Bacon And Eggs
1714 Words
Chapter 7
Bacon and Eggs
The kitchen was aglow with the bright morning sunlight. It radiated off the pots dangling from a row of hooks under the wall cupboard and the metallic clock above the hallway archway. Mum had been busy and emptied the entire fridge contents over the marble-top counter—well, so it seemed.
“Morning, Darling,” she sang before my foot had left the edge of the hallway rug. “I wondered where you had disappeared to. I thought you had gotten lost on your way down.”
“Morning, Mum,” I yawned. Yawning was a significant part of my day after my rough sleep. “I would have been up earlier, but…” I yawned again, “I had a bad sleep.”
“Was it another nightmare?” she asked, placing a handful of her new cutlery on the kitchen table, which she had decorated with a glass vase of white and yellow roses from her tiny flowerbed in the backyard.
“Yeah, it was terrible,” I sighed, massaging my forehead where I could feel the tension from a building headache. “But I know it was just a nightmare...”
“Drink,” she urged, nodding at a glass of water on the table. The whimsy in her voice had vanished. “It helps with headaches, trust me...”
I took the drink without complaint but felt her analysing gaze on me. After a moment, her whimsy returned, and her attention went to the vase.
“What do you think?” Mum asked, waving her hands about the antique glass vase. “It’s just the right touch to brighten the room on a beautiful day like today. I found it at the antique shop in town… Fhalies Antiquities…” She grinned at me with a look I called her— ‘I got it at a bargain’ face. It was a look that made her eyes large and sparkle in a way that could take your breath away. “It was in the window, and I couldn’t say no.”
“It’s nice…” I agreed, placing the glass back on the table.
Now, it was her turn to yawn. She stepped away from the table and covered her mouth. “Oh, my…”
“Wow, Mum, you look as tired as I feel…”
“I am, darling. I was up at least every hour last night, and it’s taken all my energy.”
“Why…?” I asked, slumping into my usual chair and knocking my arm on the table. A twanging pain shot through my nerves. “Ahh, funny bone... that’s not nice!” Wincing, I rubbed my elbow. “Why on earth do they call it that? It hurts.”
Mum laughed. “It’s called the humerus. That’s why people call it the funny bone.”
“It’s stupid.” I massaged the throbbing skin. “Why do we even need it? So, I can continually hurt myself...?”
“Yes, just so you can hurt yourself,” Mum teased sarcastically. She shook her head, returned to the counter and spread out the plates. “Darling, you’re always a little clumsy when you wake up with a headache. It will subside soon enough, and you’ll find your feet.”
“I know…”
Mum continued with breakfast, sprinkling salt over the fried eggs and piling the bacon onto the plate. The entire time, she remained angelic. Even after slaving over a hot stove on a few hours of sleep, her lengthy hair’s natural waves bounced undisturbed down her back.
“Tell me all about your nightmare...” Mum insisted, spinning around. Her voice was low and made my shoulders shudder. She moved as light on her feet as a ballerina, but her face was indifferent—tense. She placed my plate on the table and smiled at me, but it was a thin-lipped, forced smile. “Who was it about?”
“It was about Dean,” I explained.
Her face sobered, her worry lines going more profound as it had the time I had told her about the dream of Dad’s death. However, this dream was different. It was almost silly and unlike that dream.
“We were at Dean’s funeral,” I continued.
If Mum was startled by what I had said, she did a great job hiding it behind a mask of no emotion. She kept her eyes locked with mine and refused to blink. She wanted to know the intimate details and ensure it was not like the dream about Dad.
“Well, if you want to know,” I exhaled. “It started with me looking down at his coffin. I could feel everything, from the marble headstone to the coldness of the rain. Even the wind felt real against my skin.”
Nodding, Mum motioned for me to continue.
Was there something more to this than I realised? I fiddled with the fork and focused on my breakfast. “I should have known it was a nightmare. It was different… over-exaggerated like a horror movie. The storm should have been a giveaway.”
