The Whispers of Nemesis Read Free Page B

across the room, as far as the doorway. From there, the boy called out, Mama, Mama , and from the yard outside, his mother responded.
    â€˜What is it, Myles? I’m busy.’
    â€˜Mama, Pappou ’s wet his trousers!’
    The man opened his eyes, and sniffed. The bad smell, the old people’s smell – was that him? In consternation, he put his hand under the blanket and touched his groin. The cloth of his trousers was damp.
    He heard his daughter hurrying through the kitchen, and her instructions to the boy to go outside. The man pressed his face to the sofa-back. There were quick footsteps, and the blanket was ripped away.
    â€˜Papa! Papa! Get up!’ She shook his shoulder. ‘For God’s sake, look at the state of you! Get up, get up now, and get out!’
    Even through the haze of his hangover, the heat of her anger was disturbing. His headache was immediately worse.
    â€˜Hush your noise, woman, and leave me be!’ he demanded. ‘Let a man sleep!’
    â€˜Leave you be! To stink up my house, lying there in your own piss , like an animal! Get up, and get yourself cleaned up, whilst I see what I can do with this mess! And when you’ve cleaned yourself up, pack a bag. Enough, now! You can’t stay here any more.’
    He opened his eyes, and saw the roses on the sofa-back with fresh clarity.
    â€˜What do you mean?’ He turned his head to look at her. She stood over him, hands on hips just like her mother, a tired, run-down woman, getting old before her time.
    â€˜You have to go,’ she said. ‘I can’t cope with you any more. And Yiorgos won’t allow you in the house, not after last night. You can’t blame him, Papa. Not after what you did. And this . . .’ She wafted a hand over the sofa, over him. ‘You have to stop the drinking, Papa. Take yourself to a doctor, please! You’re killing yourself! You must see that, surely?’
    He pulled himself up to a sit and put his head in his hands, pitying himself his misery.
    â€˜What do you care?’ he said. ‘A daughter who puts her own father on the street!’
    â€˜What can I do?’ In exasperation, she spread her hands. ‘How many chances have I given you? I love you, Papa, but you have to leave here, for a while. For everyone’s sake – for Myles’s sake. You frighten him when you get like that.’
    â€˜Like what?’
    He looked up at her, blinking.
    â€˜Like last night. When you get violent.’
    â€˜Violent! I’m never violent!’
    Tears grew in her eyes.
    â€˜How can you say that, Papa? You hit Yiorgos! He’s gone to work with a black eye!’
    â€˜That faggot you married? He should stand up for himself! He’s not much of a man to let an old man like me land one on him!’
    â€˜Papa, you woke the neighbours again, you woke Myles. You terrified him so badly, he was screaming! And when Yiorgos asked you to stop singing, you hit him in the face!’
    The man laughed.
    â€˜Did I, by God?’ He examined his knuckles, where there were grazes and the blue of bruises. ‘Looks like I got him good!’
    â€˜It isn’t funny, Papa. I’m sorry, but you have to go.’
    The man shook his head.
    â€˜My own daughter,’ he said. ‘It’s a dark day, when it comes to this.’
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    He put only necessities in his bag: clean underwear and socks, a change of shirts, what money was left under the mattress, a half-bottle of ouzo she hadn’t managed to find. As he left the house, she cried, and tried to hug him.
    He pushed her away.
    â€˜You take care of yourself,’ she said. ‘Please, get some help. There are places where . . .’
    â€˜Where what?’
    She didn’t go on, but pressed something into his hand: a piece of paper, folded over coins.
    â€˜Take this, and look after it. It’s our phone number. I wrote it down. I know what your memory’s like, these days.