Daddy's Gone 12.1

increasingly aware that this peaceful time is running out and that if I want to get out of here without an argument I’m going to have to be quick.
In the hallway I open the door on the right, my mother’s room, apprehensive of the state in which I might find it today, but in a rush so unwilling to delay. The room smells putrid, like rotten vegetables, but is spotless. The double bed is untouched and covered in my bedclothes. I ignore this curiosity and immediately drop to all fours to be able to see under the bed and pull out one of the discarded Ikea bags. As I get up, turning around to leave, it suddenly strikes me that the walls in the room are covered with the photos and posters which had used to adorn my walls, I turn around on the spot in a kind of horrified stupor, my photos plastered around the room, no wall left uncovered. The door to the en-suite bathroom is open a crack and the light on inside has been left on.
I make my way around the bed to switch it off, the door opens without a creak, which when looking back on this moment I would later think would have been poor direction if my life was a film. The first thing which occurs to me is the pale arm which is sticking out of the bath, the second which is how dead it looks. I’ve never seen a dead body before in my life, never even been to a funeral that I can remember, but without any uncertainty the body lying in my Mum’s bath is dead, and it is that of my mother. She lies in the bath, left arm casually floating over the side of the bath, her eyes shut and her head tilted gently to one side, she looks like she is sound asleep. The water which she’s lying in has a greenish tinge to it and the smell of her bedroom is even more potent in here. Floating next to her in the bath are two empty foil packets, the kind which once housed some kind of pill, and an empty bottle of Absolut. At first I thought the floor was covered in splashes of dried blood, but then I see the candles. The bath is surrounded by small red tea lights which have melted away leaving dark red trails of wax down the side of the bath and pretty spatter patterns on the tiled floor. I stand in the doorway, unable to think, unable to move, I just stand there. After a minute I switch out the light and go and sit on the end of the bed holding the crumpled Ikea bag in my lap, staring at the blank screen of the television directly in front of me.
After a certain amount of time, I have no idea how much, I get up and walk out of the room, I go upstairs and mechanically put all my shoes in the bag with barely any conscious thought about what I’m doing, as if I’m on auto-pilot. Then downstairs I pick up the cordless phone from its docking station in the kitchen and dial 999, I put the phone to my ear until I hear, “Emergency services, which services do you require?” I know I can’t speak, no way could I even squeeze out one word, so I take the phone to the entrance hall, place it on the floor in the open doorway and leave slamming the door as loud as humanly possible behind me.

It’s Friday night and we’re heaving, both private tables have been booked by two parties of big spenders, one a group of young oil traders for Paribas, the other is a slightly older group of Russians or Polish or some such country, either way both tables combined have spent almost fourteen thousand pounds and it’s hardly past midnight. I’m standing numbly behind the bar ignoring most customers, who before long move on to asking one of the other girls to serve them. Caleb and I hired more staff to deal with the added weekend pressure, Dani is a twenty-four year old Australian single mother and ex-surfer which made her an ideal candidate for what is generally a bar where men pick up the tab, and tip. While she takes care of one table Kim takes care of the other and I sometimes hand them more of whatever they need across the bar. Caleb is sat on the other side of the bar on a high stool, making idle conversation with any woman under forty who approaches. He’s wearing a high collared floral shirt from Paul Smith with dark grey suit trousers from Armani Exchange, we haven’t spoken all night, I haven’t spoken to anyone since this afternoon. Over the speakers comes a dance remix of “You Can’t Always Get What you Want” by the Rolling Stones but nobody is listening and few people are dancing.
I lean across the bar and ask Caleb if he has a cigarette, he looks at me like I’ve just landed from Venus but reaches into his right hand pocket and pulls out a packet of Dunhill Blues and passes them to me. I take the packet and walk out the bar without saying thanks, I go up the stairs and step outside where there is a light drizzle which makes the sound of every passing car sound like the tearing of a very long strip of Velcro. Standing in the doorway I’m now aware that I don’t have a lighter, so this cigarette is going to be impossible to smoke without asking one of the other smokers for one, something I’m not sure I can bring myself to do in case it instigates further conversation. I turn, ready to go back downstairs, but just as I do Caleb all but walks into me coming out of the door himself. “Sorry,” he says, gently placing his hands on my shoulders, “are you okay? You’ve been quiet all night and I haven’t seen you smile once which isn’t like you.”
I can already feel tears welling up in my eyes and I try my hardest to hold them back. “H-h-have you got a lighter?” I just about stammer.
Caleb produces one from a pocket and hands it to me, then with a frown he takes me by the arm and leads me away from the small crowd of people who are gathered outside under their own cloud of smoke. With slightly trembling fingers I can’t perform the necessary movement to light the damned cigarette so Caleb has to do it for me before lighting one for himself. I take big drags of the cigarette, exhaling it slowly, consciously trying to avoid making eye contact with Caleb who’s examining me too closely for comfort. “You know whatever it is you can tell me, I may not be able to help but I’ll listen,” he says but I’m not sure if he’s genuine, I’ve lost the ability to tell.
I look up to meet his stare, tears rushing to my eyes again and this time lacking any ability to stop them they escape and start falling down my face. He raises his left hand a wipes one of my cheeks before brushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. He doesn’t say anything but just takes a step closer to me and gently puts his arm around my shoulders pulling me towards him. Powerless my arms fall down by my side and I allow myself to be pulled into him. I recognise the smell of his aftershave, the same as Felix’s, and I stand there crying into his shoulder.