The Extra Mouth
The kitchen table felt cramped. The five-metre space could hardly fit five people—two adults and three children.
“Conrad, grab the stool from the living room,” said Eloise.
The seventeen-year-old rolled his eyes but obeyed, returning with the stool.
“Move the table back a bit. There, we’ll manage. It’s fine, Max, really,” Eloise said, though she avoided looking at the five-year-old boy who had caused the fuss. Instead, she glanced at her husband, who was clearly irritated by the rearrangements.
Eloise served the first bowl of hot soup to Edward, the man of the house. She quickly sliced bread and butter, handing garlic cloves to her daughter Sophie to peel. Soon, plates covered the table. The eldest son, following his father’s lead, spread a thin slice of buttered bread, alternating bites with spoonfuls of soup. The garlic disappeared quickly between Edward and Conrad, leaving the dish empty.
Max clutched his spoon but didn’t eat, watching the two men across from him. He wanted to copy them, but the dishes were just out of reach.
“Eat,” whispered ten-year-old Sophie, passing him bread and a slice of butter.
Max snatched them up, chewing like they were sweets. Eloise smiled and picked up her spoon.
Edward refused seconds. Conrad nodded silently. Sophie asked for salt to sprinkle on her bread. Tea was drunk in silence. Everyone stared into their mugs. Biscuits vanished quickly—everyone was in a hurry.
When dinner ended, Edward stood first.
“Children eat first next time, then us. The table’s too small.”
Eloise paused, plate in hand, but said nothing. Conrad shot a glare at Max, who was munching a biscuit.
Yesterday, Edward had come home with an extra passenger. He nudged the boy forward.
“Come on, Max,” Eloise said, standing in the hallway with a towel.
It was clear they’d discussed this. Max’s arrival was no accident.
“Who’s this?” Conrad asked, stepping out with a textbook.
“This is Max,” Eloise said gently.
“I heard his name. Who is he?”
Edward and Eloise hadn’t prepared for this. They should have told the children sooner.
“Max is staying with us. We’ll squeeze another bed into your room.”
“Our room?” Sophie burst in.
Their shared room was already divided by a wardrobe. Fitting another bed meant rearranging everything.
“You’ll manage.”
Edward’s authority was unchallenged. A single look was usually enough to make his children obey without question.
Seven years earlier, he’d left them. A terrible row erupted. Eloise—usually calm—had sobbed hysterically, begging him not to leave her with two young children. But Edward had packed a single bag and walked out. He’d fallen for another woman, Antonia, met at the factory. Nothing else mattered.
Two years later, he returned. Same bag. No apologies.
“If you filed for divorce, I’ll leave. Otherwise, I’m back for good.”
Eloise couldn’t speak. She’d waited so long for this moment. She’d already forgiven him. She just wanted to see him again.
For nearly a year, they lived like strangers until Edward finally confessed, begging forgiveness. Eloise softened, and life resumed—almost as before. And then Max appeared.
Antonia wasn’t ill. She just didn’t want a child. He interfered with her freedom. She’d only had him because the factory provided housing for mothers.
“Take him or I’ll send him to a home,” she told Edward when he visited.
“Where? We’re four in a two-bed flat!”
“Not my problem,” Antonia shrugged. “You didn’t ask where he’d go when I had him.”
“I thought you loved me. Wanted Max.”
She laughed. “Think again. I’m dropping him off on the first if you don’t take him.”
She knew he wouldn’t let it happen.
Eloise agreed immediately. She treated all children the same, giving each what they needed. Love included.
Time passed. They bought a bigger table. Sophie got a corner of the living room, freeing space for the boys. Conrad started university. Max began school. It should’ve been easier—but Conrad’s resentment grew. Even sharing a father didn’t help.
Eloise smoothed things over, careful not to upset Max. Conrad stayed quiet in front of Edward. Sophie adored Max—he was more like her than Conrad.
Max wasn’t neglected. He got clothes, toys, school supplies. Eloise divided everything fairly. But Conrad hated it. Behind Max’s back, he called him “The Extra Mouth,” sneering. When their parents were out, Conrad tormented him. Max was often punished for things he hadn’t done.
One evening, Conrad swiped an extra sausage at lunch, knowing the count was exact.
“Dinner’s ready,” Eloise said later, reheating the sausages.
“Oi, who took an extra?” she asked.
“Max pinched one at lunch. Sophie saw,” Conrad said smugly.
Sophie nodded. She had seen Max eating a sausage.
“Yeah, I ate one,” Max admitted.
“Just one? I told you all to save one for dinner.”
“Just one. Conrad’s lying, like last time.”
Eloise didn’t look at Conrad. She served Max his plate.
“Read somewhere that an extra mouth is worse than a pistol. True, Mum?”
Edward slammed his fist on the table. He stood, snatched Conrad’s plate, and glared at him.
He handed Conrad’s sausage to Eloise, then shoved her empty plate at his son.
“There’s only one extra mouth here. And it’s yours. You’re twenty—still leeching off us. Want food? Get a job.”
Max stared at his plate.
Edward stormed out. Conrad grabbed his coat and fled. Sophie pretended to sip tea.
Eloise moved to comfort Max, but tears already dripped onto his plate.
“You’ll salt your sausage. No one else will want it.”
“I can’t eat it.”
“You must. It’s yours. Take what’s yours—and be grateful. Especially food. A man needs to eat to work and think.”
By year’s end, Max walked home alone.
Conrad spotted him near school. Four older boys were tossing a bag around while Max scrambled between them. A girl stood nearby, hands covering her face.
Conrad walked past—then stopped.
Max was on the ground, being kicked.
“Oi! Scram!” Conrad yanked two boys up by their collars. The others froze.
“Four on one? I’ll wring you out like lemons!”
He avoided looking at Max—terrified. Not for himself. For his brother.
“Max, you alright?”
“Fine.”
“Right. This is my brother. And I’ll remember you lot. Touch him again, and you’re pulp.”
The boys bolted. Conrad knelt beside Max.
“Up. Your face?”
“I covered it. They were after her bag.”
He pointed to the girl. She silently took her things.
“Friend?”
“No.”
“Why jump in? They’re twice your size!”
“You stick up for girls. Any age.”
Conrad smirked. Their father had said that.
“Yeah. Right, Max. Come on. Mum’ll kill you—your uniform’s wrecked. Brush off.”
They walked in silence. Conrad stole glances as Max wiped his nose and swiped dirt from his clothes.
“Why’d you say that?” Max stopped.
“What?”
“Calling me your brother. You usually—”
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then that’s that, Max. Friends?” He held out his hand.
Max spat on his palm before shaking. Conrad laughed but didn’t wipe his hand.
“Help me with maths? Promised Mum I’d get top marks.”
“Struggling?”
“A bit.”
“I’ll help.”
By next year, Max was top of his class—with Conrad’s help.
Conrad moved out, juggling work and rent. But he still contributed at home.
After the sausage incident, he never bullied Max again.
One lesson had been enough.
