Snow Balls (Ball Games #2) (5 page)

I left the dishes last night. You enjoyed the meal. Let's see if you enjoy cleaning the dishes as much. After I've stood in the kitchen for an hour cooking, I then watch as everyone takes no longer than ten minutes to eat. Often you or your father will moan about some of it not being perfect. I then go into the kitchen and wash up after you all. Well, today you can see what it's like to be me. Enjoy tackling the congealed pots.

P.S. Hurry up and get them done. There's more to come.

I sit at the kitchen island with my elbows resting on the worktop and my head in my hands. My mother is a force majeure. She's probably got a webcam trained on me and is watching me from her mobile phone sniggering. I've had six hours sleep. I decide to make myself a coffee but when I go to the cupboard, there are no mugs. To make a coffee, I have to wash a mug. For God’s sake. I sigh and set to the task. Twenty minutes later my wrinkled fingers hold a steaming mug of coffee. I take it up to my room with a sigh.

At ten am I hear another shrill beep emanating from downstairs. You've got to be fucking kidding me. This takes me longer to discover. I eventually locate the alarm clock in the cupboard under the stairs. There's a note stuck to the vacuum cleaner.

Hey, Tyler.

Hopefully, the dishes are clean, dried and put away? It's time to vacuum. I mean the whole house, so don't forget to move the furniture so the floor is cleaned properly. Vacuuming around things is cheating and leaves the carpets dirty. There's a switch on the main floor tool that turns the brushes onto the hard floor version. You'll need this to vacuum the kitchen lino. I do this several times a week and then I watch as you walk into the house after a day of work, take a packet of crisps or a bar of chocolate from the cupboard and then let bits drop as you walk from one room to another. If I'm really lucky, you leave the empty packet on the sofa so that any remaining bits, especially those lovely little crisp crumbs, spill down the edge of the sofa. Or the chocolate melts onto it. Make sure you feel along the chair and sofa edges to check there's no money, pens or other belongings. Then vacuum up any crumbs using the other tool attachment. You have two hours to get the vacuuming done, at which time another alarm will go off, alerting you to the leather wipes so you can finish cleaning the sofa, tub chairs and the dining room chairs. Have fun! Mum x

That fucking kiss. She's taking the piss now.

I drag the vacuum cleaner from under the stairs. The lid keeps opening up and the tools fall out—again. In a fit of sheer temper, I pull the tools out and throw them across the lounge. After vacuuming the downstairs, I drag the vacuum cleaner to the staircase, balancing the cylinder on the step above me. I realise I can vacuum a few steps underneath without moving the cylinder down with me, saving me from lugging it about. Bonus. I'm happily vacuuming the next to last step, thinking this awful task is nearing its conclusion and daydreaming about seeing Jennifer tomorrow. So I don't realise that I've stretched the hose on the vacuum one step too far. The cylinder topples from the step. I'm only made aware of this when it hits me to the right of my forehead. I drop the vacuum cleaner, which wrenches the plug out of the socket, meaning cleaning comes to a standstill.

‘Fucking hell!’ I rub my forehead and check the damage in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs where I see a large egg is already forming. I fucking hate vacuuming. The truth is, I actually feel a bit tearful but I'm determined not to give my mother an ounce of satisfaction. I
will not
fail. Therefore, I have no choice but to carry on cleaning, even if I have semi-concussion. I finish, eons later, feeling out of breath, hot, sweaty and dirty. I collapse on the sofa. It seems about thirty seconds before the next alarm goes off, which I find located in a cupboard drawer. The note stuck to the wipes just says
Use on leather only, Tyler. Not to be used to clean windows or the sink or anything like that. When you've cleaned the furniture enjoy your lunch, love Mum xxx

Clean the windows or the sink. Does she think I might have become one of those obsessive compulsive cleaners off the telly? I quickly wipe things over and check the time. It's a quarter to one. Lunch time. I head to the fridge to see what my mum's left for me.

A fucking note of course.

Hi, Tyler. We wouldn't be encouraging your independence if we left you a sandwich, would we? Now I'll help you out here. The corner shop does some lovely things. If I don't fancy anything in the house, I'll sometimes pop out for one of their cheese sandwiches or pork with apple sauce. Of course you'll need to use your own money, I have to. Love Mum xxx

I glance down at myself, still in my lounge joggers and tee. I'd better get fucking dressed so I can get myself some lunch. Might be an idea to buy a can of beer to go with it as this day sucks. I might as well be at bleeding work.

