Boo parks his car in Ralph’s drive and looks up at the house. “Very smart,” he says. “I like your guttering and your black front door.”
“Thanks.”
“Shall I help you carry these things in?”
Camping gear, a guitar, a rucksack. They place them by the front door and Boo gets back in his car.
“Thanks,” Ralph says, not wanting to invite Boo inside. “And thanks for the lift.”
“See you soon,” Boo says. It’s a command, not a social nicety.
Ralph looks at the guttering and the black front door. He never notices these things. They are just there, like the piece of stained glass above the door, like the willow tree and the roses.
Sadie is not returning his calls. She’s in regular contact with their sons, he knows this from talking to his parents, but the flow of information ends there. It’s ridiculous, silly, it has to stop.
He opens the front door and is assaulted by his mother’s voice, singing along to Cyndi Lauper, ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’. He hasn’t heard her sing that loudly for years—not since she went through her phase of singing ‘I Want to Break Free’ over and over again, usually while doing the hoovering. (She went through a ‘Steamy Windows’ phase too, but Ralph has chosen to forget her Tina Turner impersonations. They disturbed him. They disturbed everyone.)
Harvey appears, jumps all over him, licks his face. “Well this is a nice welcome,” he says, rubbing the dog’s head. “Good boy, Harvey. Who’s a good boy?”
On the table in the hallway, a bunch of fresh tulips. In the air, the smell of baking bread.
This is not his house. It is and it isn’t. It smells like his parents’ house.
He pokes his head into the living room. “Hi, Arthur.”
Arthur is lying on the sofa in his pyjamas, watching Breaking Bad. That’s more like it—a familiar sight. “Dad?” he says, turning around. He stands up, points the remote at the TV, switches it off. Ralph has never seen him do this before. He’s seen him switch the TV on a thousand times, but never off. Breaking Bad has gone, mid-episode. Gone. Arthur’s hands are deep in his pockets and he is staring at his father. “Are you all right?” he says.
“I think so.”
“That’s good. Where have you been?”
“I’ve been camping.”
“Right.”
“I needed some space.”
“Right.”
“Have you heard from your mum?”
“We spoke to her first thing.”
“This morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should give her a call.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s good. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Does he even know how to make a cup of tea? What’s going on?
Ralph wants to say bloody hell I should go away more often, but he doesn’t. Arthur’s politeness is serious, tentative. His concern is like a multicoloured coat, garish and strange on his back. On his brother it would be a lambswool V-neck jumper. Anyone would think Ralph had just been discharged from hospital or had returned with broken bones. Why is he so concerned?
Footsteps on the stairs. Not one set of footsteps, but two.
“Dad?”
“Mr Swoon?”
Stanley and Joe, red-faced. They throw their arms around Ralph, who has never experienced a group hug before. He resists the urge to dive onto the floor and put his hands over his head.
“You okay, Dad?”
“I’m just fine.”
“Good to see you, Mr Swoon.”
“Please, call me Ralph. You’re making me feel old.”
Three teenagers, standing in the hallway, staring.
“I’ll make a pot of tea,” Arthur says.
Ralph glances at Stanley, expecting him to respond with surprise or sarcasm, but his face is quiet and kind.
Eerie. That’s what it is. This house is fucking eerie.
The boys move towards the kitchen but Ralph doesn’t follow.
“There’s a loaf in the oven,” Stanley says.
“Blimey,” Ralph says. He looks at the black TV screen, the vase of pink tulips.
More footsteps on the stairs. His parents this time. He sees his mother first, smiling and freshly permed, like a cartoon that a child would draw of a curly-haired woman: tight ringlets, indistinct face.
“You’re back,” she shouts. “Oh how lovely.”
“Yes I am.”
Brenda hugs her son, Frank pats him on the back.
“Are you all stoned?” Ralph says.
“What on earth do you mean, dear?” Brenda says. “We’re pleased to see you.”
Is that pity on her face?
In the kitchen, on the breakfast bar, How to Be a Domestic Goddess by Nigella Lawson has been left open on a page about meringues. Beside the cookbook there is a home-made pavlova.
“I’m going to call your mum,” Ralph says.
The Swoons look at one another.
“We’ll be here,” Brenda says.
Upstairs, on the bed, he calls his wife. “Oh, I didn’t expect you to pick up. How are you? Where are you?”
“I’m at a hotel,” Sadie says.
“Where? And why?”
“Oh Ralph.”
“I’m back,” he says.
“In what way?”
“I’m at home. Everyone’s here.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“No, they are.”
“Your everyone, maybe. Not mine. Anyway, if you’re back your parents can leave.”
“There’s no rush.”
“Oh there is.”
“When are you coming home?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t we meet somewhere? Somewhere neutral.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
“Look, I’ll call you tonight. We’re about to go for a walk.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
The line goes dead. He lies down, closes his eyes, wonders what to do. He could find out where she’s staying, drive to the hotel, bring her back.
Footsteps again. So many footsteps. Then he is surrounded. They are standing by the bed, his parents, his sons and Joe, looking at him as though he’s a broken man, a man who can’t move and needs nursing. Arthur puts a tray on the bedside table, there’s a mug of tea, a croissant, a glass of juice.
“What?” Ralph says. “What are you all looking at? Why are you being so nice?”