Monday, June 24, 2013

Dead Rite chapter 151.01

Lucy was sitting at the table, an empty bowl in front of her and Cocoa Puffs strewn all across the table and, he soon discovered when he trod on them, the floor. Frederic was in his easy chair, watching morning television. He'd hesitate to call it news when it was about the spendthrift antics of pop singers. It was all very well to sing about feeding the world when you spent more on an evening out than most people's annual income. “What's all this?”

Frederick waved a translucent hand toward the television. “Load of rubbish. Some bint getting a lifetime achievement award and she's only twenty six. I should be so lucky.”

“To be fair, I was talking to Lucy but aren't lifetime achievement rewards for people whose career is officially over? As far as I'm aware they're a 'thanks for that, now go' sort of thing.”

“Lifetime is the name of the channel.” Lucyused her spoon to make negative patterns in a field of cereal. “Like HBO but Lifetime.”

“Oh. That makes more sense.” Frederick sounded somewhat mollified. “It's still a stupid name.”

Harold sat in the same chair he'd used when Ada and Legion were here, though Lucy had taken her grandmother's seat. “Why have you poured cereal over the table?”

“I don't feel very well. My tummy hurts but Mummy said I had to eat something. I wanted to see them all so I could choose which one.” Lucy chased a single Cocoa Puff around the table with her spoon until she cornered it against the reverse camber of the bowl. She dropped it into the dish and picked up a litre milk jug. Harold was cure she meant to add only a drop but her small fingers and developing muscles weren't up to the task. He leaped up as a wave of milk engulfed the table.”

“Lucy! For Bob's sake!” He used to say 'Pete's sake' until Jasfoup had pointed out it referred to Saint Peter and was therefore blasphemous.

“I didn't mean to.”

She began to cry and he forced himself to modulate his tone. “Enough of that noise, love. Fetch me a cloth, please.”

Frederick was released from the television by the intercession of an advertisement for car crashes. Or insurance, Harold couldn't tell which. “I think she's got a stomach bug. What did she eat yesterday?”

Harold's mouth tightened to a single line. “Demons.”

No comments: