Zak followed her downstairs. He stepped into the lounge, to be confronted by a single word displayed in huge bright letters across the main wall – “WAITING”.
‘Yeah okay,’ he said, irritated. ‘You’ve made your point.’
As he spoke, he realised it was not directed at him. All of the usual hideous wallpaper had been replaced by a dark blue background. The message signified an official conference call.
Mum stood there with her arms folded, still fuming. Zak wondered why his mum was acting so serious lately. She no longer seemed to appreciate anything he would consider fun, or even take her own pleasure from life. She left her short brown hair unstyled, and wore clothes so dull they appeared to pre-date modern materials. He couldn’t see where Skye had got her flamboyance.
He heard a noise from the hall. Peering round the doorway he caught sight of his dad backing out of the kitchen.
‘No Rover, you stay in there,’ he said, slowly retracting his arm and pulling the door closed. A dog’s nose poked though momentarily, and there was a little whine as the door clicked shut.
Zak’s dad was in his late fifties, and starting to look a little frail. His wispy overgrown hair seemed out of place in the family. He looked as though he’d mislaid his glasses, although of course no-one wore glasses these days.
‘It’s probably better if we stay standing,’ he said.
With a quick glance at the main wall, Dad got things underway. The video sheet lit up with a row of five faces, each in their own window.
‘Oh my god!’ said Zak, recognising them immediately – four of his schoolteachers, and in the centre his headmaster, Mr. Smith.
Mr. Smith was looking down at his note pane.
‘I don’t like being kept waiting Carter.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dad.
‘I was talking to the boy,’ said Mr. Smith.
‘No-one calls me Carter,’ said Zak, very quietly. ‘Even your lot.’
