Skinny Jeans Have No Place On These Thighs
Tea And Small Talk
He insisted on making me a cup of tea to say sorry for scaring me like that.
I screamed so much I almost feel like I should apologise to him.
I don't really know what it was that made me scream like that. I suppose it was a combination of fear, the drugs and the crushing disappointment. Because this man isn't my father.
It takes him a few minutes before he can explain to me who he is. William Birch. He and my mother had been at a function together. She'd told me it was a meeting. (But what sort of function goes on until five o clock in the morning?)
She had to stay longer and because he'd arrived so suddenly from Birmingham, Mum had said he could stay with us. She'd given him the house key to let himself in.
There is quite a lot about this story that I don't really follow but I can hardly ask.
So I just sit there, nodding away while William Birch makes the tea. Every now and again, he asks me a question like if I had a good time at my friends house or where the milk is. I say I had a nice time, thanks. I point the fridge.
I can't help noticing that he doesn't guess where the milk is kept but knows exactly where we keep the sugar and the spoons.
He's been in this house before, I realise, and my heart goes cold like on exam mornings. But when? And if he's only just arrived from Birmingham, how could he have been here before?
William Birch asks where the biscuits are. I tell him there aren't any.
He puts two mugs of tea down onto the table and sits down boldly. He doesn't look at all awkward. It's strange. This is my house and yet I'm the one who feels out of place. He looks completely in his element. Rather like Marcus.
For one wild second, I think it could be Marcus's father but I put this idea out of my head. It's ridiculous. The man looks nothing like Marcus. Also, Marcus's father doesn't live in Birmingham.
Also, Marcus is fair. William Birch is dark haired, not as tall as Marcus will be when he's thirty five. I know Marcus will be tall.
I feel like crying for what feels like the third time tonight. Is this what it's come down to? My mother inviting strange men over in the middle of the night? My Dad's only been gone for six months.
Why isn't she waiting for him? This is adultery.
Well, this isn't. Tea and small talk.
The smallest of all talks. I can barely say a word. I just sip my tea and then gasp as I spill down my sushi pyjamas. Then I'm embarrassed when William Birch gets to his feet and hands me a piece of kitchen towel. It also confirms my suspicions when William Birch goes straight to the cupboard under the sink and pulls out of the kitchen towel.
I wonder if he's been in my room. He's obviously been in my Mum's room.
I squint my eyes and try not to think about it, then feel stupid as I must look stupid.
"Your mother will be back before long," says William Birch airily. He doesn't smell drunk. I suppose that's something.
"How - how's she getting back?" I ask. I don't really care how she gets back. I mean, I don't want anything to happen to her but I know she can get home safely. I'm only trying to fill the gaps.
"She's coming back in one of my cars," explains William Birch.
"Oh, are you quite well off then?"
I only realise how it sounds when it's already left my mouth. I say it politely but I know it's still a rude thing to ask.
Good. I wish I could be ruder to him. I'm so enraged by what's happening that I need to take it out on someone. My Mum will win any argument I have with her because I'm scared of her tone of voice. But I could be rude to William Birch.
It could be like in those films where the child drives away the potential suitor, has a right laugh doing it and gets their parents back together by the end of the film.
My parents aren't even divorced. They're only separated by circumstance.
I suddenly feel horribly guilty to my Dad. What would he think of me if I was entertaining a man in the kitchen like this? I force myself not to think about this as it's too horrible for words. I'll just start crying.
I'm so tired but I can't go to bed. Not until my Mum gets home. I need her to see me look at her before I go upstairs. She needs to know how I feel about all this.
"I do all right, thank you," replied William Birch. He gives me a brief smile before taking another sip of his tea. His suit sleeves are dark but I can't tell if they're black in this light. It doesn't matter anyway.
I don't like the tea he's made me but I drink it all the same. He hasn't put the right amount of sugar in. Isn't it strange how little things like that make a difference?
It's not as though I'd like him more if he'd made the tea right. But I get the impression that he doesn't make tea very often. Maybe he's one of those city boys that Bridget's brother Seb talks about, with an obsession for coffee and lager and rugby. I can't smell smoke on him.
I wonder suddenly if he can smell it on me.
And I suddenly realise that I need to shower all the smells off me before my Mum returns home. So I excuse myself from William Birch and the kitchen table and go and have a shower. By the time I've finished, Mum's bedroom door is already shut. I never get to give her the look.
I comfort myself in the knowledge that I probably wouldn't have done it right anyway.
I screamed so much I almost feel like I should apologise to him.
