A Spot of Bother - Mark Haddon [125]
A train of thought which came to a crescendo as he entered the kitchen where, fittingly, Eileen and Ronnie were eating breakfast. At which point he felt Tony beside him, in spirit if not in body, and Jamie realized that whatever Eileen and Ronnie might think (that he needed saving, or castrating, or putting behind bars), deep down they were petrified of him. Which made him feel a bit like Batman, who looked evil, though he was actually good.
So he said, “Hullo, Eileen. Hullo, Ronnie,” and gave them a broad smile. “I hope you slept well.”
Then he patted them both on the shoulder and spun round, and the air in the kitchen filled with his black cloak and he swept majestically across the dining room in his matching leather boots and codpiece, through the hallway into the downstairs loo.
Which seemed to act like a short-range time machine because when he flushed the toilet and stepped back out into the hallway it was like the concourse at Euston, Eileen going one way, his sister and mother going the other, Jacob being a fighter plane, the Christian hound yowling and two startlingly redheaded women he didn’t recognize standing in the kitchen doorway wearing white uniforms.
Katie said, “Hi, Jamie,” and vanished.
Ray walked downstairs and came over and whispered, “Not a peep out of your dad last night.”
“Thanks,” said Jamie. “I’ll pop up and say hello.”
“How was the bed-and-breakfast?” asked Ray.
“Not good,” said Jamie.
“Katie told me about your room being nicked by the happy clappers,” said Ray. “I think they might have been exorcising it.”
Jamie got to the landing and realized he’d been a bit distracted and hadn’t responded to Ray’s joke, which probably came over as rude. Never mind. His father was more important right now.
He knocked on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” said his father. He sounded reassuringly buoyant.
Jamie went in and found him sitting fully dressed on the side of the bed.
“You’re here,” said his father. “Good.” He slapped his hands onto his knees in a ready-for-action kind of way.
“How are you?” asked Jamie.
“Changed my mind,” said his father.
“About what?”
“Really can’t come to the wedding.”
“Hang on a minute,” said Jamie.
“Now, I could go to a hotel,” said his father. “But, to be honest with you, I’ve had my fill of hotels recently.”
Jamie was not sure how to respond to this. His father looked and sounded completely sane. Except that he was clearly not.
“Obviously I can’t take the car because your mother is going to need that to get to the register office. And if I simply start walking from here I’m bound to be seen by someone who recognizes me.” His father slipped an Ordnance Survey map out from under the mattress. “But you have a car.” He unfolded the map and pointed to Folksworth. “If you were able to drop me somewhere round about here I could walk on footpaths for ten, fifteen miles without crossing a major road.”
“Right,” said Jamie.
“If you could put my big waterproof and a thermos of tea in the boot, that would be helpful.” His father refolded the Ordnance Survey map and slipped it back under the mattress. “Some biscuits would be good, too, if that were possible.”
“Some biscuits,” said Jamie.
“Something plain. Digestives. That kind of thing. Nothing too chocolatey.”
“Digestives.”
His father took hold of Jamie’s hand and held it. “Thank you. This makes me feel a lot better.”
“Good,” said Jamie.
“You’d better get downstairs and mingle,” said his father. “Don’t want anyone else getting wind of this, do we.”
“No,” said Jamie.
He stood up and went over to the door. He turned round briefly. His father was staring out of the window, rocking from one foot to the other.
Jamie went out onto the landing, closed the door behind him, ran downstairs, grabbed his mobile, shut himself in the toilet for a second time