The afternoon continues in the same manner. If I had any energy, I might go in search of the alarm clocks and paste the living shit out of them, but I have neither the inclination nor the time because there's always one going off. There's one in the bathroom cabinet, informing me that I have the bathroom to clean. Another is located in the laundry basket with instructions on how to load the washing machine. We have a basket that has darks, colours and whites and I'm informed in block capitals
NOT TO MIX LOADS
.

Dusting and wiping down window ledges comes next. She says she'll let me off washing windows because she does that separately on a weekend. Well, gee thanks Ma for the generosity. Three pm’s alarm is found under my bed.

Congrats Tyler. If you have indeed followed the notes and done all your tasks, there’s free time now until five. This is the time I let myself watch my box sets. If however you are behind in the chores, you can use this time to catch up. Love Mum xxx

Fuck watching the TV or playing games. I get under the covers and lie there, letting my body recover from what feels like a major workout (not that I'd know what that was, because I hardly ever do any exercise, but I can imagine). I fall asleep.

Five pm and I hear another fucking bitch face alarm clock. This time, when I find it, I throw it against the kitchen door where it gives a satisfying thwack and falls to the floor. Except the alarm seems capable of the equivalent of sticking two fingers up at me because as it hits the ground, it knocks the top up and sets off beeping again. This alarm clock was inside the oven.

Dear Tyler. As you know, your meals are cooked for you all week and placed on the table. When you get home from work, you don't know what it's like to be so hungry and binge on four biscuits to take the edge off. Otherwise, you'd eat the dinner as it cooked. Tonight, myself and your father are due home at six pm. This gives you an hour to prepare the following dinner. I have gone easy on you and you will find prepared vegetables and microwave mash potato in the fridge. However on Sunday, I will teach you to cook a full Sunday dinner with proper vegetable preparation.

Indeed, there are three pieces of salmon with instructions on how to wrap in foil and place in the oven. The vegetables are microwaveable. There's a request to warm up a fish sauce and a reminder to set the table. To add insult to injury, the note finishes
Don't forget you've cleaned the bathroom. Make sure to wash your hands before you cook dinner or we'll all be ill. Love Mum xxx

I curse her as I pick the foil from out of the oven where she'd left it at the side of the note.

My father gets home first. He hangs his coat on the hook in the hallway, drops his bag at the bottom of the stairs and walks through to the kitchen.

He nods to me. 'Smells good, son. Have I got time to get changed?'

'Yes, Dad. About ten minutes.'

'Great. Didn't think you'd do it you know. Your mother expects to get in and meet your attitude.'

'I've done every job she set me. Why does she feel that just because I don't do them, I can't do them?'

'I don't think that's how she feels, son. She just wants you to consider the people around yourself. You can be a little, let's say, insular.'

I sigh.

'What have you done to your head?' He points to the now bruising lump.

'Domestic incident. Don't ask.'

My dad raises an eyebrow. 'Right, I'll leave you to it and get this suit off. At least the oven’s on this time, eh?' He chuckles as he leaves the room.

I hear another key turn in the lock as I'm plating up. My mother walks in and drops her coat on the back of one of the dining room chairs. Then she heads for the plastic box that contains the crisps.

'I'm plating up, mum. Your dinner's ready.'

She speaks through a mouthful of crisps, 'S'alright. Keep it warm for me. Just going to check my emails.' She walks out.

Ouch. I've done that to her frequently. Now I can put her dinner in the oven or follow her. I choose to do the latter. I find her in front of the television.

'Okay mum. I get it. I'm sorry and I'll make sure I sit straight down to dinner from now on. Will you please come and get your dinner, otherwise the salmon will go dry, won't it?' I remember this from countless lectures.

She chews on her lip for a moment, then nods. 'Okay.'

She gets up and heads for the dining room. My Dad, now in comfy trousers and a jumper comes and joins her. They exchange a glance when they walk in and find the table set. I've put a jug of water and some glasses out and remembered that Mum likes seafood sauce on her fish, a strange combination made by mixing salad cream with a small amount of ketchup.

