The Fog - James Herbert [44]
‘It’s probably that nasty fog, got on to your chest.’
‘No, I don’t think so, Mother.’
‘You know how weak your chest is,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t be out in the cold air first thing in the morning after all.’
He pulled away as she reached towards his forehead.
‘No, really, Mother, it’s nothing at all. I’m just not hungry, that’s all.’
‘Have you been to the toilet?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘Let me get you some of your father’s laxative pills.’
‘No, Mother, I’ve been.’
‘Well, where does it hurt then, dear?’
‘It doesn’t hurt. I’m just not hungry!’
‘There’s no need to snap, Edward I’m only trying . . .’
‘I’m not snapping, Mother.’
‘Just because you’re not feeling well, there’s no need to take it out on Mother.’
‘But I am feeling well, Mother. I don’t feel like breakfast, that’s all. I’ve got a bit of a headache.’
‘Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ll get you some paracetamols, they’ll soon shift it.’
‘No, it’s not that bad . . .’ But she was gone, returning seconds later with two white tablets in her hand.
‘Now, take those with your tea. You’ll soon feel better.’ She would have actually popped them into his mouth had he not grabbed them and swallowed them quickly. ‘Your father thinks it might be wise if you stayed home today in case you get worse.’
‘Oh for goodness sake, Mother, it’s only a slight headache!’ Edward rose from the table, his face going a blotchy red from anger.
‘Sit down, Edward.’
‘Yes, Mother.’ He sat down.
‘You know how frightful you look when you lose your temper.’
‘I didn’t lose my temper,’ he sulked.
‘There’s no need to make others suffer just because you’re not well.’
He sat in broody silence now, knowing any further words from him would only prolong the conversation and his mother would begin to snuffle at his ingratitude.
‘Very well, Edward. You may go off to work, but please don’t come home complaining that you’re worse at lunchtime.’
‘No, Mother.’
‘Try to eat something in your tea break.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘A biscuit or something’
‘Yes, Mother.’
Mrs Smallwood softened at the look of misery on her son’s face. What would he do when they were no longer there to care for him? He was so dependent on them, needed them so much. She knew she would go first and Father really didn’t understand the boy too well. Who would comfort Edward when his father scolded him? To whom would Edward turn. She bravely fought back the tears of pity and reached a hand kindly towards him and patted his head.
‘Off you go now, Edward, or you’ll be late.’
‘Yes, Mother.’ He rose again from the table and buttoned his jacket.
His mother looked up at him, forcing a smile, trying to hide the sorrow she felt. ‘We love you, dear,’ she said.
‘Yes, Mother,’ he answered.
The dull throbbing in his head increased as he walked through the town towards his branch of the Midland Bank. Several people who knew him wished him good morning and he returned their nods with a polite but strained smile. He loved his parents dearly, but did wish they wouldn’t fuss so, especially Mother. She would worry herself into an early grave if she didn’t learn not to fret over him so much. He choked at the thought. Goodness, he must remember to buy her a box of chocolates on his way home to lunch to make up for this morning’s rudeness. He knew she would be upset for the rest of the week if he didn’t. He thought of his father and how, since his early retirement, he’d seemed to have become even more domineering, as though the running of their lives had replaced the running of his old office with the insurance company. Still, Edward knew his father had his interests at heart.
As he stepped off the kerb, the beep of a car startled him into reality. He jumped back, his heels catching on the kerb, and sat down heavily on the pavement, managing to cling to his briefcase. Edward stared up at the passing car and saw the driver’s mouth moving vehemently through the closed window. The car’s horn sounded angrily again as the vehicle sped onwards. He heard the sniggers of passers-by as he sat there, his knees