The sandwich was on the table waiting for me when I got back from the bathroom. And a large glass of water. The biscuits were gone. And so were Mum and Dad. I could hear them in the front room. I knew Dad was reading the newspaper. He always rustled it as he read. I guessed Mum was either knitting or reading. I couldn’t hear any talking.
The sandwich was great — just what I needed. I looked up at the kitchen clock. It was wrong. It said it was just after half past two. I wasn’t sure, but I thought the time must be closer to 1 o’clock. I had only been there for about half an hour, and the roads from Newton St Loe had been pretty clear. I’d left Colin’s at about midday so I would have arrived at Mum’s and Dad’s about 12:30. I made a mental note to mention it to them when I had finished eating.
I dipped a finger in the glass of water and put the cold, wet finger against my eyes. It soothed them, took away some of the heat from all the crying. I did it again, and then again.
After I finished the sandwich I hunted for the biscuits. They were in the bread-bin. I grabbed three and munched my way through them too. Mum called out from the front-room.
‘Everything alright, dear?’
‘Lovely thanks, Mum. Just having a biscuit.’
When I got to my last biscuit, I wandered through to Mum and Dad. He was reading, but Mum was just sitting there. No book and no knitting.
‘I think the kitchen clock is a bit out,’ I said. ‘It’s fast I think.’
‘Your dad will look at it,’ she said.
Dad put the paper down and nodded.
‘How are the kids bearing up?’ he said. ‘Do they know about all these dreams and stuff?’
‘No, of course not. I wouldn’t put that on them. I think they’re OK. I have been a bit distant and distracted recently, but I think I’m getting back on track now. You know what kids are like. Very resilient.’
‘And Neil?’ Dad said.
The tone of his voice was saying something, but I wasn’t sure what.
‘Neil knows,’ I said. ‘He seems a bit tired. I think he’s got a lot on at work at the moment.’
‘I meant, is Neil making sure you and the kids are OK. Is he there for you?’
‘Of course he is, Dad. Neil is always there for us. You know how good he is.’
I sensed a reaction from Mum, but she didn’t say anything. Perhaps I had imagined it. My mind was hardly in a great place.
‘And what about school, dear,’ she said. ‘Is everything going OK for you back there?’
My eyebrow itched again.
‘I’m not really back there at the moment. They want me to take as long as I need to get better. I stay in touch, and I did go in a couple of weeks ago, but I just feel it’s better to not be there at the moment — until I know what’s going on inside my head. Not with all the kids there.’
‘You might find it’s the normality you need?’ Mum said.
‘I will soon, Mum. I’m almost there I think.’
‘And what about the Deputy Head job?’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t you know by now?’
‘I think they’re just giving me more time, you know. Margaret spent a considerable amount of time persuading me to go for it in the first place. I’m sure she’s just making sure I’m fit and well before adding to my responsibilities.’
I hoped I was right. I hoped that nothing had changed since all of this started. Mum’s brow creased. It felt like it was the right time to leave. I had already given them enough of a burden with my sobbing in the kitchen. Now I was adding to it by giving them an opportunity to worry about my job too.
‘It’ll all be OK,’ I said. ‘I think I just needed to come here, to talk to you both. It all somehow seems much better now. You know, now that I’ve let it all out.’
They weren’t stupid. I knew that. But they were kind enough to take what I was saying.
‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘I really ought to make a move. Need to get tea ready. Be there for the kids. For Neil. Thank you for the food and for the shoulders to cry on,’
‘We’re always here, Chris,’ Dad said. ‘Just pick up the phone — any time, day or night. You know where we are.’
I ran to the car while Mum and Dad waved from the front door. It was still raining hard. I tried to avoid splashing through the puddles that had formed on the drive.
As I turned the key in the ignition a buzzer sounded. The petrol warning. I needed to re-fuel.
But that didn’t make sense. I had had more than half a tank in there that morning, I would have used hardly any going to Colin’s and then not much to Mum and Dad’s.
I looked at the clock. It was nearly ten minutes to three.
And that didn’t make sense either.
I looked back at the front door. Mum and Dad were still there. Still smiling, still waving. But their movements looked odd. Their arms juddered as they moved. Every turn of their head seemed staccato. It was as though I was looking at an old home movie.
My heart started pumping faster.
The pain in my leg intensified and I picked up a smell of something through the car air-vents. Although I knew it was a smell, it felt more like a physical sensation. My nose prickled. Smelling-salts?
I had no idea. I wasn’t even sure if I had ever smelled smelling-salts before.
I gripped the steering wheel hard. In reality, I wanted to rush back indoors, shake Mum and Dad out of the old movie, and feel their love again. I needed them to let me know that everything was OK.
I gripped the wheel even harder as though through it I was getting a grip on myself.
“Don’t let go, Christine,” I said, my mouth barely open.
I forced a smile and a wave, and put the car into reverse. Slowly, their movements came back to real-time. As I pulled out of the drive my nose stopped prickling and my heart-rate dropped.
Along the main road, the pain in my leg was the last physical thing to disappear.
But I knew I had a problem. The clock on my dashboard was telling more or less the same time as the kitchen clock had, the one I had thought was wrong. The time on my phone agreed with both.
My heart rate pumped up again.
Less petrol than there should have been, and much later than I thought it was.
I shivered and turned the heating up.
And I realised that something had happened.
Somehow I had “lost” an hour and a half between leaving Colin’s, and arriving at Mum and Dad’s.
It made sense, now, that they had already had lunch and washed up. It made sense that I had been so starving hungry. It made sense that the kitchen clock had said the time it had. It hadn’t been wrong. That all made sense now.
But the missing chunk of time from my day — that didn’t make any sense at all.