‘I’ll be the judge of that. Now I appreciate you’re busy, but don’t forget your tea. Six o’clock sharp! I’ve cooked your fave. Braising steak with creamy mash.’ Not his favourite dish any more, he vaguely remembered liking it many years ago. ‘And homemade treacle sponge pudding for afters,’ she bellowed.
He let the silence grow, choosing his next words. He closed his eyes. ‘That’s wonderful of you, but something’s come up.’
‘Surely not, Carl. I’ve got it all ready for you!’
‘Put it to one side and I’ll eat as soon–’
‘But–’
‘Turn on the telly, mum, and you’ll see why I don’t have time.’
He rang off and looked at his reflection in the monitor, face tight, showing his feelings. His stare went to a photo of his boys sellotaped in the corner. The pressure lifted somewhat, smile creasing h
