No More Should
Simon pushed open the door and surveyed the scene: three plates of dried spaghetti sitting on the kitchen table, a tipped-over yoghurt pot daring gravity, and a wide-open maths notebook looking rather neglected. Toms backpack was sprawled across the hallway floor, and Emily was perched on the sofa, her nose buried in her mobile.
He dropped his briefcase by the door, kicked off his shoes. He meant to comment on the plates but found his throat squeezed by tiredness, so instead, he wandered over, picked up a plate, and wandered to the sink.
Ill wash them in a minute, Dad, Emily called without lifting her gaze.
Alright, he murmured.
He turned on the tap, letting the water roll over the plate. The spaghetti softened, sliding away sadly toward the plug hole. He stopped, staring at the damp dish in his hands.
Em, wheres Tom?
In his room. Wrestling with maths, Emily replied.
And you?
Ive finished everything.
He wiped his hands on a tea towel and ventured into Toms room. The boy lay on the rug, head propped on a fist, half a maths problem scrawled into his notebook.
Hey, Tom, said Simon.
Hey, Dad.
Hows it going?
Alright.
Schoolwork?
Working on it.
Simon perched on the edge of the bed. Tom glanced over, then retreated back to his sums.
Are you okay, Dad? he offered.
Im not sure, Simon admitted. Probably just a bit worn out.
He really wasnt sure. His mum had rung first thing, demanding he come over and help empty a wardrobe. Then a meeting at work dragged itself all the way to 6pm, and a sardine situation on the Tube left him jammed against the doors. Now here he was, sitting on Toms rug and realising he had absolutely no desire to utter a word about the dishes, homework, or some sort of routine. He didnt want to be some automated parent mode, flicking on as he walked in.
Lets all get together in the kitchen for a minute, he said. All of us.
Why? Tom frowned.
To talk.
Tom grimaced, suspicious. Is it about my mark in English?
No, not that. Just a chat.
But I havent finished my homework.
You can finish it later. Five minutes.
Simon got up, called Emily. She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.
Really?
Really.
She tossed her phone onto the sofa and joined him. Tom crept out, pausing dramatically at the kitchen threshold, as though it were a swamp full of crocodiles.
Simon took a seat, nudged the notebook aside. Emily slumped opposite, Tom awkwardly teetered on the edge of his chair.
Whats up? Emily asked.
Nothings happened, he said.
Then why?
Simon looked at her, then at Tom, whose anxious eyes seemed ready for disaster at any moment.
I just want a proper chat, said Simon. Not the you should do your homework, you should wash up, all that stuff.
So does that mean we dont have to do the dishes? Tom ventured, just checking.
Well sort them later. This is about something else.
Emily folded her arms.
Youre acting a bit odd today, she observed.
Odds accurate, Simon agreed. Probably because Im tired of pretending alls fine.
They fell silent. Simon rummaged about for words, but his mind was an empty attic.
I dont really know how to say this, he started. But it just feels like were all acting. I come home, you act like everythings sunny, and I act like I believe you. We talk about school, meals, but its all surface-level. Not real talking.
Dad, youre kind of laying it on, Emily said quietly. Why?
Not sure. Maybe because Im struggling a bit, and Im scared you are too, and I wouldnt even notice because Im wrapped up in my own problems.
Toms brow furrowed.
Im fine.
Are you? Simon looked at him. Then why have you been up past midnight for the last fortnight?
Tom clammed up, eyes fixed on the table.
I can hear you tossing and turning, Simon said softly. And in the mornings, you look like youve spent the night having a wrestling match with your pillow.
I just dont feel like sleeping.
Tom.
What, Tom?
Just say whats actually going on.
Tom shrugged, turning away.
Schools okay. I do the work. What else is there?
Its not the work Im asking about.
Emily cut in: Dad, why are you grilling him?
Im not grilling. Im trying to understand.
He doesnt want to talk. Thats his right.
Simon turned to her.
Alright. Then you tell me, how are things?
She smirked.
Me? Top notch. Studying, chatting with my mates, all as it should be.
Em.
