Home Comforts


There's no sense of relief as he crosses the threshold of the front door. It's not the home he grew up in but that would make little difference. It's become increasingly foreign to him, no key to let himself in as he watches his dad lead the way into the kitchen and is reminded of how fast a year can change things. Jesse wonders if there's any greater indication of the passing of time than his folks. Every year seems to weigh on his dad's shoulders and tighten his temperament. He notices it in the way he abruptly opens a cupboard and then slams it while looking for a cup, or the way he angrily mutters something incoherent under his breath before turning to ask Jesse if he takes milk in his tea. He responds with a 'yes' and doesn't linger too long on the unfamiliarity of the question.

The gentle hum of the radio in the background reminds him of growing up in a home that once felt whole, but that's something he can't find here. When his dad takes a seat opposite him at the table, Jesse almost immediately reaches for one of the warm cups he sets down to give his hands something to do.

"So you're finished with your tour then." It's more of a statement than a question but he nods anyway, trying to relax in his chair.

"Couple of shows in December but it's nice to be home for a bit."

For the first time since he walked in the door, Michael looks right at him. It's as if he's searching for something. It makes Jesse uncomfortable enough to break his gaze by taking a drink of his tea even though it's scolding hot. Too hot to drink, but he swallows it down anyway. When he looks up, Michael is still staring.

"You alright there, dad?" There's a tentative sort of amusement behind the question. He has always been good at knowing what his parents are thinking but never good at hearing it spoken out loud.

Michael doesn't say anything, just continues to look at his son as if he's solving a problem. "You seem different," Michael offers before he blows on his tea. Something softens in his face. There's something about the familiarity of the look that allows Jesse to relax into his chair. He thinks to himself that there must be no greater indication to a parent of the passing of time than their own child.

"Different how?" Jesse asks, putting it down to absence rather than some sort of paternal instinct. His folks were never really good at that. His hair was shorter last time he was home. He'd been clean-shaven then.

"Just different. What's new with you?"

Jesse involuntarily clenches his jaw as he taps his fingers against the side of his cup. He thinks of all of the inconsequential answers to that question, the easy stuff he could offer up. Then he thinks of the honest answers and how he'd rather tell a complete stranger than his father. He purses his lips and gives a gentle shake of his head. Not much is new, he tells his dad. He asks about the flat. A little quiet, Jesse says. A lot tidier. His dad asks how Anna is doing in Denmark. Jesse tells him that they text every other day.

"Oh? That's nice. I liked her." It's a comment so weightless and false that it evaporates into the air between them as soon as it leaves his dad's mouth. Jesse watches him sip his tea with a knowing look, reminded of how they'd dismiss Anna even when she was sat at the very table where they sat now. He scores another line in the mental tally he hates himself for keeping and asks where his mum is.

"Mmm," Michael hums, swallowing his tea. "She left last week."

"Where's she off to?"

"Hmm?"

"Where's she gone to?" He repeats it louder for the benefit of his dad's good ear.

"She's up north."

"In Leith or Fife?"

"Leith, with Irene."

"Mmm," Jesse hums back, lifting the cup to his mouth. There are flashes of memory like the fluttering pages of a book. Irene was always his favourite aunt. "When's she back?" He sets the cup down on the table, noticing for the first time that the house feels quieter than usual.

"No, Jesse. She left last week."

It takes a moment but the reality sinks in so effortlessly that it feels like Jesse knew before he crossed the threshold of the front door. His eyes dart up to his dad's face. Michael's expression is unmoved but Jesse's is one of quiet alarm as he tries to measure the weight of his dad's words.

"Do me a favour and don't let on to Nina or Mark. I could do without the hassle." The hassle of his other children feeling vindicated by another failed marriage. "I don't speak to Nina and Mark, dad." Or they don't speak to him. Jesse is never certain which way around it goes. Michael doesn't respond. He just continues to drink his tea in quiet contemplation that's no longer focused outwardly on Jesse, who knows that he's hit his dad's limit on active listening. Anything else will fall on deaf ears so he makes the decision to leave. His cup is still full but he never took his coat off.

As he makes his way to the door, his dad follows behind. Jesse unlocks and opens it, lingering in the doorway with one foot outside on the step. Will you be alright? Call me if you need anything. But the words never leave his mouth. He thinks of his mum in Leith and feels a pang of guilt, but it's a different kind of guilt than he's used to. His dad breaks the silence. "Well get on with it, you're letting the cold in."

As the door closes behind him, Jesse scuffs his foot over the welcome mat and watches his breath leave his mouth. He remembers something Nina said to him before he was old enough to know what it meant. Something that starts badly will end badly.