October 29th, 1989
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.
“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?”
“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?”
By the time I got back to the kitchen, I felt at least a stone heavier.