It’s Thomas who spits it out. “It’s the twenty-second…” “Yes. Four weeks today.”
“But we’re…” He looks down at the table. “We’re going to the football… with Terry… we were going to tell you today… Terry said to wait, until he had tickets, said maybe you could come on Saturday instead, or–”
“Or what?”
He doesn’t want to say it, and I feel like an asshole for pushing when I know what’s coming.
“Or what, Thomas? What did Terry say?”
It’s Matthew who answers, his eyes so big and innocent. “He said maybe you could miss a week, for the football. He said maybe you wouldn’t mind.”
Cunt.
Terry is a f*****g cunt.
“I didn’t realize you boys liked football. Rugby’s your game, no?”
Thomas doesn’t answer, but Matthew shakes his head. “We like football now, Dad. Thomas says football’s better. Co
