Without should
Andrew pushed open the front door, stepping into the familiar hallway. On the kitchen table were three plates of dried-out pasta, a toppled yoghurt pot, and an open squared exercise book. Charlie’s backpack lay abandoned in the corridor, and Florence sat curled on the sofa, her eyes glued to her phone.
He set his laptop bag down, kicked off his shoes. He was about to mention the dishes, but the words caught in his tired throat. Instead, he simply walked to the table, picked up a plate, and carried it to the sink.
Ill wash up in a minute, Dad, Florence mumbled, not glancing up.
Right.
He turned the tap on, watching the pasta soften and float away down the plughole, the water swirling noisily around the plate. He paused, his gaze fixed on the wet porcelain.
Flo, wheres Charlie?
In his room, doing his maths homework.
And you?
I finished everything.
Drying his hands on the tea towel, he made his way to Charlies room. His son lay sprawling on the bedroom rug, head propped on a fist, half a sum scrawled in his workbook.
Hello, son, Andrew said.
Hi.
All alright?
Fine.
Homework?
Getting there.
Andrew sat on the edge of the bed. Charlie gave him a sideways look, then returned to his exercise book.
Are you okay, Dad?
I dont know, Andrew admitted. Just tired, I suppose.
He really didnt know. That morning his mother had rung, insisting he come help clear out the wardrobe; meetings at work had dragged on until six; then hed endured a sweaty rush hour, crushed against the Tube doors. Now, sitting in Charlies room, he realised he didnt want to talk about chores or homework or the state of the house. He didnt want to be some device that simply arrived home and engaged.
Listen, lets all gather in the kitchen, he said. Together.
Why? Charlie frowned.
To talk.
About my last English mark again?
No, not that. Just to talk.
Dad, I havent finished my homework.
You can finish it later. Five minutes.
He left the room and called, Flo? She looked up and sighed in irritation.
Are you serious?
Yep.
She tossed her phone aside and followed. Charlie slipped from his room and hovered in the kitchen doorway, uncertain.
Andrew sat, moving the exercise book aside. Florence took her place opposite; Charlie perched on the edge of his chair.
Whats going on? Florence asked.
Nothings going on.
Then why?
He looked at her, then Charlie. His sons eyes were filled with apprehension, bracing for bad news.
I just want to have a chat. An honest one. No you need to do your homework, or you ought to do the washing up, none of that.
So I dont have to wash up? Charlie asked cautiously.
Well sort it later. I mean something else.
Florence folded her arms.
Youre acting a bit odd.
Weird, am I? He gave a half-smile. Maybe Im just too tired to keep pretending everythings alright.
They fell silent, the words slow to come.
Im not sure how to say this, he began. But I feel like were all pretending. I come in, you act like alls well, I act like I believe it. We talk about school, dinner, the usualand really, were not talking at all.
Dad, youre making it heavy, Florence said softly. Why?
I dont know. Maybe because Im not coping and Im scared that youre not eitherand I wouldnt even know.
Charlies brow furrowed.
I am coping.
Are you? Then why have you only started falling asleep after midnight these last couple of weeks?
Charlie was silent, staring at the table.
I hear you tossing and turning, Andrew said. And you get up in the morning looking like sleep never came.
I just dont feel like sleeping.
Charlie.
What?
Tell me the truth.
Charlie shrugged and turned away.
Schools fine. Im doing my homework. What more do you want?
Florence intervened, Dad, stop interrogating him.
Im not. I just want to understand.
Well, he doesnt want to talk. Thats his right.
Andrew looked at her.
Okay. Then you tell me how youre doing.
A dismissive smile. Me? Im fine. Works done, Im seeing my friends, everything as it should be.
Flo.
She fell silent, eyes darting away.
What?
You hardly leave the house anymore. You turned your friends down twice this month.
So what? I didnt feel like it.
Why not?
She pressed her lips together. Because Im sick of them, all the chatter about boys and mindless rubbish. Thats all.
Alright, he said gently. It just seems to me youre sad.
She shook her head sharply, as if to shake off his words.
Im not sad.
Alright.
They fell quiet. The only sound was the fridge humming behind them.
Listen, he said slowly, I dont want to be Dad the Parent right now. Nor do I want you trying to make me feel better. Ill just say it straight: Im scared. Every day. Im scared about money, scared something will happen to your nan and she wont say, scared Ill lose my job. Scared youre struggling and I wont notice because Im too wrapped up in myself. Im tired of pretending Ive got it all sorted.
Florence blinked, studying him intently.
But youre the grown-up, she said quietly. Youre supposed to cope.
I know. But I dont always.
Charlie lifted his head.
So what happens if you cant cope?
I dont know, Andrew admitted. I suppose Ill have to ask for help.
From who?
You, for starters.
Charlie looked alarmed. But were just kids.
You are. But youre also part of this family. And sometimes I need you to tell me the truthnot just Im fine, but how things really are.
Florence swept invisible crumbs into her palm, thinking.
And why do you need to know?
So Im not alone.
She met his gaze, and something softened.
Im scared to go to school, Charlie suddenly blurted. Some boy calls me stupid there. Every day. And everyone laughs.
Andrew felt a tightening in his chest.
Whats his name?
Im not telling you. Youll go in and sort it out and make it worse.
I promise I wont.
Charlie shot him a doubtful look. Really?
Really. But I need you to know youre not alone.
Charlie nodded, gaze dropping.
Im not. Davys alright. We sit together.
Good.
Florence sighed.
I dont want to go to university, she said quietly. Everyone keeps asking where Ill go, what Ill doI havent a clue. None. Feels like Ill never go because Im not good at anything.
Flo, youre only fourteen.
So? Everyone else has decided. I havent.
Not everyone.
Everyone I know.
He paused for a beat.
When I was your age, I wanted to be a geologist. Then I changed my mind. Then I changed it again. And now I do something I never even thought about back then.
And is it alright?
Sometimes, sometimes its tough. Thats lifeyoure not meant to have it all planned out.
Florence nodded, frowning in uncertainty.
But everyone says you should know by now.
They do, he agreed. But those are their words, not yours.
She looked at him, almost managing a smile.
Youre different tonight.
Tired of pretending to be right all the time.
Charlie gave a little laugh.
Can I ask you something?
Of course.
Youre really scared?
Yes.
So what do you do when youre scared?
Andrew thought about it.
I get up in the morning and do something. Even if Im not sure its right. I just get on with it.
Charlie nodded. Right.
They sat in the quietly charged air. Andrew looked at his children and realised he hadnt fixed anything, hadnt found answers or silenced their fears. But something had shifted: hed shown them his humanity, and, for a moment, theyd returned it.
Florence stood. Lets sort the washing up.
Ill help. Charlie got up.
Me too, said Andrew.
They cleaned up in silence, but it was a different kind of quietnot empty, but full.
Once the last plate was on the rack, Florence dried her hands and looked at her father.
Dad, can we talk like this again? Sometime?
Anytime you want, he promised.
She nodded and disappeared to her room. Charlie lingered, shuffling his feet.
Thanks for not getting involved with that boy, he said.
But if things get really bad, will you let me know?
I will.
Then lets do my maths.
They went into Charlies room, settling together on the rug. Andrew picked up the workbook, scanning the problems. Charlie scooted closer, and they began to work through them togethernot rushed now, but relaxed, almost as if that had always been enough. But now Andrew knew there was a frightened boy behind those sumsand that he, Andrew, could be there not just as the checker, but as someone who was frightened too, and still carried on.
It wasnt everything, but it was a beginning.
