Hope House: Part Four - Breakfast Blues Read online

  Hope House

  Featuring Gordon and Nat from ‘Out of Tune.’

  Copyright © Fabian Black 2016

  Part Four ~

  Breakfast Blues

  All Rights Reserved

  No reproduction of this ebook is allowed in any way or by any means or method without permission from the author and publisher. It may not be resold, shared or passed on. Please respect the work of this independent writer. Thank you.

  Fabian Black Fiction

  Formatted using UK English

  Hope House

  Four - Breakfast Blues

  It never rains but it pours

  “You’ve eaten them, haven’t you?” Paul glared accusingly across the refectory table.

  Anna feigned deafness, nibbling daintily on a slice of dry toast.

  “Kell-ogg’s-Fros-ties...”

  “You have. I know you have. They’re all gone.” Paul poked a spoon around his bowl of cereal.

  “Im-por-tant-may-con-tain-traces-of-pea-nut...”

  “There’s no raisins in my Fruity Wheat Flakes. You came down in the night and pinched all the raisins out of the box. They're the best bit and you've nicked them.”

  “In-gre-di-ents...”

  “I’m telling Gordon.”

  “Telling me what?” Gordon entered the kitchen towing James, whom he’d found crouched in the laundry basket at the top of the stairs. He’d be there still, had not Gordon taken the lid off to drop in the towel Nat had used after his shower. “Sit down, James. What do you want for breakfast?”

  James sat down at the table, gazing dreamily into space, Gordon’s question seemingly unheard.

  “James. Breakfast. Daydreams have no nutritional value. What do you want? Cereal? Toast? How about French toast?” Gordon prided himself on his French toast. It was one of his few culinary successes. He’d have a slice himself, seeing as he’d missed out on his usual bran flakes earlier.

  “Ma-ize-sugar-malt-fla-vou-ring...”

  “Anna has stolen the raisins out of the Fruity Flakes box again. It's not fair, she's ruined my breakfast.”

  “Stolen?” Anna broke her silence and returned Paul’s glare with interest. “That’s rich coming from you, Klepto Boy.”

  “Made-with-Tony’s-Secret-For-mu-la. Why can I read, Gordon?”

  “Reading is something you learned, Nigel. There’s plenty of other fruit in your cereal, Paul, so stop fussing.”

  “I don’t like sultanas, or dried apple, and I especially don’t like dried coconut, its like eating shavings of hard skin. I like raisins. She shouldn’t have pinched them.”

  “Just get on with it. As for you, Anna, you don’t have to be furtive about eating and you are NOT starting the day on one slice of dry toast, add cereal or a piece of fruit.”

  “She’s already had fruit, my fruit. I wouldn’t mind if she kept them down, but I bet she puked them straight back up. They’ll be jamming up the u-bend in the loo.”

  “Shame your ugly mug isn’t jamming it up, then I wouldn’t have to look at it!”

  “I don’t remember learning to read, Gordon, are you sure I learned?”

  “James, I asked you a question, so please answer me. Of course you learned, Nigel, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to do it.”

  “Gypsy toast.” James turned a sweet smile in Gordon’s direction. “Mother said to tell you it’s called Gypsy toast, not French toast. She doesn’t hold with foreign stuff.”

  “Gypsies are foreign,” said Paul, still poking around his bowl of cereal in search of raisins. “They’re Romany. They come from Rome or Romania, or somewhere like that, abroad anyway.”

  “But they’re not French foreign, mother doesn’t like French foreign, because of the garlic and the snails. She doesn’t like garlic, nasty smelly stuff, and she says snails belong in the garden not on a dinner plate. She says they’re filthy, slimy things and no substitute for a nice bit of chicken or a slice of crisp bacon.”

  “Do you want some French toast or not, James?” There was a hint of exasperation in Gordon’s voice. Sometimes James’s mother had a mite too much to say for a dead woman.

  “Isn’t Nat joining us for breakfast? We haven’t seen him all week. Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine.” Gordon gave Anna a soothing smile. “He was tired after the drive home last night. He had a bit of a sleep in. He’ll be down presently.”

