that concerned the doctors was the ‘whistling’ sensation that Shane said he was experiencing. The doctors had done routine tests, asked him thousands of questions and finally given him a brain scan. They said that the results would be due at three o’clock that afternoon and it was now five past. Every time they heard footsteps approaching the room they bristled, expecting a doctor to stride in and deliver bad news, but then the footsteps faded and the family relaxed.
Shane noticed that Catherine’s tapping had reached a crescendo and that she had been on the same page of her novel for the past half an hour.
An icy trickle of sweat dripped down Shane’s back as he saw the silver handle of the door swing down.
A short stocky Asian doctor came into the room, a paper file clutched in one hand. He nodded a general greeting to everyone.
“Afternoon Shane. How are you feeling?”
Shane just wanted to get the niceties over and done with. His mother’s face had taken on a morose expression. Clearly she expected something terrible; an undiscovered tumour perhaps? Catherine stared at him from over her book, fear in her blue eyes.
“Well then,” said the doctor with a smile, “Let’s get to business shall we…” as he opened the paper file and scanned the documents within. Shane wondered if he’d only just sensed the tension in the room.
“The results of your test show…”
July 2006
They sat at the table eating their meals, neither of them really caring for the expensive cuisine that had been prepared for them. The conversation had dried up almost entirely.
Shane thought about how much his sister had changed; he’d been away for too long and had become detached from the girl he once loved. He couldn’t rebuild what they once had. He just needed to focus on the reason for his visit and just get away as soon as he could. He searched his mind for some safe topic of conversation.
“So has Brantham changed much?” Shane asked already knowing the answer. Places like that never changed, they always had the same people, the inbreds, the bored teenaged yobs and the coven of busybodies.
Catherine speared an olive with her fork and smiled up at Shane.
“Oh well, there have been a lot of changes since you were last there. A lot of Hammond’s farmland was sold off a few years back to a retail developer who thought the village could do with a little more,” she tried to think of the appropriate phrase, “livening up. There’s a branch of Booksellers, a pharmacy, a baker’s and even a wine bar! As if the general store and post office isn’t enough.”
Shane was slightly amused and surprised; he could picture the rows of wrinkly-lipped old villagers queuing up with pitchforks griping about having their countryside dug up.
“Oh come now, at least it gives some of the kids somewhere to work that’s clean.”
Catherine tutted and rolled her eyes.
“Yes I suppose,” she said, “but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of hard labour. It makes people stronger–”
“Physically maybe…” Shane interrupted.
Catherine chose to ignore him.
“Although it just means that the people on the new housing development at the bottom of the village have something to do at the weekends when they’re not tearing up the roads in their big 4x4’s that don’t even see a speck of dirt. The wine bar keeps them out of the local pubs; they can flash their cards at the pretty waitresses there instead of the barmen and maids that have been working all their lives behind the bar!”
Shane was shocked at Catherine’s outburst; he sipped at his wine and was silent for a few seconds before he spoke.
“So I take it the locals don’t like the new housing development?”
“Well it’s easy to resent the people living there isn’t it? They buy the expensive houses that were built especially for them, commute to London everyday whilst their bored housewives try to fit in with the rest of us; barging into our
Shane noticed that Catherine’s tapping had reached a crescendo and that she had been on the same page of her novel for the past half an hour.
An icy trickle of sweat dripped down Shane’s back as he saw the silver handle of the door swing down.
A short stocky Asian doctor came into the room, a paper file clutched in one hand. He nodded a general greeting to everyone.
“Afternoon Shane. How are you feeling?”
Shane just wanted to get the niceties over and done with. His mother’s face had taken on a morose expression. Clearly she expected something terrible; an undiscovered tumour perhaps? Catherine stared at him from over her book, fear in her blue eyes.
“Well then,” said the doctor with a smile, “Let’s get to business shall we…” as he opened the paper file and scanned the documents within. Shane wondered if he’d only just sensed the tension in the room.
“The results of your test show…”
July 2006
They sat at the table eating their meals, neither of them really caring for the expensive cuisine that had been prepared for them. The conversation had dried up almost entirely.
Shane thought about how much his sister had changed; he’d been away for too long and had become detached from the girl he once loved. He couldn’t rebuild what they once had. He just needed to focus on the reason for his visit and just get away as soon as he could. He searched his mind for some safe topic of conversation.
“So has Brantham changed much?” Shane asked already knowing the answer. Places like that never changed, they always had the same people, the inbreds, the bored teenaged yobs and the coven of busybodies.
Catherine speared an olive with her fork and smiled up at Shane.
“Oh well, there have been a lot of changes since you were last there. A lot of Hammond’s farmland was sold off a few years back to a retail developer who thought the village could do with a little more,” she tried to think of the appropriate phrase, “livening up. There’s a branch of Booksellers, a pharmacy, a baker’s and even a wine bar! As if the general store and post office isn’t enough.”
Shane was slightly amused and surprised; he could picture the rows of wrinkly-lipped old villagers queuing up with pitchforks griping about having their countryside dug up.
“Oh come now, at least it gives some of the kids somewhere to work that’s clean.”
Catherine tutted and rolled her eyes.
“Yes I suppose,” she said, “but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of hard labour. It makes people stronger–”
“Physically maybe…” Shane interrupted.
Catherine chose to ignore him.
“Although it just means that the people on the new housing development at the bottom of the village have something to do at the weekends when they’re not tearing up the roads in their big 4x4’s that don’t even see a speck of dirt. The wine bar keeps them out of the local pubs; they can flash their cards at the pretty waitresses there instead of the barmen and maids that have been working all their lives behind the bar!”
Shane was shocked at Catherine’s outburst; he sipped at his wine and was silent for a few seconds before he spoke.
“So I take it the locals don’t like the new housing development?”
“Well it’s easy to resent the people living there isn’t it? They buy the expensive houses that were built especially for them, commute to London everyday whilst their bored housewives try to fit in with the rest of us; barging into our
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