Grateful

Dad has already set the table

with plates and cutlery for both of us

when I walk in.

He stands at the stove

keeping a close eye on the eggs.

The toast pops

and I place two slices on each plate.

Dad heaps eggs beside the toast

and pours us both tall glasses of juice.

‘I didn’t hear you come in last night,’ he says.

I scoop the runny mixture onto a fork

and take a huge bite, chewing slowly.

‘I stayed out,’ I answer.

Dad raises an eyebrow.

‘You and Manx causing trouble again?’

I think of Manx, taking a swig of beer

and offering the bottle to Rachel.

I don’t want to lie to Dad,

but what can I say?

He adds extra salt and pepper to his eggs.

‘I stayed at a friend’s place,’ I say.

Please don’t ask me.

Please don’t ask me.

Dad looks at me for a long time.

I pretend to be very interested in the eggs,

and my hand reaches for the pepper grinder

before I remember that I don’t like pepper.

‘Well, I’ll be buggered,’ he says.

He leans across and refills my glass

before taking another mouthful of eggs.

We eat slowly

occasionally looking at each other and smiling.

I’m grateful for the silence.