After listening to the rumblings downstairs, Victoria said “I take it dad is eating with us?” .
“Yes” replied her mother.
Both formed a troubled look on their faces. There was a quiet silence for a few moments as Edward continued to read, turning the pages of his old book every now and then. Suddenly, boom! A loud footstep was heard on the stairs. BOOM! An even louder step. Then, continuous, harsh footsteps heading in the direction of Edward’s room. Francine and Victoria tensed up simultaneously, and both moved slightly more into the room, gathering close to Edward. An awkward moment held until the rough, jagged face of Harold, the father of the family, appeared in the doorway. His eyes were black with sleep deprivation, and there was an obvious intoxication about his movements. He fumbled into the room, first looking at his daughter with disgust, then slowly encroaching on his wife, anger filled his dark eyes, his fists were clenched.
“Where…is…my…dinner?” he asked calmly, but with an evil entrenched in his words. His wife shifted in her position, a confused and worried look emerged on her face.
“It…it should be on the table” she said nervously, “…my dear” she added. Harold studied each of the faces in the room, taking an extra moment on Edward’s, and then returned his uncomfortable stare in his wife’s direction. “What I mean, Dear…” he said sarcastically “…is, where is my family when they should be at the dinner table, eating?” His words were slow and powerful, each spoken as if to pierce his listeners in the room.
“Well, we were about ready, but Edward here seems rather caught up in his book and seems to find it more important than dinner time” Francine said, with an attempt at confidence. Harold turned to his son, who had been reading even as his father had been talking. The females in the room became worried and anxious at the same time. Harold stumbled a few steps in his son’s direction, “Boy!” he said. Edward continued to read.
“BOY!” Harold repeated, this time with more anger.
Edward kept his eyes firmly on the page he was reading. Meanwhile, Francine and her daughter had exchange worried looks at each other. Harold reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a half-empty bottle of golden liquid, he quickly unscrewed the lid and necked the rest of the drink. A strong smell of alcohol was released into the room.
Harold lightly kicked the bottom of Edward’s chair. “Come on boy, get downstairs”. No answer. “Now!” he exclaimed. Francine moved to her husband’s side and put her hand on his arm, “Don’t worry honey, it’s okay, we can have dinner without Ed, and he can come down when he is ready”.
Harold turned his head towards his wife, WHAM! He slapped her hard across the face. “I demand respect from my family, from you and from him!” Victoria, who had been trying very hard to remain out of her father’s field of vision, spoke up. “Dad, come on, no need to get upset”.
“You DARE to speak to me? You dare to tell me not to get upset?!” Harold shot these words at his daughter. Victoria knew she had let herself in for an agonising time, but somehow felt relieved that the focus was now on her, not her mother. Harold pointed his finger at his daughter, “Don’t think I don’t know what you get up to at night, running around the village with those two…bums. Getting drunk, handing yourself over like a hussy! Offering yourself.” Victoria flinched at each word, as if they pierced her skin and stung her heart. She managed to return her father’s stare.
“Why do you think I do it?” she asked, almost as much to herself than her father.
“What?!” Harold replied, harshly.
“Why do you think I do all those things? Huh? Have you ever wondered why I stay out? Why I like to spend time with those two?” Victoria almost punched the words into the air, and at her father. “Do you ever wonder why Mum spends all her time in the garden? Or why me and Edward stay in our rooms? It is because we hate you. We hate you Harold.” Her voice had become more venomous.
Harold’s face remained the same, his eyes glued to his daughter. He began to chew his lip softly, his eye started twitching and his fists were shaking. Francine placed her hand on Harold’s wrist, attempting to calm the fire and rage that was building in him. He stopped all movement, looked at the hand on his wrist, puzzled at this action. He then grabbed his wife’s arm and violently shoved her across the room, she fell to the floor and slid to the other side of the room. He then grabbed Victoria around the throat and pushed her against the wall. “You will respect me!” he spat the words, the alcohol on his breath ran through Victoria’s head like a poison, somehow alien and familiar at the same time.
Edward, who was still reading, shifted his position in the chair to face the other direction, away from his family. His father’s behaviour had failed to take his attention away from the book. Francine looked from her position on the floor in horror at her husband, whose hand was still tightly gripping Victoria’s throat. Harold was snarling and pushing his daughter so hard the walls were shaking, the house was trembling with his anger. Francine got to her feet and ran at her husband, wildly flailing her arms, she began banging on his back, then smacking his head. Harold released Victoria from his grip, and as his daughter slid to the floor, he began strangling his wife, he was now more animal than human.
As the drama unfolded behind him, suddenly, Edward rose from his chair. He placed the book on his seat, still open at the page he was reading. He picked up a solid flower vase from the window sill, walked calmly behind his father, who was too occupied on the physical assault on his wife to notice. The vase was brought crashing down on Harold’s head, it smashed and the violent man immediately shrank and hit the floor. The shards of glass flew in every direction. Francine slowly crumbled and sat on the floor, away from her husband. Edward turned and went back to his seat. He continued reading from where he left off.
As Victoria came to her mother’s side and both looked upon the body, lying still on the floor as a dark red liquid poured from Harold‘s head to the wood, both began to well up, tears ran down both faces. It was unclear whether these were tears of joy or pain. Francine went to ask her son “Edward, what are you reading…?”, but before she could finish her sentence, Edward halted her with a quiet “shush”. Edward continued to read.