The kitchen is thick with the smell of onions frying. My father pours a glass of wine, swirls it, sniffs it and swishes it around his mouth like he’s rinsing.
Finally, he gulps it and scribbles something in his note book. He pours more into his glass, fills it right up to the top this time. He tips his head back and the red liquid goes down as fast as he’d poured it from the bottle.
Wish I could drink like that. Another glass gets filled. He takes it with him to the stove, and tosses some strips of meat into the pan. His face starts to flush.
The front door opens, and I slide off the stool and run to my Mum. She dumps her brief-cases, one for each hand, and scoops me up for a kiss. She carries me to the kitchen, groaning about what a big girl I am.
Dad is refilling his glass, and lets Mum kiss his cheek. He passes her a small glass.
“I’ll get her ready for bed, but then I’ve got about four hours of work to do,” Mum sighs and takes a sip.
“Yes, Ms Senior Manager, Ma’am!”
Dad salutes like he’s a soldier.
“Don’t start, Nick,” Mum’s face scrunches.
But Dad says something about her jetting off to Singapore next week, and I know that he has started.
I sigh and adjust my diaper. I might only be two, but I know the beginnings of an argument when I see one.
Pouting, I reach for the bottle of wine. Mum and Dad are too busy glaring at each other to notice the long swig I take. They wouldn't care anyway. I'm a big girl now.
I belch and wipe the back of my pudgy little hand across my mouth. I might not be able to drink like Dad . . . yet . . . but I definitely have Mum beaten. She hasn't even taken a second sip yet!
Uh oh. "Hey, you two! I need to be changed."
Opening: JAS.....Continuation: Bran Flakes