Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
As yet, he’s not revealed any real reason for being here. I find it difficult to believe he simply craved some father-son bonding time. “So, um, Dad…” I begin while pointing to the empty cans on the table. “I can call you a taxi seeing as you’ve had a few. Do you still live over in Fields Green?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Remember Brenda from when we lived in Altrincham back in the early nineties?”
No.
“Moved in with her couple o’ months back.”
“You’re seeing someone new?” Last I remember he was in a relationship with a woman called Faye.
“Brenda’s not new. Known the lass for years.”
That’s not what I meant. To my knowledge, he hasn’t been screwing this Brenda woman for years. Or maybe he has. Wouldn’t surprise me. “Well, shouldn’t you be getting back to her? It’s getting late.”
A pfft sound blows through Dad’s mouth. “Nagging old mare told me if she sees my face again today, she’ll serve my bollocks for breakfast. I’m good right here, son.”
There we go. That’s why he’s here. He’s been kicked out, probably without enough money to get drunk down at his local pub. For fuck’s sake. “What’ve you done this time?” I ask because there’s always a ‘this time’. Starting with my mother, who in fairness wasn’t much better, there’s been cheating, drinking, flying fists.
“Some bullshit about playing away,” he admits, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Can’t a fella go out for a few hours and enjoy some fucking peace anymore?” He shakes his head. His expression appears almost disgusted at the accusation. I can’t comprehend why when he adds, “Besides, if she wasn’t so bloody frigid maybe I wouldn’t need to go elsewhere. Never thinks of that, does she?”
He makes me feel physically sick. Sitting here with him, watching his bloated belly rise up and down with every disgusting, wasted breath he takes, I feel fourteen again. Unable to escape him.
Why can’t I?
Fear?
Embarrassment?
Still?
I stand up from the couch. Ball my fists by my sides, stretch my neck. Inhale deeply. I’m going to do it. For the first time in my life, I’m going to stand up to this prick and get the motherfucker to leave my house. My mouth opens. I’m ready.
And I’m too fucking late.
My dad’s head turns towards the knock on the front door. “That your ‘work thing’?” He can’t even say that without it sounding like he’s taking the piss out of me.
Ignoring him, I go to answer the door. Before opening it, I close my eyes for just a moment, breathing slowly while I gather myself, fix my game face. “Andrew,” I greet with a wide smile, praying it appears sincere and feeling good that I finally remembered to drop the formality of Mr Cobbe. I step aside, wave him through. “Please, follow me into the dining room.”
I waste no time in walking briskly through the living room, past my dad – with no introduction – and into the dining room via the kitchen, where I close the door immediately. Andrew looks over his shoulder, puzzled almost, as I offer him a seat at the table, no doubt wondering why I whisked him straight past the lout in the armchair.
I force an awkward smile but don’t elaborate as I join him in the opposite chair. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask instead.
He raises a hand. “No, no. I won’t stay long.”
Thank God.
“I’ll get straight to it. So, you’ve done quite a bit of work for me, but I don’t know if you’re aware of my job, my industry…”
I tilt my head, shrug a little. “Something in…entertainment?”
“Right. I’m in management. Oh, I used to have a whole list of clients. Worked my way up over the years. Been a real rollercoaster.”
Oh, Lord. Am I in for an epically long trip down memory lane? I try my best to keep up a polite smile. My jaw is beginning to twinge already.
“I’ve been very fortunate. Worked with some incredible people. I’ve scaled right back these past few years. I only manage one actor these days but, oh boy, he’s a goodun. Love him like my own goddamn son. Laurence Cole. You heard of him?”
Bloody hell. “Yeah. Yeah, course I have. Black Meadow, Docked, The Apple Tree…” I say, reeling off some of the movies and a series I know he’s starred in.
“That’s my boy!” Andrew nods, grinning proudly. I remain lost, however, which must show on my face. “His next movie is due to start filming in two weeks down at iMotion Studios. Two days ago, the head spark assist lost a fight with a flight of stairs. Broke his right leg and four fingers on his left hand. DP needs a new one, so I put your name forward.”
“Wait…wait…” A movie? Studio? “DP?” is the first question I go for. I’m assuming it doesn’t mean what I think it means.