  Nat was already down. He had just descended the stairs and was standing in the hall trying to quell a sudden attack of anxiety. It was always the same when he’d been away for any length of time, as if he doubted the welcome he’d receive. Chewing his lower lip, he stared down at the black and white tiled floor. Home, he told himself. He was home and safe. It was true. He felt some of the anxiety slip away. Hope House had felt like a home the moment he walked through the door all those years ago. He could still recall the sense of belonging he’d felt when he first stepped over the threshold.

  The kitchen door was ajar. Nat placed his hand on it, pausing for a moment to listen to the buzz of voices. Nigel was reading out the ingredients list from his favourite cereal. Paul and Anna were trading insults, as per usual.

  “I’m going to tell Nat about you nicking my raisins, vomit girl.”

  “You’re so immature, nerdy boy.”

  Taking a deep breath, Nat pasted a smile on his face and pushed the kitchen door open, walking briskly towards the table and its occupants. “Ah, that’s what I missed most while I was away.” He held out his arms. “The pleasures of a civilised and happy family meal. Good morning, my sunbeams. It's good to be home.” He turned to Anna. “I want a word with you, straight after breakfast.”

  Anna scowled as Paul smirked. “Have a word with her about pinching raisins while you’re at it, Nat. It’s getting to be a bad habit with her.”

  “You’re just one big bad habit. It’s a shame we can’t all give you up.”

  “Give it a rest, you two. Let’s at least make pretence of civility while we breakfast. I swear one of these days I’m going to make you sort out your differences in a boxing ring.”

  “I don’t think the Boxing Federation have a skeleton weight category.”

  “You think you’re so funny, but you’re not.”

  “Funnier than you.”

  Gordon interjected, saying crisply, “I’m the funny one around here, so be quiet or I’ll show you just how funny I can be.”

  Paul and Anna lapsed into silence, settling for exchanging dirty looks.

  “What’s Tony’s secret formula, Nat?”

  “It wouldn’t be a secret if I knew, Nigel.” Nat pulled out a chair and parked his tender rump with care. He helped himself to a bowl of cornflakes. A white packet dropped into the bowl along with the flakes. “Ah, I got the prize. Whose turn is it for the freebie? Classic cartoon characters. A Smurf if I’m not mistaken.” He fished the tiny toy out of his cereal, holding it aloft. “James, do you fancy possessing a small blue Smurf? It might be worth a fortune one day when plastic becomes extinct.”

  James shook his head. “No thank you. Mother says she doesn’t hold with gimmicky trash, and there’s no such thing as a free gift.”

  “I bet your mother was a real comedienne to live with. Did she ever top the bill at the Apollo?”

  “That’s enough, Paul.” Gordon and Nathaniel spoke in unison.

  Nigel put down the Frosties box and held out his hand. “I’ll have it. I like Smurfs.”

  “You certainly will not.” Gordon plucked the little plastic toy out of Nat’s hand before he could drop it onto the outstretched palm. “Tell Nathaniel why you’re not allowed to have them anymore, Nigel.”

  Nigel immedi
ately clapped both hands over his mouth, shaking his head vigorously.

  Paul and Anna both started to giggle.

  “Very well, I’ll tell him.” Gordon turned to Nat. “I spent an excruciating hour with Nigel in casualty last Tuesday while a doctor fought to liberate the plastic Hobbit he’d wedged up his left nostril. Nigel screamed throughout the entire procedure reducing patients and staff alike to gibbering wrecks. It was sheer chaos. It’s a wonder the hospital didn’t slap an ASBO on us.”

  Paul and Anna broke down completely, united for once by malicious glee.

  Nathaniel was hard pressed to maintain a stern expression, but he persevered. “Stop it, both of you. It isn’t funny.”

  Nigel began wailing. “I was only smelling Mr Frodo, he fell up my nostril and I couldn’t get him down again. I didn’t like having Mr Frodo up my nose.”

  Paul and Anna became almost hysterical.

  “Stop that caterwauling, Nigel, and the toy did not fall up your nose, as you very well know. You pushed it up. As for you two.” Gordon then gave the gigglers a look that sobered them immediately. “You’re both on washing up duties for the entire weekend and if so much as one item gets broken there’ll be serious trouble.”

