“What do you mean you’re not going?”
As he spoke, Dad jabbed his forkful of roast chicken across the kitchen table at me.
“Come on, son, spit it out. Me and your mum are dying to know why you’ve suddenly changed your mind.”
He shoveled the chicken into his mouth, dropped the fork on his plate with a clatter, and sat back, waiting for me to answer.
Up until this point things had been going quite well with my attempt at trying to eat a meal with them—my first for many months. Mum had tried to dish me up some roast chicken, salad, and potatoes, but that was just a step too far. I was quite happy with my sterile, microwave meal. The doors to the conservatory were open and Nigel was asleep on the pool table, safely out of the way. I’d started off with a bit of light chat about the cat:
“So, Nigel’s still alive, I see?” I’d said, nodding toward the conservatory.
Dad smirked, a pleased look on his face at having his family all sitting around the table for a change. Plus, like me, he wasn’t a big fan of Nigel.
“Flipping cat, shedding his fur over my table.”
“Leave him alone, Brian. At least someone is getting some use out of it, aren’t you, Nigel?”
We all looked over at the sleeping, furry mound glowing yellow in the evening sunlight.
“You still owe me that game, remember, Matty? It’s not much fun playing on your own, you know.”
I didn’t meet his gaze but kept focused on my dinner and shrugged, noncommittal.
“Have you got any paint for my room yet?” I said. Keep it normal. Keep it neutral. Mum spooned a large dollop of mayonnaise onto her plate, tapping the spoon three times.
“You’re going to love it, Matty,” she said, grinning. “Mockingbird’s Breast, it’s called. Cream with a tiny touch of ocher.”
Dad looked at me and we both smiled and raised our eyes.
“Those paint guys are having a laugh! Sitting around drinking tea all day while they come up with a hundred ridiculous names for something that’s basically white.”
He chuckled to himself.
“I figure we could do better than Mockingbird’s Breast, don’t you, Matthew?”
I smiled, took a deep breath, and went for it.
“How about: Dirty Dishwater.”
Dad grinned and his eyes darted to the pool table.
“Good one. I know: Cue Ball Cream.”
I laughed as Mum tutted and pretended to be offended.
“What about … Wait for it … A Hint of Denture.”
Dad put his fork down.
“Excellent! Hold on, hold on … How about Tired Eyeball?”
“I’d love that on my walls, please, Mum …”
We were both laughing so much we couldn’t eat, and Mum had a big smile on her face.
“Come on now, you two, those paints are expensive. You know they’re good quality when they’ve got fancy names like that.”
Dad raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Mum and we both spluttered out laughing again.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I said, wriggling on my seat. “How about Soiled Diaper!”
It went quiet. Dad sort of chuckled, but I’d ruined it. The whole moment of happiness had been crushed because my imaginary paint color had reminded everyone about Teddy being missing. The kitchen fell into silence. We all picked up our forks and prodded at our food, and then I looked at the empty chair opposite me: the chair where my brother would have been sitting.
“Melissa and Casey are back staying with Mr. Charles. Did you know? I think she realized how much she needs her dad after all.”
I nodded. I had noticed her car was back but was parked farther up the road so there was room for the police to come and go.
“How’s your pasta, darling? Does it need another twenty seconds?”
The Bolognese steamed into my face, and I gave her my best smile as I blew on a forkful.
“It’s fine, Mum. Thanks.”
She smiled back at me.
After a few minutes of silence I thought it might be a good moment to divert the attention away from Teddy and explode my own little news bomb, so I told them that I wasn’t going back to see Dr. Rhodes. Not ever. I just couldn’t do it. There was too much bad stuff going on around me: my baby brother dying, Teddy going missing, hearing about what happened to Old Nina’s son. And she’d make me talk about Callum, I just knew it. That’s what they did, those therapists. They made you talk about stuff in the past that you’d rather forget. She might find out exactly what I did, and I couldn’t cope with that.
I had been wrong about it being a good moment.
“Oh Matthew. Why? You’ve hardly even given it a chance!”
“You don’t understand, Mum. It’s too hard. I can’t do it.”
I pushed the pasta around the warped, brown plastic tray with my fork.
“Hold on a minute, hold on. So, you’re telling me that you’re not going back to see one of the best therapists in the area … because it’s too hard?”
Mum put a hand on Dad’s arm.
“Brian, don’t shout.”
He turned and faced Mum, and small pieces of chicken fell out of his mouth as he spoke.
“But he’s not even started, Sheila! What does he expect? A smiley sticker on a chart or something? Of course it’s hard! If it was easy I’d cure him myself!”
He pushed his chair back and stormed out of the kitchen, through the conservatory, and into the yard. Mum stood up and scraped her food onto Dad’s plate. She’d hardly eaten a thing.
“See what you’ve done now?” she said. “I’ve backed you up on so many things, Matthew, SO many things!”
It looked like dinner was over.
“Buying you those stupid gloves, bringing food to your room like some silly servant, making excuses for you when you didn’t want to go anywhere. The least you can do is get some help. If not for your sake, for us.”
She grabbed my dish of pasta and threw the whole thing into the bin. Keeping her back turned, she leaned on the kitchen counter as if the conversation had exhausted her.
“You’re pulling this family apart, Matthew. We can’t take it anymore.”
She then went out into the yard and joined Dad, who was standing by his runner beans. She wrapped her arms around him, and they stood holding each other.
I had the Wallpaper Lion’s eye in my pocket, but suddenly I felt very, very alone.