Читать книгу Unforgettable journey to other planets - Венера Харрисон - Страница 2

“Hi, it’s me,” the young man shouted from the threshold, closing the door behind him.

“Hi, David,” a woman’s voice said from the kitchen, “Dad’s still at work, come on in.”

David’s father and stepmother live in a small house in Stratford, near Manchester. The father works at the soccer stadium and the stepmother is a part-time bookkeeper.

David left his backpack in the living room and went into the kitchen. A pleasant smell wafted in from there. Joan was making a vegetable stew and roasting two large pieces of meat. Surely both pieces were destined for only one person – David’s father.

“Joan, hello,” David said as he entered the kitchen.

The stepmother turned to the doorway and smiled very warmly. She wiped her hands with the kitchen towel and hugged David tightly. She knows how to hug in a special way. David calls it a ‘proud hug’ – a little longer than a welcoming hug and a little warmer than a friendly one.

“How pretty you are,” she covered her eyes.

Joan stroked David’s shoulder, looked sympathetically at his thin face and over his frail body.

“Dad said you’ve moved out of the apartment. Will you move your things here for now? I cleared out the closet in your room. How are you? You quit your job, too? And that girl?” she paused, but she seemed to have a dozen other things to say.

She spluttered her hands in the air, which meant in her language "asks me for my tactlessness," and went to the stove.

“Stuff in the living room. I have only a backpack,” David smiled.

“Whoa! Fire or psychological breakdown?” stirring the stew, the stepmother asked.

“Psychological fire,” David laughed and sat down at the table.

Joan poured the lemonade and the conversation flowed as if six months before they had not seen each other had never happened. She began to talk about her work, to ask how things were going in London, and many other things. So they talked for about an hour. David sat on a chair and watched Joan walk around the kitchen, adding spices to the dishes and stirring them.

There wasn’t much space in the kitchen, but to David it was an important place from his childhood, and there were many stories associated with every corner of it. He looked at the pantry shelf where the cookies were always kept and remembered how he couldn’t reach them even with a chair. Now it was easy for him.

“Hi, Da-vid,” his father shouted out the window, stretching his son’s name.

He waved at him and made his way into the house. He walked into the kitchen with David’s backpack, holding it in his outstretched hand like something dirty and bad smelling.

“Some bum left all his belongings in our living room,” he laughed and set the backpack on the floor.

Father, or as the rest of the world calls him, Spencer Conel always joked a little harshly, but everyone at home was used to judging a joke without relativity to themselves. So David and Joan smiled.

Spencer hugged his skinny son in compare to him:

“Okay, the hug was warm enough, I’ll cancel the evening salute to your arrival.”

Joan escorted him out to change and began to put food on plates. And yes, both steaks were meant for one person. They sat down to dinner.

“What next, son?” Spencer finally decided to ask, sawing his piece of meat. “Will you stay with us for a while? Maybe I’ll find out at work…”

“Spence,” Joan looked at him meaningfully, “when you come home from work tired, do I ask you what you’re doing?”

“That’s all right, Joan,” David smiled. “Yes, Dad, I’ll stay with you for a couple of weeks, and then I’ll go somewhere to rest. I think I need someplace windier to clear my head.”

Joan was glad David was joking.

“You know, David,” said father thoughtfully, “don’t listen to anybody. In the end, you can’t blame anyone.”

The table was quiet and peaceful. Like six months ago and always before.