The Course of a Lifetime Runs
Follow-up to Seas Between Us Braid, and more cheesy fluff than a Welsh Rarebit on the living room carpet.
Inasmuch as there's a purpose to this, it's to portray a significant event without ever quite saying what it is. Comments on that or any other aspect are welcome.
Harry paused at the doorway to the kitchen, pulled his robe a little tighter round him and tied the rope belt, let his bare foot hover for a moment over the slate tiles before he squeezed his eyes shut and set it down.
He smiled, brought his other foot in from the chill of the hallway carpet, stood it next to its twin, and flexed his shoulders at the sensation creeping up his legs. Under-floor heating. Heaven.
A gentle clink of glass and crockery turned his head, and he padded round the corner into the kitchen proper and paused again at the sight of a woman's back stooped over the dishwasher. She stood, lifted two handfuls of glasses and fussed them into place in their cupboard, closed the door, then turned.
“Oh!” She puffed out her breath, and one hand moved to her chest as the other reached towards a towel on the countertop. “You startled me. Morning, love. Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year, Mum.” Harry waved towards the cupboard. “I was trying not to...”
Emma Judd wiped her hands, took a half step towards him, and held out her arms. “Well? Come on, haven't got all day,” Her smile gave the lie to her gruff tone, and Harry stepped forward. They held together for a breath and a squeeze, before she pushed him to arm's length and looked into his face.
“It's good to see my boy again.”
“Good to be home.”
Another squeeze, and she patted his shoulder. “I'll finish this and put the kettle on. You fix yourself some breakfast.”
“...your father, and Thomas went along to help.”
The kitchen conservatory was bright in the sunshine, the first after a week of gloom and gales. “They should be back around two, and your sister's staying with her friends tonight, so...”
Harry set down his spoon as he chewed his cereal, lifted the Marmite-streaked toast to his mouth, swallowed, bit, chewed and swallowed and took another bite and reached for his cup. He looked up, saw his mother's pursed lips and the twinkle in her eye, and swallowed again. “What?”
“Always in such a rush,” she said. “No wonder you're so thin.”
He rolled his eyes. “Force of habit, goes with the job.” He lifted another load on his spoon, looked his mum in the eye and chewed slowly twelve times. They grinned, and soon the bowl and plate were empty and stacked to one side. Harry sipped his tea and sat back.
Emma was studying him over the edge of her cup.
“What?” he said, his voice a note or two higher than before.
She nodded toward him, and drew her thumb and finger together below her throat. “That's nice. New, isn't it?”
Harry lifted the gold chain round his neck, ran a finger under it. “It was a present. From Dougie.”
Emma nodded.
“Funny story, actually.” Harry poked at his mug. “We bought each other exactly the same thing.”
“For Christmas?”
“No. We all agreed this year. No Christmas presents, no birthday presents. It's just too hard, when we can all get pretty much whatever we want.” He snorted. “That sounds terrible, doesn't it?”
“There are ways,” she said. “Go on...”
“Last night.” He shook his head and glanced at her raised eyebrow. “He hid it in my rucksack before he left, told me on the phone where it was.” Harry flicked quote marks with his fingers and shifted his voice into his nose. “We never said anything about New Year's presents.” He smiled. “You know what the really funny thing was?”
“What's that?”
“I did the exact same thing with his, hid it in his case. So when I saw it, I thought, sh-” He ducked his head and sipped at his tea, then lowered his cup. “I thought for sure I'd messed up, put it in the wrong case somehow, or maybe...” His fingers crept back to the chain.
“Maybe what?”
“Doesn't matter.” Harry frowned at the table for a moment, then relaxed. “Great minds think alike.”
“Or fools seldom differ.”
Harry laughed. “That's what he said.”
They both lifted their drinks, sipped, and let the cups linger near their lips. Harry's gaze drifted towards the end of the garden; Emma's stayed focussed on her son. The corners of her mouth crept up, and she returned her cup to its saucer.
“What?” Harry scanned the conservatory, checked over his shoulder and down his front.
