Page 93 of Musical Games
It was eleven when he finally arrived home and let himself in the back door. The house was quiet. No sounds of snoring drifted from his mother’s room. She was nowhere to be seen. He rang Fiona, who picked up sounding out of breath.
‘Yes?’
‘Mum with you?’
‘What? No, course she’s not. Why?’
‘She’s not at home.’
‘What are you doing here? You’re not due back till next week.’
‘We finished recording early.’
‘And you came back now rather than hang out with Sam?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Fuck’s sake, Jamie. What’s wrong with you?’
‘Don’t start. It didn’t work out, okay? And now Mum’s not here and I’m worried.’
He heard a grunt of frustration down the line. ‘She’s probably taking advantage of the fact you’re not there to go out and have some fun.’
‘But—’
‘She’s got a life, Jamie, and so do I. Now go to bed and let me get back to mine. I’ll speak to you in the morning.’
Fiona hung up before he could reply. He sat at the kitchen table, the silence filled by the irritating buzz of the strip light above. He hated it. He’d put up with it for long enough. It was coming down.
He found a brand-new light fitting in the garage, one Fiona hadn’t used when she’d moved into her house, grabbed his tool bag and set to work. After he’d replaced it, he found an old tin of paint and painted the ceiling to hide the dirty plaster that had hidden under the light. He put the kettle on as he started to clear up.
It was coming to boiling point when he heard voices outside. He turned to see his mother standing in the doorway, her arms braced against the sides as if trying to hide what was behind her, or stop falling over. She was red-faced and looked absolutely wasted.
‘Son? What are you doing here?’
‘We finished early, so I came back. Where were you? What were you doing?’
Morag lurched into the kitchen and closed the door behind her, fumbling with the key.
Jamie got up. ‘Here, let me do that.’
She pushed him away. ‘Och, get away, I’m perfectly fine. Stop babying me, son.’
‘Mum, you’re pissed. What were you doing and who the hell were you with?’
‘None of your business.’
She stared at the old strip light on the kitchen table in confusion, then at the ceiling. ‘What the bloody hell have you done?’
Jamie gritted his teeth. ‘It was doing my head in.’
‘There was nothing wrong with it! First thing tomorrow, it’s going back up.’
She staggered towards the door and tripped on one of the chairs. Jamie rushed to hold her up. ‘Let me help you to bed.’
She shook him off. ‘I’m not Mrs McCreedie. I don’t need any help.’
Jamie stood back as she pulled herself up the stairs. Halfway up, she turned and took her hand off the bannister to waggle a finger at him.
