An Important Person
I’m stirring noodles in a pot when Billy gets home. He comes round the back and knocks over Dad’s beer bottles. They are lined up outside. Billy shouts loudly and throws the door open.
‘Is he here?’ he says.
‘No,’ I say. ‘He’s just left.’
Billy nods. He smells of stale sweat and grease. ‘Please tell me he’s gone to the builders’ yard, to ask about that job? I told him he had to go today.’
I shake my head.
‘Let me guess,’ says Billy. ‘He’s gone to the pub for a quick one.’
I nod, staring at the lumps floating in the noodle pot.
He puts his carrier bag on the side, takes out his plastic box from his packed lunch and dumps it in the sink, on top of the plates and bowls from last night.
‘Gran OK?’ he asks.
‘She’s asleep.’
He goes into the lounge to check. ‘Flat out,’ he says, coming back with her mug. ‘Well done for tucking the blanket round her.’
He puts the mug down and lifts the lid of the saucepan on the hob, peering inside.