“I was just thinking,” she said, “How things never turn out quite as you expect.”
“Oh?”
“When you were fifteen, your father and I thought you were going to play cricket for England.”
“Essex, anyway.” He nodded, and tilted his cup toward his mouth.
“And then for a couple of days we thought we were going to have our first grandchild.”
Harry coughed, and his cup landed on the table with a clunk. His cheeks flushed, and he rubbed first a hand, then the lapel of his gown over his chest. “You must have been so ashamed.”
Emma turned her eyes to the roof for a couple of seconds. “Well, we weren't too pleased...”
He slid the cup back and forth between his hands.
“But it was a false alarm, and you became a lot more careful about where you spilt milk.”
He nodded, then jolted upright, eyes wider than his mouth. “Mum!”
“Think I'll make a fresh pot, yes?”
Harry nodded, and his mouth didn't close until she reached the kettle.
Emma set the teapot on its mat, went back to the kitchen and returned with the biscuit tin. She opened it and set it down in the space between their cups. Harry was staring again at the end of the garden, his fingers once more slipping over the chain.
“It suits you,” she said, and smiled. “Better than those wooden things.”
“Hm?” Harry turned to her. “Oh.” He slid his hand around the back of his neck, lifted his other arm and stretched, then returned the smile.
“New Year present,” she said. “Was that why you got him his?”
He shook his head, crossed one arm over his chest and rubbed at his forehead with the other. Emma lifted the teapot and refilled his cup.
“It's strange,” Harry said. “It's his first time away on his own. I thought…” He added milk to his cup and stirred it. “Us four, we're together all the time, so when we do get away, it's like… You know when you're in the cinema, watching this big car chase or something? And the next minute, you're outside in the dark trying to work out where you are?“
She nodded, and sipped her tea.
“Danny's with his mum, and Tom's with Gi, but Dougie… He said he needed time alone.” His fingers drifted down to the chain again. “He still gets homesick, sometimes. I thought if he had something… Silly, cos he's nicked half of mine and Danny's T-shirts, but…”
Emma nodded again. “He's grown, really grown. You all have, but...” She bit into a chocolate wafer. “ I was talking to Sam the other day. She used to worry so much about him. But now she sees him with you and the others, how he is with you…”
“And now she's terrified.” Harry's eyes crinkled. He bit his lip and reached for the biscuits.
“Your father and I are so proud of you.”
His hand faltered, then grasped a jammy dodger. “Because of the band?”
“No. Well, yes, but...” Emma put down her cup. “I sound like that Vicky whatshername now.”
“Vicky Pollard.”
“Wot-eh-vah.”
“No, that's...” Harry looked up, saw his mother's wide smile. “Mum!”
“There are lots of boys in bands. Many more who finish school, get degrees, get jobs.” She paused, and waited until his eyes met hers again. “There aren't many who shave their heads because their best friend is having chemotherapy, or who spend day upon day for years with a friend who can't even say their name, or-”
“But Rupert could...”
Emma got to her feet, walked round the table, stood behind Harry's chair and crossed her hands on his chest. “He can now, and that's why we're proud of you.” She touched her lips to the top of his head, then slid one hand to rest beside her son's on the chain at his neck. “You're not afraid to show how much you love someone, to make it count. You never have been. And we hope you're never afraid to say it, either, whoever it turns out to be.”
Harry swallowed, took in a sharp breath, tilted back his head and gazed at his mother's face. He blinked, then closed his eyes as she leant forward and kissed his forehead.
She squeezed his hand. “Now come and give your old mum a hug.”
They parted, just half a step, and smiled at each other. Harry sniffed, and his mother lifted a hand and brushed her thumb across his cheek.
“Time you got dressed. Need to start lunch soon.”
He nodded, turned away and walked towards the door.
“Harry...”
He paused with one foot on warm slate, the other on cool carpet. “Yes, Mum?”
“You'll need a towel from the airing cupboard. And don't use all the hot water.”
He laughed, shook his head and turned his eyes to the ceiling.
“Yes, Mum.”