Maria’s son never went out and always had a glib, insensitive reply for anything she threw at him and yet, she was met with a heavy silence.
‘COLIN! YOU ANSWER ME NOWWW!’
Still nothing was returned.
She ripped off her jacket with disgust and frustration and bounded up the cheap hessian weave, not stopping to knock on his bedroom door.
She was primed for an argument. As far as she was concerned etiquette could go screw itself.
The mess that he called a bedroom showed no sign of him. The tele was on and was showing a picture of the heads of George Clooney, Ewan Mcgregor, Kevin Spacey, Jeff Bridges and a goat.
‘Who watches this rubbish?’ She asked out loud and switched it off. ‘Colin! Are you in the bathroom, you idiot?!’
She made out a muffled sob, but couldn’t be certain if it had come from the bathroom or downstairs.
She swept out of her son’s bedroom and down the narrow, short landing, before stopping to bang heftily on the fragile plywood door.
‘I’m coming in if you don’t answer, young man,’ she called when no reply was forthcoming.
Again she heard the muffled sob.
The hot anger flooding her veins swiftly turned to cold panic.
‘Colin? Are you okay?’ She called as she threw open the bathroom door.