Page 19 - SpontaneousSuccessFINAL6

SPONTANEOUS SUCCESS
And then, the roar of a car engine. A sleek, black
beast of a car, its chrome gleaming menacingly in the
winter sunshine, screeched to a halt at the bottom of the
steps, my Uncle Harry behind the wheel.
“Nicholas." He said. "Your dad's dead. Get in.”
The world lurched, the ground shook beneath my
feet. The church, the bishop, the confirmation – all of it
dissolved into a meaningless blur, leaving only those
three words hanging in the air. Dead. My dad. The news
hit me hard, stealing my breath and leaving me gasping
in the sudden vacuum of loss.
He bundled me into the car, the leather seats cold
against my skin, the smell of stale ciggies and aftershave
filling my nostrils. Back to school. Back to the prison of
routine and rigid expectations. He pressed five shillings
into my palm and then he was gone, leaving me standing
on the gravel driveway alone.
That evening I bawled my eyes out in the narrow
alleyway between the woodwork shop and the gym
where no-one would hear me. I crumpled and hit the
walls many times but I held myself up and never fell over.
I cried for my dad. I cried for my mum. And I cried for
my brother.
I slid to the ground my back against the gym, my feet
against the woodwork shop. From high up on the corner
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