“Timmy, what is it now?” Mark snapped at the small figure in the kitchen doorway.
“Phone ringing, Dadda.” Timmy waved the mobile phone at his father.
“It’s no bloody wonder I can’t hear it, the noise the two of you make! Give it ‘ere.” Mark snatched it out of his son’s small hand, waved him away. He tapped on the green icon and shouted after Timmy, “Keep the noise down, and leave your sister alone!”
“Hello,” he bit out.
“Hey, Mark, it’s me, Brian.”
“Brian, I saw that. What d’you want?”
“Sorry, is this a bad time?”
“No worse than any other. It’s just the kids. And their noise. I’m a bit stressed.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that, Mark. I was calling about Christmas.”
Mark took the phone away from his ear, mouthed a silent curse at the wall. “Christmas, Brian? Honestly, I haven’t got my head around that. I really haven’t. I’ve just got home from work, picked up the kids from the minder, and am now going to get driven demented until I get them bathed and into bed. Christmas? No, I haven’t really got on top of that.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. Is Alice away or something?”
“She might as well be. You know she got promoted? Well, now she’s doing a lot of long days. She leaves early and is home late. I’ve got the kids morning and evening. In between, I’m meant to be working too. I tell you, they won’t be promoting me.”
“Oh, we didn’t realize. Sounds like you need a break.”
Again, Mark lowered the phone. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds. Brian was saying something. He put the phone back to his ear. “You still there?” Brian repeated.
“Yeah,” said Mark, his voice tense. “And, yeah, I do need a break. Thanks for asking.”
Brian ignored any sarcasm in his friend’s voice. “Well, look, I’ll tell you why I called. We’re meant to be coming over for lunch on Christmas Day, and we wanted to bring something. A contribution, like. Hang on a minute, I just need to ask Sharon something. I’ll be right back.”
Mark paced the kitchen, the phone at his ear. He couldn’t wait a lot longer; he had to get the kids’ supper started.
“Hey, Mark, I’m back.”
“Yeah?”
“I asked Sharon, and we could take the kids off your hands for a while. Would that be a contribution?”
“Yes, it would,” Mark said hesitantly, then added, “When?”
“Well, only if you want, but how about now? In thirty minutes or so?”
Mark barked a short laugh. “I s’pose,” he said. “If that’s all right with Sharon. You’re good friends.”
“Sure,” Brian chuckled. “Now, which offer do you want? Tall, grande, or venti? That’s until tomorrow morning, tomorrow evening, or the next morning? Which?”
There were tears in Mark’s eyes. “I’ll take a venti if that’s okay. You’re really very good friends.”
“Okay, we’ll be over in about half an hour. Give you time to get the kids wrapped up.”
Smiling, Mark put his phone down on the kitchen counter. Two evenings! First, he was heading for the beach, to sit in the dark and be left in peace by murmuring sea and silent stars. Second, tomorrow, he’d see Alice got home in time to go out for a meal together, and if they ended up talking about the kids, so be it.
He called into the living room, “Timmy! Jenny! You’re going on a visit!”
Gordon Pinckheard lives in County Kerry, Ireland. Retired from a working life spent writing computer programs and technical documents, he now spends his sunset years submitting short stories pounded out with one arthritic finger. His stories have been published by Every Day Fiction, Cabinet of Heed, Flash Fiction Magazine, Shooter, Stupefying Stories, Gemini and others.
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