Читать книгу A Big Circle of Friends - Erica Bentel - Страница 18

THAT NIGHT. SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA. 20:25

Meanwhile … in another suburban home. It starts with raised voices. Another argument. A door slams.

Storming down the driveway, K. hears his father calling out after him.

He spins around.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone? I hate this place! Why did you have to move here in the first place?”

“For you children!!”

“For us. Yeah right. They all treat me like I’m a bloody alien. I’ll never be like them. Never.”

He sends a text to his cousin, then mutters to himself:

… Not that Iraq is any better. Those family holidays are a bloody nightmare.

Looking back up the driveway he sees his mother, then his father at the window, searching for him. He takes two steps to get out of their view. He climbs on his scooter, pulls on his helmet and drives off.

His cousin lives only 20 minutes away. He parks his scooter and, using both hands, pushes open the glass doors.

Only after he’s pressed the lift button does he read the OUT OF ORDER sign. He grunts. Then starts up the three flights of stairs, grumbling under his breath.

At least it’s better than being nagged day in, day out.

He holds his breath up the last flight.

What’s that disgusting smell? It’s like cat piss.

His cousin opens the door, hugs him, shows him around the small apartment, pats him on the back and leaves shortly afterwards.

K. throws himself onto the worn sofa that is to be his bed and stretches out his legs. He doesn’t bother to take off his shoes.