Washing up - short story

We have a rota in our house, it sits on the fridge door, held in place by multicoloured alphabet magnets. Dad had it laminated, he says it will make it last longer. How long does it have to last though? The thought of living by a rota until I leave home is pretty miserable. I have the job of washing up on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays: my little brother Ned only has to do 3 days on account of his age and dad wanting to limit the crockery bill.

We never used to have a rota, we never used to have to wash up. We used to come home from school, throw our bags in the corner of the kitchen by the dog’s basket and sit at the table telling mum about our day at school. Always our tales would be accompanied by banana milkshake and homemade flapjack. Mostly mum would sit with us drinking a mug of coffee, but even if she was busy in the kitchen she would still listen to us. We knew she was because we could see her shoulders shaking, trying not to laugh as we told her about various pranks at school. Dad, on the other hand did not hear us. He’d listen, or at least pretend to as we leapt on him as he came though the door. But somehow his pile of unopened post always seemed more interesting. Sometimes we’d test him and make up pretend stories to see if he heard, mostly he didn’t. We stopped testing him, it seemed pointless, we had mum.

But one day everything changed. Mum died. As sudden as that. She’d driven us to school in the morning. I’d forgotten my gym kit and shouted at mum because she hadn’t put it ready in my bag for me. I feel bad about our last conversation. I had been in double maths when I was caled out by the school secretary, apparently the headmistress wanted to see me. I knew it wasn’t because I’d forgotten my gym kit. I knew something was wrong, the fact that the normally fierce secretary was smiling kindly, with red rimmed eyes was a huge give away. By the time we reached the door of the office I had imagined all kinds of things. Mum and Dad were getting divorced, our dog had been run over, Nan was dead. Somehow it never crossed my mind that something had happened to mum. It had been a car accident. When I reached the office dad was sat there, I now know what deathly pale looks like. “It was quick” was all I heard him say.

We existed over the next couple of weeks, did little more than that. It was as if time stood still for us. The three of us, Dad, Ned and I all reacted differently. Dad became super efficient, organising the funeral, the flowers, the caterers, everything. Sometimes as I watched him I wondered if maybe he hadn’t ever loved mum at all, perhaps he was glad she was dead. They had shouted at each other a lot over the past year. Mum always seemed angry that he came home late from the office. Dad always seemed angry that she was angry and didn’t appreciate him. Always the same. But then I’d come downstairs after my bath to say goodnight and find them curled up on the sofa together.

Ned didn’t say much to anyone, he wouldn’t talk to me, he wouldn’t talk to dad. But I used to hear him talking to his toy dinosaurs, telling them how much he missed mum. It took time, but slowly he began to talk about her. It has been nearly 2 years now and we talk about mum all the time, imagining her reactions to things we do. We still have homemade flapjack, I make it every Sunday.

Losing mum changed me a lot, I grew up really quickly. For a time I was angry that she had left me, left us. You see I needed her, I still do. I get angry less now, but I do wish I had my friends carefree lives. They spend their time fighting with their little brothers, not making sure they brush their teeth and remember their gym kit. I forget occasionally, but Ned doesn’t shout at me, he remembers that day. I have less friends now, lots didn’t know what to say to me, so they said nothing. I miss them too.

Soon after the funeral, Ned and I were sent back to school. Well meaning adults, dad included decided it would be for the best. “Children need routine” I heard them say. “No” I wanted to cry, “Children need their mum”.

Everything changed for us. Dad now works from home. We turned the garage into an office so he is never late home. If it’s after 6pm and he’s lost track of time all we have to do is knock on the door. It’s been strange getting to know dad. Of course we knew him before, but it was always mum we went to if we needed something. Dad’s great, he’s actually pretty funny when he forgets about work. I make Ned and my milkshake now, but dad does the cooking. We eat spaghetti bolognaise a lot, it’s the only recipe dad’s really mastered, aside from salad. Actually we are eating a lot of salads at the moment, dad said he was letting himself go and looking like an old man. But I think the real reason is a woman called Sally. We met her last weekend, she came with us to the summer fayre.