Excerpt: Count Me In

He is holding his glass with both hands. Sitting very straight.
„We all have to live off something, Tony, but we don’t all have to let it rule our lives. Surely two days off for the family isn’t asking too much? You do work hard, you know.“ I make the mistake of looking up. Intense is hardly the word for the look he is giving me. „You deserve to be pampered. If Mark is never home, he is an idiot. You are spectacular.“
This conversation is turning very strange. This man is the father of my babysitter, and my ladder-neighbour. When I need a ladder, I borrow one from George. Normally, George comes with the ladder, and does the drilling and picture-hanging too. Being the single father of a teenager who spends all day in his room listening to music, he has some spare time. George is an English teacher. Active Neighbourhood Watch do-gooder. He is also a founding member of our reading group, a local group who meet very sporadically to read good, worthy literature. I had quite a heated argument with him about „Atonement“. He wears jackets with elbow patches! He has great taste in books! He lets me borrow his hardback editions! Don’t let him get weird on me....
We exchange Booker Prize winners, and now I am „Spectacular“.
Oh God.
I am turned to the sink, my back to him, furiously washing all the cutlery I have used. My lasagne is finished, and so, I suspect is my relationship with George. The silence is booming, just bouncing off the walls.
No, I decide, it doesn’t have to be. Finished, I mean. This is an abberration. Just brush it off, act as if nothing’s changed.
„More wine, George?“ Big, bright smile. I hardly ever bustle, but by God I‘m doing it now. Drawers open, closed; pots moved from A to B; swipe the bench yet again. How long can I keep this up?
He is trying to look very meanigfully at me, but I manage to avoid eye-contact. Soon I will have to look up. Why isn’t Mark here?
Mercifully, the Monsters have had their happy end, and the kids surge noisily into the kitchen. I whip out drawing paper and pencils, and they happily settle down to it, asking George to draw a monkey, an alien, and a cat, and a firetruck, while I keep my back turned, make them crudités and sandwiches. Carefully keeping the kids and the kitchen bench between me and George.
I then apologize to George, who is still sitting there, still holding his wine glass, looking deadly serious. „Sorry George, but I need to get them fed, they need to get to bed. So, guys, how was the movie? Did the Abominable Snowman offer them yellow snow again?“ I have to turn round from my chopping to listen to the kids, and catch sight of George.
He is still staring at me, morosely, I’m starting to be afraid it will freak Rosie out.
„Bedtime soon, kiddlies! Patrick, why don’t you help George find the light for the front step, sweetie?“
He is happy to do so, hustles him toward the front door, practically pushes Ladderman down the front steps, waving and calling „Bye-bye, Dorge!“ The door slams.
It all happened so fast, George had no chance to look longingly at me again.
I am a bad person, hiding behind a 3 year old, but I am so freaked out by George’s almost declaration that I need a front, until I can calm down. Yes, I think ignoring the problem could be a good plan. It’s certainly a method I am familiar with! If a problem won’t go away, you can wish it away, walk round it, step over it, don’t give it a name, and eventually it will fade, like Tinkerbell, into a vague, bad memory.