Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 19

            ‘Make me a cuppa, Jude,’ calls my mum down the hallway.

             Dad strolls into the hall. In his slippers and his dressing gown. He’s having a day off. Skiving, just like I was when I suggested taking the Spitfire out for a spin. We were supposed to be in class. Me in Physics, Penny in Lit.

But the freedom of the open road had been too tempting to ignore. Neither of us had skipped school or college before. That day, I’d woken up with the idea in my head. The Spitfire was ready. A year of tinkering in my best friend Tom’s garage had paid off. She had been gleaming, green and showroom clean.

Dad’s Triumph Spitfire is a cup of tea and slippers in front of the sports channels. His love is his wife. I see him turn to the kitchen and then Mum emerge from the living room. Smiling with a glint of mischief in the eyes we share. She attacks from behind tickling him on the sides in the place she’d shown me he was vulnerable when I was little. We’d spent good long whiles pinning my dad to the floor in fits of teary laughter.

Then they turn and kiss. I’m gripped by a moment of natural repulsion to see my parents display passion. But I force myself to open my eyes and see them happy.

‘Where did that come from?’ Dad asks.

‘It’s just nice to have you home.’ And she hugs him.

 I recall weeks of arguments all including the same headline. You’re working too much Jude. Only to be met with. I have to Faye, living’s expensive…Don’t you think I know that?…The list goes on in my head. Like a film I’ve watched too many times I can quote every line.

‘Now,’ she says. ‘Water, teabag, splash of milk, four sugars.’

‘Careful, that might all go to your hips,’ my Dad replies. Darting out of the way of the flying hand aimed at his side.

‘Old bastard,’ she taunts.

‘Sexy cow,’ he says, aiming his own hand at her backside.

He clips her as she walks back into the living room, smiling a secret smile never seen by anyone else.

I feel uncomfortable and happy at the same time. Sharing a moment never shared.

I walk into the living room, and sit. I will spend as much time as I can with them. Sitting in the comfy armchair I’d always claimed as my own. My homework chair, across from Mum and Dad on the sofa.

I am home, and it is enough to make me feel alive.