  “Gordon sent me to my room, Nat,” Nigel gazed at him from sorrowful eyes. “He sent me to my room when we got home from the hospital. I missed Blue Peter and he put Mr Frodo in the bin. I don’t think Gordon likes me anymore.”

  Nat reached across the table and patted Nigel’s hand. “Of course he does, pet, but you mustn’t put things in your nose or ears. You’ve been told lots of times not to.” He paused for a moment before adding, “it’s really rather a bad Hobbit.”

  The joke went over Nigel’s head, but set Paul and Anna giggling again.

  “It’s not a matter for levity.” Gordon fixed Nat with a stern look.

  “Sorry, dear,” said Nat smoothly, “it was just a slip of the tongue. I meant to say it was a bad habit, and a dangerous one.” He patted Nigel’s hand again. “You mustn’t do it again.”

  James suddenly pointed at the kitchen doorway. Everyone turned to look. It was the new resident, Chris.

  Nathaniel stood up, intending to introduce himself, “good morn....” The figure bolted, leaving Nat’s greeting hanging unfinished in the air. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I do seem to have a strange effect on that young man.”

  “I don’t think its you as such, said Gordon with a sigh. “I’ll go and talk to him. I don’t want him holing up in his room again. You finish up here. James wants French toast. Anna is to eat a piece of fruit before she’s allowed to leave the table.” He headed in the same direction as the fleeing figure.

  “What a weirdo.” Paul gave Anna a snide grin. “He’s nearly as freaky as you.”

  “He probably just caught sight of your pus face. It’s enough to scare anyone. What have you been doing to it, putting it through a paper shredder? You look like Freddy Krueger, only uglier.”

  Paul’s chair flew over with a crash as he leapt to his feet. “You need talk. I’ve seen the dog next door bury better specimens than you. Time Team have dug up skeletons with more flesh on them.”

  “Stop!” Nathaniel’s eyes and tone of voice blended in icy harmony. “No wonder the poor boy looked terrified. He must wonder what kind of place he’s come to. Sit down, Paul.”

  Paul righted his chair and sat down.

  “As for you, my lady,” Nat turned to Anna. “Those promises you made to me before I went away seem to have amounted to nothing. I’m disappointed with your behaviour. You take constant digs at Paul and then get uppity when he digs back.”

  Anna swallowed, a slow flush of colour spreading across her thin face. “He started it, he always does,” she said defensively. “Everything was better before he came.”

  “It would be better without you, moaning, skinny Minnie.”

  Nat wagged a finger between them. “Why you can’t be friends is beyond me. The way you speak to each other is nothing short of disgraceful. I want you to shake hands and apologise to each other for your unkind remarks, and make it sound sincere or I’ll hand you both over to Gordon for interrogation and torture, if not actual execution.”

  They exchanged mumbled apologies and limply shook hands resorting to hideous face pulling the moment Nat turned his back. He sighed, well aware of what they were doing. They couldn’t be in the same room for five minutes without fighting. Poor Gordon. He felt an ache of sympathy for his partner. Between nasal Hobbits, battling teenagers and fainting residents it sounded like he’d had one hell of a week.

  He quickly ate his cornflakes and then cut up an apple and placed it on a plate in front of Anna, waiting until she began eating it before going to fetch a bowl from the cupboard and eggs from the fridge. He beat two of the latter in the former, adding a dash of milk along with salt and pepper. He cut a slice of bread in half and soaked it in the mixture and then poured oil in the frying pan ready to fry the eggy bread for James. He addressed the table occupants. “Does anyone else want eggy bread while I’m on? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  No one replied, except for Nigel who asked if he could have ice cream.”

  “Eggy bread is all that’s on offer, Nigel. Do you want some or not?”

  Nigel declined with a shake of his head.

  The oil in the pan had just reached the right smoke point for frying when the weather outside suddenly made its presence felt. A hard wind thumped the windowpanes. The heavens opened and a downpour of biblical proportions fell from the sky.

  “What a ghastly start to the day. Talk about breakfast blues.” Nat quickly pulled the pan off the heat, turning off the gas. “Action stations everyone. Buckets and basins are in the lobby. Grab them. You know where they go. Come on. Tally ho my lads and lass! Nigel and James, you help me do downstairs. Paul and Anna, you do the upper decks.”