I don't really know what it was that made me scream like that. I suppose it was a combination of fear, the drugs and the crushing disappointment. Because this man isn't my father.
It takes him a few minutes before he can explain to me who he is. William Birch. He and my mother had been at a function together. She'd told me it was a meeting. (But what sort of function goes on until five o clock in the morning?)
She had to stay longer and because he'd arrived so suddenly from Birmingham, Mum had said he could stay with us. She'd given him the house key to let himself in.
There is quite a lot about this story that I don't really follow but I can hardly ask.
So I just sit there, nodding away while William Birch makes the tea. Every now and again, he asks me a question like if I had a good time at my friends house or where the milk is. I say I had a nice time, thanks. I point the fridge.
I can't help noticing that he doesn't guess where the milk is kept but knows exactly where we keep the sugar and the spoons.
He's been in this house before, I realise, and my heart goes cold like on exam mornings. But when? And if he's only just arrived from Birmingham, how could he have been here before?
William Birch asks where the biscuits are. I tell him there aren't any.
He puts two mugs of tea down onto the table and sits down boldly. He doesn't look at all awkward. It's strange. This is my house and yet I'm the one who feels out of place. He looks completely in his element. Rather like Marcus.
For one wild second, I think it could be Marcus's father but I put this idea out of my head. It's ridiculous. The man looks nothing like Marcus. Also, Marcus's father doesn't live in Birmingham.
Also, Marcus is fair. William Birch is dark haired, not as tall as Marcus will be when he's thirty five. I know Marcus will be tall.
I feel like crying for what feels like the third time tonight. Is this what it's come down to? My mother inviting strange men over in the middle of the night? My Dad's only been gone for six months.
Why isn't she waiting for him? This is adultery.
Well, this isn't. Tea and small talk.
The smallest of all talks. I can barely say a word. I just sip my tea and then gasp as I spill down my sushi pyjamas. Then I'm embarrassed when William Birch gets to his feet and hands me a piece of kitchen towel. It also confirms my suspicions when William Birch goes straight to the cupboard under the sink and pulls out of the kitchen towel.
I wonder if he's been in my room. He's obviously been in my Mum's room.
I squint my eyes and try not to think about it, then feel stupid as I must look stupid.
"Your mother will be back before long," says William Birch airily. He doesn't smell drunk. I suppose that's something.
"How - how's she getting back?" I ask. I don't really care how she gets back. I mean, I don't want anything to happen to her but I know she can get home safely. I'm only trying to fill the gaps.
"She's coming back in one of my cars," explains William Birch.
"Oh, are you quite well off then?"
I only realise how it sounds when it's already left my mouth. I say it politely but I know it's still a rude thing to ask.
Good. I wish I could be ruder to him. I'm so enraged by what's happening that I need to take it out on someone. My Mum will win any argument I have with her because I'm scared of her tone of voice. But I could be rude to William Birch.
It could be like in those films where the child drives away the potential suitor, has a right laugh doing it and gets their parents back together by the end of the film.
My parents aren't even divorced. They're only separated by circumstance.
I suddenly feel horribly guilty to my Dad. What would he think of me if I was entertaining a man in the kitchen like this? I force myself not to think about this as it's too horrible for words. I'll just start crying.
I'm so tired but I can't go to bed. Not until my Mum gets home. I need her to see me look at her before I go upstairs. She needs to know how I feel about all this.
"I do all right, thank you," replied William Birch. He gives me a brief smile before taking another sip of his tea. His suit sleeves are dark but I can't tell if they're black in this light. It doesn't matter anyway.
I don't like the tea he's made me but I drink it all the same. He hasn't put the right amount of sugar in. Isn't it strange how little things like that make a difference?
It's not as though I'd like him more if he'd made the tea right. But I get the impression that he doesn't make tea very often. Maybe he's one of those city boys that Bridget's brother Seb talks about, with an obsession for coffee and lager and rugby. I can't smell smoke on him.
I wonder suddenly if he can smell it on me.
And I suddenly realise that I need to shower all the smells off me before my Mum returns home. So I excuse myself from William Birch and the kitchen table and go and have a shower. By the time I've finished, Mum's bedroom door is already shut. I never get to give her the look.
I comfort myself in the knowledge that I probably wouldn't have done it right anyway.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thanks for reading everyone.We're started to see a little more of Ella's home life. Her Mum is quite strict with her. You already know her Dad's been missing for a while.
William Birch is a new character. It'll be interesting to see what happens with him.