Ever by My Side Read Online Free PDF

distracted by the culinary demands of mixing powdered potato with boiling water.
    “Of course I do,” she said, “it’s just that at school, things are different. Now, be a good boy and go and set the table.”
    So I did, dispirited by my own inconceivable bad luck in having a mother who was not only a kindergarten teacher but was also
my
kindergarten teacher.
    And so, faced with the unrelenting rejection of every reasonable ploy I attempted to obtain a puppy, I made the fatal mistake so many children turn to as a last resort—the desperate, always disastrous tactic of the ultimatum.
    “If you don’t let me get a dog I’m going to be the naughtiest boy in your class.”
    I think I stamped some authority on my bravado by folding my arms across my chest and delivering a firm nod of my head combined with a loud huff.
    Tolerance finally gave way to anger and a stare with the kind of icy intensity that instantly broadcasts “You have gone too far.”
    “Nicholas. You are
not-getting-a-dog
. Do not ask me again.”
    This time my silence and the single tear rolling down my cheek were grounded in a new and unprecedented reality—failure.

    Fortunately, at that age, all memory is pretty much short term and as soon as the potency of my mother’s command had started to wear off, I again turned to my father to take up my case.
    “Duncan, we can hardly afford to feed ourselves, let alone a dog.”
    It was bedtime and I was finding excuses to avoid heading upstairs, sitting in front of the TV, trying out “just one more minute” for the fourth time, when I overheard a whispered conversation in the kitchen.
    “I know, I know,” said Dad too loudly, before being reprimanded and continuing in a softer tone, “but I think this new job is really working out. I like training to be an electrician. I can see myself sticking with it, doing it for a living. People will always need their TV or their radio fixed and they’re always telling me how the money’s going to start getting better pretty soon.”
    There was a pause and I edged toward the kitchen door, drawn by the silence, hanging on this moment of capitulation, poised to run in, screaming, hands waving in the air, ready to join my parents in a celebratory group hug.
    Instead I stared and although the words said it all, it was what I saw that found its mark.
    “That’s great,” said Mum, but her flat tone belied any genuine enthusiasm. “I’m glad.”
    And in her eyes she couldn’t hide the frustration and familiarity of having heard it all before.
    Dad may have reeled from the blow to his ego, but I could tell that in part, he thought he deserved it.
    He caught me standing in the doorway.
    “Go brush your teeth and get into bed,” he ordered, and then added, softening, “I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.”
    I did as I was told and waited.
    “Mum will never let us get a dog, will she?” I said as soon as he joined me.
    Dad flinched, wanting to convince me otherwise but uncertain where to begin. He perched on the bed beside me.
    “Your mother’s just worried about money, that’s all. Buying a dog let alone keeping a dog is expensive and it’s not helped by me jumping from one job to the next. Just promise me you won’t end up like your old man.”
    This was well-trodden territory, Dad rambling on about his misspent youth, his lack of high school qualifications and his desperate attempts to carve out a career path while starting a family. He had already told me the story of how he tried his hand at being a door-to-door salesman and a truck driver delivering toilet rolls (which I believe I was meant to find both amusing and demeaning).
    “But now you are mending TVs,” I said. “Now you have a good job. A job you like.”
    He eyed me with a sideways glance, instantly forgiving the sneaky eavesdropper.
    “Let me tell you a story about when your mother and I were first married.”
    I grinned and squirmed in my bed, getting comfortable, savoring this