By the time I had recounted the entire nightmare, I had expected Mum’s expression to change, or at least for her to laugh and tell me it was only a nightmare. Instead, her eyes were blank and distant, deciphering the story to find a hidden code.
“And earth pulled you down?” she asked, finally revealing a look of bemusement.
“Yeah…” I sighed.
Sorrow, in the form of tears, dampened her eyes. It was an expression I had only ever witnessed once, and that was after the news of Dad’s death.
“Mum, it was just a dream…” I added, waving my fork in front of her until I finally drew her attention.
Inhaling an uneven breath, she moved away from the sink. “Lucy...”
I realised something was wrong the second Mum called me Lucy instead of Darling or Sweetie.
“This may sound strange, but... did you talk to anyone?’
“Not exactly,” I leant my chin on the palm of my hand and dropped my fork on my plate. “A shadow figure chased me… but no one spoke to me.” I exhaled. “I heard my name being called, but that’s about it. Why?”
“And it was about Dean and not Stacey?” she asked, relaxing her shoulders.
“Stacey?” I asked, sitting up. “No, it was Dean… I didn’t even see Stacey…
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I squinted back at her, trying to read her expression. “Why would you ask if it was Stacey?”
Mum wiped a tear from her eyes and pushed the concern away with a smile so false it was crooked. “It was just a dream…” she spun around and returned to her cooking. “Now, would you like two eggs or three?”
Something stirred in the back of my mind—an image—a distorted face of a man in the shadow figure. But why would Mum ask if Stacey was in it? “Mum… Why—?”
“Enough of that talk…!” she snapped, signalling the end of the conversation. “Valery’s on her way. We need to finish breakfast and get ready. We can talk about your dream later…”
“Ah, serious...?” I groaned louder than expected. “Can I go to Lorrie’s then? Please? I don’t want to be here. I’ll promise to do the dishes for a month. Please don’t make me suffer through another one of her boring visits ... I can’t—”
The pot in Mum’s trembling grasp tumbled into the sink, splashing soapy bubbles over the counter. Instantly, I snapped my mouth shut and straightened in the seat. Mum hated whinging, especially over Aunt Valery’s visit, and I had pushed her too far.
“Lucy Marie Birdsly! How dare you talk about your Aunty in that way?” She whipped around and shot me a glare that scorched my body from the inside out. “She sacrifices so much of her time to drive out here, even ripping Malcolm out of work so she can spend time with her family. Honestly, that’s extremely disrespectful.”
My mouth failed me, and the words spilled out. “Her family...? It seems all her time is spent on me—irritating me.”
“Lucy!” Mum chastised.
I recoiled from Mum’s fierce gaze and scolded myself for not keeping my thoughts in my head.
“If your Dad could hear you right now, he would turn in his grave... God, rest his soul. If Valery and Malcolm weren’t there to help, we would have lost everything—this house, your schooling, your piano lessons… and not to mention all your clothes. We’re lucky to have the Silvers’ there to help. You should be grateful.”
Her fury simmered to disappointment. I truly despised seeing her disappointed. I preferred her angry side. At least that didn’t play on my guilt.
With pleading eyes, I glanced up at her. “Mum, I’m sorry... truly. Please don’t be upset with me. But… Valery irritates me.”
Mum laughed. It was amazing how quickly her temperament could change. “Darling, we are all bound to stumble across people we don’t get along with. But we grin and bear it for the better good. Give her time. She may grow on you. Sometimes, even I find her annoying. All in all, she loves this family. She loves you like a daughter.” She leant across the table and kissed my forehead, drowning me with her strong perfume. “I’ll forgive you this time... as long as there is no more back-chat. And please, can you attempt to make some connection with her during this visit?”
Once again, her persuasive powers of influence won me over, whether I wanted to be or not. Her gift—her motherly powers were not to be messed with.
“Alright, I’ll give it a try.” I sighed, returning to my breakfast. “But I won’t like it…”
- Writer
