Читать книгу Fuse - Sally Partridge - Страница 9

Dinner at the Mullins house was never a pleasant experience.

Gregory Mullins loved his family very much, but he wasn’t at all accepting of his son, something he put down to that oddball child they had adopted, who’d turned out to be nothing but trouble. Boys were supposed to look after themselves; that was something his father had taught him. Gregory had fought in the war on the border, and it dismayed him that his sons would never have the same experience. His own son had always been a good boy, but Kendall was fast becoming a bad influence; he could see it happening under his nose.

The family was seated at the dining-room table as Debbie Mullins walked around placing a plate in front of each of the Mullins men. She had an aggrieved, watery face that came from being married to a man like Gregory Mullins for too long. It worsened with every passing year.

Kendall hated dinnertime. He knew his dad didn’t like him that much, so he usually tried to keep out of his way. But at the dinner table, he had no choice but to put up with whatever came his way. His mother was no help either; she was more petrified of Gregory than he was.

Justin was staring at the ceiling wishing that dinner would just start and end, so that he could go to his room and test out a demo game on his PlayStation. He thought his family, with the exception of his adopted brother, was an incredible waste of his time. He nodded his head as he thought of a song he had just played on his iPod. His father had banned him from listening to music at the table. Justin knew it was only because his father resented the fact that he was now working weekends and could buy his own things. He smiled as he remembered the bitter battle over his job. Justin had won that day.

The ritual began. Debbie remained standing as she served everyone, first her husband, then Justin, then Kendall and finally herself. She had spent most of that afternoon preparing dinner just as her husband liked it. Roast chicken legs, sweet carrots and mashed potatoes with peas, because it was Tuesday. He liked having chicken on a Tuesday.

“It’s about time you cut that fringe,” Gregory said as he began cutting into his chicken leg.

The first shot had been fired, and the target was Justin. The table remained silent except for the squeaking of cutlery.

Justin wasn’t eating. He was concentrating too hard on his next move. Kendall looked at his brother, and their eyes met across the table. They understood the game only too well. Their father would take a shot at each boy in turn, and they would deflect the attack with whatever carefully constructed arguments they could come up with. Gregory would inevitably settle on Kendall, accuse him of some ridiculous fancy he’d imagined during the day, lose his temper, break a few plates and storm out of the room. Sometimes the plates survived, but otherwise it was pretty much the same nearly every night of the week.

The boys would go to their respective rooms, sometimes each other’s if the altercation had been particularly violent, and their mother would clean up the mess.

Gregory glanced up at his son from across the table and waited. His moustache waggled as he chewed slowly and methodically. His expression was unreadable. He could have been enjoying himself, he could be feeling no emotion at all.

Justin began to sweat. “It only looks long because I have just washed it.” He knew the response sounded weak, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He almost always quavered under his father’s gaze.

“If it looks too long, it is too long. Kendall’s hair is almost down to his damn arse. You both look like idiots.”

Scrape. Squeak.

Kendall really felt sorry for his brother. Justin was one of most popular boys in his grade and he deserved it. He was smart and funny and handsome. He didn’t deserve this.

Gregory threw down his knife and fork, spilling gravy and chicken on the freshly pressed tablecloth.

“This nonsense has gone on long enough. Debbie, fetch the scissors.”

The boys looked at each other in absolute horror. Their mother put down her cutlery neatly on either side of her plate, wiped her mouth with a napkin and calmly left the table. The sound of a kitchen drawer sliding open and closed was audible to everyone in the dining room.

Justin drew his hands through his hair as he weighed their options. His brother was looking at him pleadingly, and had started biting his nails.

“Look, Dad. Don’t cut our hair, okay. This is how everyone looks at school. It’s cool. I’m going to be the laughing stock of the school.”

“Like Kendall?”

“What?”

“Does everyone wear their hair like he does? Is that cool too?”

“Yeah, some people do.”

“Do I look like a fool to you, son?”

“No.”

“Do you want to be like him? A freak? I’ve seen the posters of the music he listens to. Men who dress like women with their long hair and make-up. It’s profane, and I won’t have it in my house. I know you think he’s okay, but you’re going to listen to me when I say this: I won’t allow you to turn into something disgusting,” bellowed Gregory, red in the face.

There was a terse silence.

“Are you going to just stand there?” Gregory shouted at his wife who was in the doorway holding the pair of scissors like it was a sacred object. He slammed his fist down hard on the table.

Justin stared at his father, equally angry. Kendall had witnessed his brother explode a few times before when his dad pushed him too far, but for the most part he usually backed down. Kendall found it easier just to remain silent, as the tirade passed quicker that way. Justin had had enough, though.

“I hate you!” he exploded looking at both Gregory and his mother. “You’re both insane. You speak about Kendall like he’s not here, but he’s sitting right in front of you. What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see what you’re doing to us?”

Debbie Mullins looked down at the floor as her son glared accusingly at her, wishing that she would stick up for her sons just once.

“Will you still be needing the scissors, dear?” she asked her husband in a small voice.

Gregory shook his head and stared at Kendall with a look of deepest disapproval.

“It is not my influence my son wants any more, but an influence of a more unsavoury nature.” With those words he slid his chair back and left the table.

“You’re not going to finish your dinner, dear?” Debbie quavered.

He didn’t answer, but stalked heavily up the stairs towards his bedroom. They heard the door slam and something break. The evening’s festivities obviously weren’t over just yet.

Debbie was shaking her head at her sons. “Oh dear. Why do you boys always have to upset him so?”

Justin looked at his mother incredulously. “You wanna go to my room?” he asked his brother.

Kendall nodded.

They left their mother in the dining room wringing her hands as she looked up the stairs, wondering what it was of hers that her husband had just broken.