She fell quiet, gaze slipping away.
What?
Youve barely left the house all month. Your mates invited you out twiceyou turned them down.
So? I didnt fancy it.
How come?
She pressed her lips tight.
Because Im sick of their endless boy-talk and nonsense, okay?
Okay, Simon nodded. I just worry you seem a bit down.
She flicked her head as if shaking something off.
Im not sad.
Alright.
He let it rest. The room sank into a hush, fridge humming in the background.
Look, he said slowly, I dont want to be the parent just now. And I dont want you to prop me up either. Heres the deal: Im frightened. Every day. Im scared about money running short; about Gran getting ill and keeping it quiet; about layoffs at work. Im scared you might be struggling and Im just too self-absorbed to spot it. And Im fed up of pretending like everythings under control.
Emily blinked, studying him closely.
But youre the grown-up, she said softly. Youre supposed to be okay.
I know. But Im not always.
Tom finally looked up.
What happens if youre not okay?
Simon hesitated. I dont really know. I suppose Id have to ask for help.
From who?
You two, for example.
Tom frowned. But were just kids.
Youre kids, yeah. But youre also my family. Sometimes what I need most is for you to tell me the truth. Not Im fine, but how youre really feeling.
Emily idly gathered invisible crumbs from the table.
Why do you need to know?
So Im not alone.
She looked up, and this time, Simon spotted a flicker of empathy in her eyes.
School scares me, Tom blurted suddenly. Theres this lad who calls me thick. Every single day. Everyone laughs.
Simon felt a tight pain in his chest.
Whats his name?
Not telling. Youll go and make it worse.
I wont. Promise.
Tom eyed him suspiciously.
Promise-promise?
Promise. But you need to know youre not on your own.
Tom nodded, head dropping again.
Im not completely alone. Daves alright. We sit together.
Good.
Emily sighed.
I dont want to go to university, she mumbled. Everyone keeps asking what Im going to do, but I dont have a clue. At all. I feel like Ill end up nowhere because I cant seem to figure anything out.
Em, youre fourteen.
So what? Everyone else seems sorted. But not me.
Not everyone.
Everyone I know.
Simon was silent for a moment.
When I was your age, I wanted to be a geologist. Changed my mindtwice. I work nowhere near that now.
And? Is it alright?
Some days, yes. Others, less so. But life isnt supposed to be mapped out at the start.
She nodded, a little uncertain.
Its just people keep saying you should have a plan.
They do, Simon said. But thats their voice, not yours.
She looked up, almost smiled.
You do seem different today.
Im tired of playing perfect.
Tom chuckled.
Can I ask you something?
Go ahead.
Are you really scared?
I am.
What do you do when youre scared?
Simon thought. I get up, do something. Even if Im not sure its right. Just do it.
Tom nodded.
Got it.
They sat in silence for a while. Simon gazed at them, realising he hadnt solved anything, hadnt wrapped up all the worries or delivered any fixes. Yet something had shiftedtheyd seen he could be more than a parental robot, and theyd responded in kind.
Alright, Emily observed, standing up. Time to handle those plates.
Im in, said Tom.
Me too, added Simon.
They rose. Emily flicked on the tap, Tom fetched the scrubber, and Simon grabbed the tea towel. They worked in gentle harmony, but this quiet was a new onenot empty, but full.
When the last dinner plate slotted into the rack, Emily dried her hands and eyed her dad.
Dad, can we do this again? Chat like this, sometime?
Anytime you like, he said.
She nodded and drifted off to her room. Tom hung back, then shuffled his feet.
Thanks for promising not to go after that boy, he said.
If it gets really bad, will you tell me?
I will.
Rightlets tackle those maths sums.
They went to Toms room and settled side-by-side on the carpet. Simon took up the notebook and eyed the problems, while Tom shuffled closer and together, they worked through the sumsunhurried, almost as usual, but with Simon now knowing that behind each answer was a boy contending with his own fears, and that he, Simon, was there not just as the checker, but as someone who was afraid sometimes too, and who still faces each day.
It wasnt much, but it was a beginning.
