Free-Falling Read Free Page A

out how to plug it into the TV.
    She smoked half a packet of cigarettes as she played, even though she had never smoked a day in her life up until today. Even though she had never let a single living person step inside her house with a cigarette in their hand. Now there was a pile of butts squashed into her Royal Doulton centrepiece bowl on her cedar coffee table.
    She had found the packet stashed in a corner of his closet as she wrestled the Nintendo out from amongst the junk. I never knew he smoked. What else did I miss? Had she found that pack of cigarettes ten years ago, she would have wrung his neck. But the anger that had briefly sizzled in the pit of her stomach when she’d seen them – hiding amongst the old Lego collection that he hadn’t quite been able to let go of and his mint-condition, never-opened Star Wars game (his plan had been to sell that one on eBay in another twenty years or so) – was quick to extinguish as she realised there was no one to be mad at.
    When her non-smoker lungs had reached their limit and she’d grown tired of being killed over and over in the extremely violent video game, she got up from the couch and walked to the bathroom. She scrubbed the cigarette smell out of her hands and fixed up her hair. She put on a little lipstick, a little blush and smoothed her pants.
    Then she went shopping.
    She was an expert when it came to keeping her composure in public, skilled in the art of emotion-blocking 101 (as those Americans would put it). Tears were simply unnecessary; hysteria was quite out of the question. Chin up, brave face, feelings far from bubbling at the surface. Quite the contrary: they were buried safe and deep, locked away – zip it up, throw away the key, my lips are sealed, nothing to see here.
    Yadda bloody yadda, who the hell am I kidding? My goddamn son is dead.
    Oh, look! The new summer range is out at Noni-B! A tasteful charcoal suit should be perfect for the funeral. And I must get in contact with that charming florist they were planning on using for the wedding.

    â€˜Socks? Underwear?
Winter
socks?
Winter
samp>underwear?’
    â€˜Yes, Mum. All manner of seasonal underwear and socks. Check it out: here are my autumn socks, and those ones are spring, and ooh, look, here’s a pair of summer undies – aren’t they just to die for?’
    â€˜Don’t mock me, child. I brought you into this world and I can bloody well put you straight back where you came from.’
    â€˜Delightful imagery, Mum.’
    â€˜You’ll have to forgive me, I’m a little rusty on account of the fact that two-thirds of my family are getting on a plane in less than twenty-four hours and travelling halfway around the world for goodness-only-knows how long.’
    â€˜God, you’re not going to start the guilt-trip thing again, are you?’
    â€˜I’m merely stating a fact, Andrew. Right, where is that twin brother of yours? Has he even started to pack yet?’
    â€˜You’re kidding, right? Don’t even expect James to be packed when the taxi’s waiting outside tomorrow morning. I keep telling you, why get your hopes up? You’ve just gotta keep lowering that bar and one day he is going to shock you when he steps on over it and strides off into the sunset.’
    â€˜Sweetheart, you know it upsets me when you use unnecessarily descriptive metaphors. You sound like a gay man.’
    â€˜Jesus, Mum.’

    She stood in the change room in Noni-B, staring at her semi-naked body in the mirror. She put her hands on her hips and twisted back and forth.
    Flabby white skin, the scar from her caesarean. When did my body get so old?
    She pulled on the trousers, zipping them up over her tummy and patting them smooth. Next was the crisp black shirt under the charcoal suit jacket. The vulnerability of her naked body slipped away to be replaced by a confident (slightly younger?)and much slimmer image. Beautiful manicured