Dexter Mayhew was sitting in his flat in Belsize Park. It was 10am and Dexter was very drunk. He had been drinking all night with some new friends.
Now that he worked in television, lots of people wanted to know Dexter. They all wanted to hear his stories about the famous people that he interviewed. They all wanted to drink with him. So he was often drunk these day. Usually, being drunk in the mornings didn’t matter. Dexter worked in the afternoons and evenings and he was always sober by then. But this morning, the morning of 15th July, it mattered very much. Today he had to go to his parents’ house in the country, in Oxfordshire. He was already late. He knew, in part of his mind, that he wanted to be late. In fact, in that part of his mind, he didn’t want to go at all. Because today, thinking about his parents made him want to scream.
Dexter’s mother, at forty-nine, was fifteen years younger than his father. Dexter liked his father and they usually got on well together. But his feelings about his mother were quite different. Dexter loved his mother was dying and Dexter knew that she couldn’t live much longer.
He needed to see her, but he was afraid. He was afraid to see how close to death she was. So this morning, he needed to be strong. He needed to make himself drive to his childhood home. And he needed to make himself behave normally when he got there.
Dexter’s mother, at forty-nine, was fifteen years younger than his father. Dexter liked his father and they usually got on well together. But his feelings about his mother were quite different. Dexter loved his mother was dying and Dexter knew that she couldn’t live much longer.
He needed to see her, but he was afraid. He was afraid to see how close to death she was. So this morning, he needed to be strong. He needed to make himself drive to his childhood home. And he needed to make himself behave normally when he got there.
Emma and his mother were very different people, but when they had met they had always enjoyed each other’s company. And Stephen and Alison Mayhew had guessed that Emma was a good friend to their son. They hadn’t really been offended at all when Emma called Stephen ‘a bourgeois fascist’.
Remembering this, for a moment Dexter wanted to phone Emma. The two of them had still never touched each other, but he knew that she was his best friend. Suddenly, he wanted to tell her that she was a dear, wonderful person. And he wanted to tell her how unhappy he was about his mother’s terrible illness. But he knew what Emma would say. ‘She’ll know I’m drunk as soon as I start to speak, ‘he told himself. ‘She’ll tell me that L mustn’t drive.’
Dexter picked up his car keys and collected Emma’s parcel. He locked the door of his flat behind him and walked to his expensive, green sports car.
An hour later, Dexter was still worrying about his dying mother. But he also knew that he was lucky to be alive himself. He had fallen asleep for a moment and had almost crashed his car into a big truck. He could still hear the noise of the truck’s horn in his aching head. He wasn’t far from his parents’ house now, but he had to stop for a while. He slowed down and drove into a pub cark park. It was a pub which he had often visited when he was young. He bought a glass of vodka and a glass of beer and sat down. He drank quickly and soon he was feeling better.
He walked outside into the sunlight and got into his car. In less than twenty minutes, he parked in front of his parents’ house, just as his father opened the front door.
‘I’d hoped you were coming earlier, ’his father said as Dexter got out of the car. He looked angry and when Dexter tried to kiss him on the cheeks, he moved quickly away. At the television studios, everyone kissed everyone else on the cheeks. Dexter had forgotten for a moment that his father lived in a different world.
‘Your mother hoped you were coming earlier too, ‘Stephen Mayhew added. He looked carefully at his son, then he sighed deeply.
‘I’m sorry – I’m so sorry, ‘Dexter said unhappily. ‘How is she, Dad?’
‘You need to ask her that yourself,’ Mr Mayhew said. ‘Go up to her room now. I’ll make us some lunch.’
Dexter walked slowly up the stairs, carrying Emma’s present. He opened the door of his mother’s bedroom and went nervously inside. Alison Mayhew was sitting up in her bed. She was very thin and she looked very tired and ill. But she smiled when she saw her son.
‘A present! What have you brought me?’ she asked.
‘The present is from Emma,’ Dexter said. ‘Let’s open it.’
The parcel contained books – long, serious books – Edith Wharton, Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Chandler.
‘How kind she is.’ Alison Mayhew said. ‘I’m very grateful to Emma. But please suggest to her that short stories might be more useful in future.’
Dexter tried to laugh, but inside his head he was screaming.
A few minutes later, he went downstairs to the kitchen, where his father was making lunch. Dexter picked up a glass of wine and drank it quickly, then he