October 29th, 1989

October 29th, 1989

At home

It was the smell of bacon, wafting up the stairs this morning that got me out of bed. Even although it’s been years since I last ate meat, there’s something about that smell that makes me salivate.

“Hiya dad,” I said, grabbing a slice of toast from the toast rack. I noticed he had the table set for three.

“Morning, hen.”

“That smells amazing,” I said, slathering the toast with butter.

“Aye, I hope you’re hungry.”

“Can’t you tell,” I said, waving the toast.

“Go and see if mum wants to come down and eat something.” He said it in such a matter of fact way that I made for the door before I stopped and looked at him.

“Did you hear me?” he asked.

“Yes, sorry, yes I did. I’ll go and see how, eh, what mum wants to do.”

Going up the stairs, I knew there was no way mum would get out of bed, let alone join us at the table for breakfast but I knew from dad’s tone and the way he’d set the table that he was longing for some semblance of normalcy as much, if not more, than I was.

I knocked gently on mum and dad’s bedroom door, before slowly opening it.

“Mum? Are you awake?”

Mum was facing the wall but from her breathing I was pretty sure she wasn’t asleep so

I climbed onto the bed.

“Mum,” I said, gently placing my hand on her shoulder. “Dad’s cooking up a storm down there, do you think you can get up for a little while?”

No response.

“I can give you a hand getting up, if you want. It’s a really nice day, probably chilly but the sky is clear blue.”

I got off the bed and opened the window blind.

“See? Lovely blue sky just what you like.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and reached around to pat mum’s shoulder. “Ok, mum. I’ll make sure dad saves some of that lovely bacon and I’ll make you a bacon sandwich. Would you like that?”

Nothing.

By the time I got back to the kitchen, I felt at least a stone heavier.

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