum speechless, though she adopts an air of indifference as defence. And I am as usual irritated at being an unwilling participant in their unending power games. I look at the pictures on the mantelpiece: Jonathan’s graduation; me with Gethin as a baby; Gethin with his telescope. I draw a deep sigh at the sight of his ten-year-old face grinning pure delight.
Dad seems to follow my gaze. ‘So, how’s my favourite grandson?’ As usual he breaks the tension when he decides, arbitrarily, it’s time to do so.
‘He’s cashed his birthday cheque, I see,’ Mum adds straight away.
‘Has he?’ I say, heart beating. Well, of course he has.
‘I hope he’s spending it wisely.’
‘As long as he’s enjoying himself, eh, Pat?’ Dad smiles for the first time today. Somehow it makes him look even older and wearier.
‘I think he’s taken a trip to Scotland.’
‘Oh?’ says Mum. ‘Edinburgh festival?’
‘No, the Highlands, I believe.’
‘You don’t sound very sure,’ she accuses.
‘He is all right, isn’t he?’ Dad leans forward.
‘He’s eighteen. I’m not in charge of his life anymore.’ My voice tightens as I feel this sudden sense of him controlling his own destiny, for good or bad, without me.
‘I would think that was the last thing you should try and be.’ Dad frowns.
That’s rich coming from you, I want to say and almost do when Mum jumps in.
‘Oh, Pat, you haven’t fallen out, have you?’
It’s like being six, telling her about a playground squabble. Somehow, they still have this way of holding me to account for anything concerning Gethin.
I swirl the last of my tea round the china cup. I can’t possibly tell them about Gethin storming out over Don’s letter. The grief they both gave me when I explained how he was conceived still haunts me. Dad’s Presbyterian mutterings of unnatural practices. Mum’s total hysteria: how can I think of this thing as a grandchild? Provoking Dad to turn on her: no child will ever be turned away from our household or talked of as a thing.
I remember being so overwhelmed by that show of his innate humanity, giving him a hug, tears in my eyes. I trust you will do right by the little one, he said. As for how it got here, we will not speak of this again. And in my gratitude, I accepted this price for their total and uncritical devotion to my son.
‘Pat?’ Mum pushes for an answer.
‘It’s been hard, you know, since he dropped out of sixth form,’ I start. ‘He seems to have lost all motivation really. I can’t get him to find a job, or another course.’ Saying this I feel that I have somehow let themdown.
‘Is he still staring at the sky through that telescope?’ Dad asks.
I look at the happy face on the mantelpiece and bite my lip to hold in the tears.
‘No, he hasn’t touched it for a couple of years, you know?’ I see Gethin lolling about on his unmade bed, plugged into some game on his laptop.
‘Perhaps you pushed him too far. He’s a young man, wants to enjoy himself.’ Dad’s comment hits hard.
‘That’s just not fair,’ my voice trembles. ‘All I’ve done is nurture Gethin for who he is, encouraged his interests.’
Dad scowls as if he doubts this is true.
‘You know he badgered mefor a telescope until I managed to scrape the money together with your help. It was his idea to be an Astrophysicist.’
‘Have you been too hard on him, Pat?’ Mum joins in the attack.
