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I live in a different city now I say, it’s difficult to see people so often.
She says he could do with a haircut though.
This needs to be an important conversation, and it’s not.
I say who needs a haircut, your dad she says, it’s sticking out round his ears.
You know the way it does she says.
I loop the telephone wire around my finger, the spirals hugging tight between my knuckles.
I say well have you told him, watching the skin beneath my fingernail turn red as the wire tightens.
Oh no she says, you know he doesn’t like me saying things like that.
I think about him there now, watching television, his feet up on the table, the dark patches on the soles of his white socks.
I uncoil the telephone wire from my finger.
There are red stripes, white stripes.
She’s talking about dad’s sister coming to visit.
Your Auntie Susan she says, and then she’s talking about spare rooms, and bedding, and extra pints of milk.
She says you know she’s got an insatiable appetite for tea, and she does like it with a lot of milk.
I need to stop her talking now.
I need to say mother I have something to say.
Mum, please, I need to tell you something.
It’s important mum, and I’m scared and I need your help.
I need to say these things.
My throat feels tight, squashed.
I open the window to get some air into the room, and a burst of noise rushes in.
Traffic, and shouting, and music.
And birdsong, from somewhere up on the roof, a thin twitter that creeps and tangles in with all the other sounds.
I breathe deeply, trying not to sigh.
I wrap the telephone cord around another finger.
Mum, I say.
I see the girl from the shop downstairs crossing the road.
She glances up and sees me, she waves and smiles.
I lift my hand to wave back, but it’s held down by the telephone cord and she disappears.
Mum, I say, again, can I just, but she doesn’t hear me, or she won’t let me speak.
