Young Writers Society

Things did not get better. Things got worse. As I should have expected. My brief stint in optimism was abandoned and I had returned to my usual pessimistic self. Three days it took for someone to come out just to look at the boiler. The fat engineer named Bob didn't have the correct parts to "get the job done" and he had to come back again. That took another three days.

By the time we actually had access to hot water, I had forgotten what "clean" smelled like. Surprisingly, I didn't care. This wasn't what it was supposed to be like; and this certainly wasn't the fresh start that mum had promised us.

"Things will get better," she told me, although the look on her face contradicted her sentence.

"Yeah, when we go back home." I had to agree with Frankie's comment, which was a rare occurrence.

"Don't be so pessimistic Emily, it was just a little problem, which we've sorted out now," Mum explained. After our discussion last night we both agreed we hated it in the new house. We estimated that Mum and Dad felt the same, but weren't saying anything. Either way, Rose Lodge was never going to be our "home."

That was the topic of discussion at the dinner table - which had finally arrived along with the rest of the furniture. Among the realisation that Mum had forgotten to buy our new school uniform.

"Well what are we supposed to wear on Monday then Mum?" Frankie sounded genuinely concerned. Considering he was on the borderline of getting kicked out of his science class for smoking in the lab - which he had paid me not to tell Mum and Dad about - it seemed unlikely that he would be interested in what would happen with his new education.

"I'm sorry darling, it just wasn't a priority, I will have a word with the school and see what they say."

Dad said nothing about the matter, although he was concerned with talking incessantly about his new job. "Well, it's the same level of responsibility I had before, just with new people." Which apparently, made all the difference. I got the impression that no one was listening to him. But then, that was nothing new. As Mum and Dad played with their knives and forks like children, I felt the roles reverse. I took it upon myself to start the conversation.

"So, what are you going to do about employment then mum?" I asked.

Everything went quiet. Even the tapping of the knives on the china plates ceased. "Well," her tone was somewhat acidic. "Let's just say that things are not as I was told they would be and therefore it is going to be quite problematic for me to find work." She didn't look at Dad for the entire speech, but everyone in the room could tell that who the message was meant for.

In the silence, Frankie took the opportunity to make an announcement. "I ate a worm."

Mum and Dad stared at him in bewilderment as I stifled my laughter. "You did what?" Mum demanded. "I didn't really, I was just trying to break this awkward atmosphere. And it worked." Frankie smiled smugly to himself. I wished I had his audacity, it would help me to stop taking situations so seriously.

"I think I'll make myself a hot chocolate" he added, as he got to his feet and shuffled around the kitchen. Frankie's presence from the table initiated a new wave of conversation. Mum was speaking in hushed tones; and I couldn't work out why, because the noise of the microwave was not enough to cover her concern.

"I can't afford to buy the new uniform," she hissed. Dad frowned at her harshly and I began wondering what happened to the money from the sale of the house. Just as Frankie joined as at the table again, a loud BANG sounded in the distance.

"What the hell was that?!" Dad yelled, as he leapt to his feet. Scanning the room frantically, he found the source of the disturbance in the corner of the kitchen. The microwave had exploded; and was emanating a sticky brown mess over the kitchen counter.

"Oh for God's sake Frankie, however did you manage that?" he ran a hand over his brow, looking angrily at my brother.

"Sorry," Frankie looked guilty, but the corners of his mouth were struggling against curving into a smile.

"Have you noticed something Dad?" he snickered.

"What son?"

"That ever since we've been in this house, nothing has gone right," Frankie replied.

Dad didn't reply, but Mum shot him a look that spoke for him. And I had the identical thought: Yes Frankie, you're absolutely right. Things would improve once we got to school, because at least then we wouldn't still be in this house.