I bring the meals through and we eat.

'So what did you do to your head?' she asks.

I sigh. I'm sighing a lot these days. 'The vacuum cleaner fell off the step and hit me on the head.'

'Might knock some sense into you,' says Dad.

'Did you not keep your knee on it to hold it in place?' asks my mother.

'Yes, Mum, then I got bored and fancied the vacuum cleaner hitting me in the head, so I moved it. What do you think?'

'Don't take that tone with your mother. She's just trying to help you.'

'Sorry. No, I didn't, Mum.'

'Well you know for next time. This is how your day's off will go now, Tyler. Maybe not as much as today but we need to get you taking more responsibility around the place. It will help you when you move out.'

'Well I'm out tomorrow morning and I'm not sure when I'll be back.'

I receive a stony expression from Mum. 'Oh yeah? Where to? Shopping for new games? Trying to escape chores already?'

I mop my mouth with a piece of kitchen roll. 'No. Actually, I have an appointment at Henderson's Bank. For a mortgage appraisal.'

My mum's mouth drops open. 'You are? Really? Are you considering buying then?'

I picture how commanding Dylan looked in his suit and try to emulate his manner as I speak. 'Well, I'm keeping my options open. I spoke with Dylan the other day. He made me an appointment with their mortgage advisor.'

'Dylan is such a nice young man. It was very kind of him to do that.'

I grimace. 'It's his job.'

I like Dylan but I kind of hate that he’s four years younger than me and gets all this respect from my mother.

Mum knocks a piece of imaginary fluff off the table. 'Well, I'll not set any alarms for tomorrow then. You can concentrate on getting ready.'

I fake a gasp and put my hand over my mouth. 'Oh no.'

'What?' My mother looks at me, eyes wide.

'When I did the washing I forgot to wash my suit. I wore it the other day, didn't I? I need it for tomorrow to make a good impression.'

'After tea,' says my mum. 'You can put it on a fifteen-minute wash. We'll tumble dry it and hang it damp. Then you can iron it in the morning.'

'But I don't know how to iron.'

She sighs. 'I'll sort it, but this is the last time Tyler.'

I smile. 'Thanks, Mum.'

My father gives her a look. She shrugs.

Oh yeah. No jobs to do tomorrow and she's sorting my suit. I might just hit the shops for a new game on the way home from my appointment. I make a deal with myself. If I leave with a date with Jennifer, I'll buy the game to celebrate. If I don't, I'll buy the game to cheer myself up. Oh, come on. What else do I go to work for if not to be able to treat myself?

Suited and booted and aftershave on, I walk into Henderson's Bank five minutes before my appointment. A receptionist takes my name and asks me to take a seat. Dylan nods at me from his desk.

Then she's coming over. Jennifer Lambert. Her hips swish as she walks towards me. Her long dark burgundy hair bounces as she walks. In my mind, I'm holding it from her face as she mouths my dick. She has a glorious pout, definite blow job lips. Her lucky blouse rests on top of what I imagine are magnificent tits. What a shame it's fastened up. No hint of a cleavage like I get with Lindsay.

She shakes my hand. 'Hi. Mr Turner? I'm Jennifer. Would you like to come through?'

She's pretending she doesn't know me from Smiths. Well, okay, I guess she has to be business-like.

Jennifer leads me to an office away from the rest of the branch’s open-plan arrangement and takes a seat behind a desk. She indicates for me to take one of the two seats in front of her.

'Okay, Mr Turner.'

'Tyler. Call me Tyler.'

She smiles. 'Okay, Tyler. Well, I understand you’d like to see what we could offer you in terms of a mortgage?'

'That's right.'

'So I'll begin by taking a few details from you.'

She records my name, date of birth and current address.

'Okay so your current address. Do you own the property?'

Shit. I have to admit to living with my parents.
'Erm, no. It's my parents. I'm just there temporarily while I get my new accommodation sorted. Bit of a nuisance, having to be back with the oldies but needs must hey.'

'Er, yeah sure. Okay. Occupation?'

What the fuck can I say to impress her? Shop Assistant isn't going to cut it.

'Senior Sales Adviser.'
Well, I am the oldest and I get asked a lot of questions like which lucky dip people should choose.