Page 88 of The Best of Times

Aron was fixed to the bed. If he tried to get up, he feared his legs would collapse under him.

“Don’t worry. Our interactions will be as limited as humanly possible,” Aron said bitterly. “I won’t be going for the job at the British Library.”

“Not because of me, I hope.”

Aron gazed into his eyes. “Of course because of you. Why else?”

“Then I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

There was nothing more to say. Yet, Paul seemed fixed to the armchair. He stared at Aron until he began to feel uncomfortable.

“You should probably go,” Aron said. “I’m sure your father needs you far more than me, right now.”

“I guess so,” Paul replied. “I’ll see you later.”

He let himself out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Aron stared into space. Even though nothing had strictly changed, it still felt like a bombshell had been dropped. There wasn’t even going to be another conversation. Paul was going to board an aeroplane and flee the scene.

Like bloody usual.

He hadn’t worked out what he’d expected from Paul’s speech. It hadn’t been that. He cursed himself for being surprised. Of course, Paul would run away. He wouldn’t take any other course of action.

His thoughts were broken by a knock at the door.

“Who the fuck now?” he cried out.

On wobbly legs, he bounded across the room and flung open the door.

It was his mother.

“Are you okay, son?”

It was too much. All the emotion that had led up to this moment just burst out of him.

“Oh, Mum,” he cried.

She cleared the space and took him in her arms. The familiar smell of her perfume and hairspray set off a dozen memories he’d locked away. Childhood memories of being comforted when he fell down. Bedtime stories. Endless arguments.

The tears fell from him as she held him close.

As he calmed, she led him over to the bed and they both sat on the end.

“One second,” she said.

She rooted in her handbag and pulled out a packet of tissues.

“I always cry at weddings,” she said. “Good job I came prepared.”

Now the storm had passed, the spectre of discomfort crept in.

Aron took a tissue and wiped his eyes. Great, now he would definitely look a fright at the wedding on top of everything else. No doubt his concealer had dripped onto his Ralph Lauren couture.

“That was the Professor’s son, wasn’t it?”

Aron nodded.

“A handsome man.”