A Call in The Dark Part II

Please see Part I before get Part II for A call in the dark series of fiction
The following is highlighted some of the section for part II.


A Call In The Dark Part II


‘Yeah, I’d only get a few dollars for him anyway,’ I said, taking the Vans off.

‘So then, the Vans…?’ said the girl.

‘Oh, I’m taking them,’ I said.

‘That’s what I like to hear,’ she laughed.

I made sure I swung the plastic bag with the Vans in them as if it was a Gucci handbag, wanting everyone to see that I had just spent $120 of my own money on a pair of shoes without any help from my deadbeat father. He just snorted when he saw them.
We walked to the car and I made a big deal of getting the box out of the car and examining the white and pink Vans in minute detail. ‘These are so cool,’ I said, with mock enthusiasm. ‘These are most awesome shoes, and so worth it. Such a good price, I think I should have bought two. What do you think Dad?’
‘Can’t you shut it,’ he said, looking dead straight ahead.

I shut up after that. It was the worst fight my dad and I had had for a long time. He never told me to shut up, and I was rarely such a smart arse. I was on a roll. First the argument with Topps, then Crass, now Dad. A hat-trick! What a winner I was turning out
to be.

I didn’t know what to do when I got home. I just knew I didn’t want to be around Dad. So I stayed in my room and listened to music and read, trying to get those words out of my head. Shut it. Ugly. That would take a while to wash off. I could sulk with the best of them. I wasn’t going to forgive him for saying that, not for a long time. Even if it meant getting up for breakfast early and leaving school before he woke, or going to Skye’s every night for a week and coming home late, I’d avoid him. Let him cook his own dinner and we’d see how much he liked toasted cheese sandwiches. Perhaps I could leave some recipe books out for him, circling the easiest recipes? Like scrambled eggs. Let him get the hint that I was done with him. That’d shut him up.
I heard the front door slam and the car start up. He was going to Dave’s, for sure. One day he was going to get caught by a police breathalyser. Then we’d see how much he liked spending his money when got some huge fine. At least I was alone now and






could go and watch TV. But Dad had never just stormed out of the house without saying something, no matter how mad he was.
After a few minutes I walked out into the kitchen. On the table was a note. As I suspected, it said, “Gone to Dave’s. Back late” scrawled in black pen. Underneath the note I saw the corner of a twenty dollar note. I lifted up the note and saw there was a bunch of notes. I counted them. $120 exactly.
I sorted the notes out neatly and held them in my hand. Almost a weekend’s pay, after tax. Should I keep it? I deserved it. I mean, Dad probably spends that much on booze every second week. I even unconsciously smelt the notes as I thought about it. The notes stank, like a stale cupboard open for the first time in months. Why did money smell so bad? Wasn’t it just paper? Money stinks.
After a few moments thinking, I left the money back on the table and went and got a bowl of Nutri-Grain.
I could pay my own way.

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Captain Pierre