A Voice in the Distance by Tabitha Suzuma Page B

on the stove
and the small room is filled with a warm fug and the
smell of fried meat. As I take the glasses down from
the cupboard, Maria looks at me and smiles. 'Your hair
has grown since I last saw you. It suits you.'
    'Thanks.' I can feel myself blush.
    'You must be tired,' Maria says.
    'A bit. The end of term is always frantic.'
    Maria wipes her hands on a tea towel and stirs something
on the stove. 'This term must have been
particularly difficult . . . with Flynn not being well.'
    I look at her. 'You know about that?'
    'I guessed. He sounded very agitated on the phone. I
finally got Rami to confess that he'd spent a couple of
nights in hospital.' She looks suddenly drawn. 'I tried
and tried to persuade Flynn to come home for a break,
but he wouldn't. He doesn't listen to me any more,
Jennah. Or to his father. He doesn't even listen to Rami.
But he listens to you.'
    There is a pause. Setting out the plates, I search for
something to say. It is difficult to express sympathy without
being disloyal to Flynn. Maria hasn't moved from
her position by the stove. She looks tired, defeated
somehow.
    'We are so grateful to you,' she adds suddenly, so
quietly I'm not sure if I've heard correctly. 'But your
mother must be very worried . . .'
    I say nothing and finish setting the table. No, my
mother isn't worried about me. My mother suffered an
acrimonious divorce when I was a baby and is naturally
suspicious of men, especially men who go out with her
only child. My mother could not cope with the knowledge
that her daughter's boyfriend was suffering from
a serious mental illness.
    We eat something called vorschmack round the
kitchen table. Aurora is perched on her mother's knee,
slobbering over a piece of sausage. Matias asks me about
uni, about my concert, about my teaching jobs. I notice
for the first time that he has the same lopsided smile as
Flynn. Maria coos over Aurora, between jumping up
every few minutes to offer people more food, and talks
to Sophie about stretch marks and sore nipples. Rami
asks his dad for some advice on tax returns and I turn to
Flynn, who for most of the meal has been completely
mute.
    'This is so nice,' I say to him with a smile.
    He smiles back, a vacant look in his eyes.
    After dinner Rami passes Aurora round the table for
a goodnight kiss, then takes her upstairs to bed. Sophie
and I join Maria and Matias in the living room for
coffee, while Flynn stays behind in the kitchen to attack
the washing up, almost aggressive in his refusal of help.
When Rami comes back down and joins us, the conversation
turns to baby-rearing, and I pick up my coffee
and return to the kitchen. I put my hand on Flynn's
back and look at his reflection in the darkened pane of
the kitchen window. His head is down and I can't see his
expression.
    'I don't need any help,' Flynn says.
    'I haven't come to help. I've come to talk to you,' I say.
    Silence. More scrubbing.
    'Is everything OK?' I ask.
    'Of course. You?'
    'Yes, your parents are so sweet. Your mum's gone to
such trouble with all the Christmas decorations and
everything, hasn't she?'
    He nods.
    'Are you tired?' I ask.
    'Bit.'
    'Me too. Do you want to go to bed after this?'
    'Yeah.'
    I stop talking. Gaze unseeingly at Flynn's reflection in
the black window. Even though we are standing side by
side, there is an abyss between us.
    * * *
    Christmas morning I wake early in the squeaky, unfamiliar
bed as a cold dawn filters in between the
curtains. Flynn's side of the bed is empty and his clothes
are gone from the chair. I yawn and stretch and get up
slowly, padding about on the threadbare carpet,
the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. I draw the
curtains and make the bed and then go to the bathroom
to wake myself with a hot shower.
    In the kitchen downstairs only Sophie is up, along
with Aurora, much to my delight. 'Merry Christmas,
Sophie! Merry Christmas, baby boo!' I kiss the top of
her warm head. Aurora is sitting on the side of the
kitchen table, a tea towel tied