  Everyone began scurrying around the big old house, placing buckets and containers in strategic positions, all except James, who refused to relinquish his bucket to be rained in. His mother had apparently taken up residence in it, like a Sibyl in a plastic jar. He didn’t want her getting wet. She’d be annoyed with him. There was no time to argue. Leaving him hugging the red bucket, Nat grabbed the washing up bowl and a large earthenware jug hastening to find leaks to stick them under.

  Job done, Nat felt cheered as he headed back to the kitchen, remembering the money he’d raised. First thing Monday morning he would set about finding someone to fix the roof before the worst of the winter weather set in. Hopefully the money would be enough to cover costs. Keeping Hope House in repair was a never-ending project and one that ate up an increasing amount of funds.

  Turning to Nigel, who had followed him back to the kitchen, he said. “Be a pet, Nigel, gather up the used pots and take them over to the sink, while I finish cooking James’s breakfast. We don’t want him going hungry, wherever he is. Did you see where he went?”

  Nigel shook his head. Picking up Paul’s cereal bowl he carried it over to the sink and carefully placed it on the counter before returning to the table to pick up the bowl Nat had used. He then trotted back and picked up a single teaspoon. It would take him an age to clear the table item by single item. Nat sighed, quelling an urge to dismiss him and do the task himself. Nigel had to do things, no matter how slowly. It was no good instructing him on how the job should be done either. He’d interpret it as criticism and get upset.

  Turning the gas on, Nat put the frying pan back on to heat. He was just putting the fried eggy bread onto kitchen paper to drain when Nigel suddenly let rip a piercing screech, using the spoon he was carrying to point dramatically at the window.

  Nat felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Outside in the pouring rain, a tall-bedraggled figure stood motionless, eyes fixed and staring through the streaming pane.

  “Little Cat. It’s Little Cat!” An excited Nigel made a run for the back door.

  “No!” Nat hastened to prevent him from openin
g it. “Stay back, Nigel. Sit at the table. I mean it. You stay in here. I’ll go.”

  Once Nigel was safely seated, Nat ventured outside, walking slowly towards the tall figure standing in front of the window. How long had he been standing immobile in the rain, poor man? A thought occurred. Perhaps Chris had spotted him through the window and that’s what had caused him to bolt? It was a comforting notion. It meant that at least Christopher wasn’t petrified of him for some reason. After all, as everyone knew, Gordon was the scary member of the team.

  Taking the man’s arm, he spoke softly. “Hello my old friend. How long have you been here, eh? How remiss of us not to notice sooner. Let’s get you inside and out of this weather.”

  “Nat! There’s a new leak on the...” Paul shot into the kitchen and then halted, watching with open mouthed curiosity as Nat escorted a tall rain drenched figure indoors. “Who the heck is that?”

  “Seer, he’s the Seer!” Nigel’s excitement flowed over again. Bouncing to his feet, he shouted. “It’s me. Little Cat. It’s me. Hello!” He waved an enthusiastic hand. “I’m still here.”

  “Careful, Nigel, or you’ll knock my teeth out.” Nathaniel valiantly dodged the flailing hand. “His name is Caleb. Don’t worry, Paul. He won’t bite you, not unless you bite him first, in which case he'll trade like for like. Grab his pack would you, it’s under the window outside.”

  “Okay.”

  Paul launched himself outside while Nigel launched himself at Caleb, trying to hug him. Nat blocked him. “Leave him. I mean it. Leave him alone. You mustn’t hassle him when he’s in this state. Sit down again, Nigel, sit down or I’ll send you to your room.”

  Nigel immediately sat down.

  “Jeez, what’s he got in here, a dead body?” Paul, gasping slightly, lugged the man’s heavy backpack indoors. Closing the door against the elements he wiped rainwater from his face and then stood gawping, unable to take his eyes from the man. He was an imposing figure in his full-length army greatcoat and lace up Doc Marten boots. Water streamed in rivulets from hair that cascaded in dark heavy strands about his face and shoulders. His eyes were an extraordinary colour, a deep russet, almost orange, like an owl’s. Wide and fixed they dominated the gaunt face.