"Come on Tess," my father said, his booming voice not quite filling the void that had formed in the room, "it's not like we don't love you anymore."
He had just proceeded to tell me that he and my mother were selling our house, that I couldn't go with them and, as such, was about to find myself homeless. I was being kicked out of the house… the house that I had lived in since before my memories lost their fuzzy edges, the house that was home, the only home I'd ever known and I couldn't imagine any other taking its place, not to mention some unknown lout taking over my bedroom- learning all the nooks and crannies of my personal space.
"Don't look at me like that," the loud voice ordered. I didn't really connect the voice with the man standing before me, I was far too busy glaring daggers at him, my nostrils flared wide, my jaw set in an angry lock.
"How would you like me to look at you? Anything to comply with your desires, father." I spat the last word out, my voice dripping with venom even more poisonous than the hard set of my face.
He shuffled on the spot as though he were slightly unnerved by my all-encompassing anger. As he ought to be.
"Look, we've given you fair warning. There's nothing you can do or say that will change the outcome anyway."
"Fair warning?" I was on the brink of exploding, my whole body trembling from the anger that I was biting back, anger beyond that which was rolling off me in waves, "you gave me two bloody weeks! You must have been planning this for months yet you give me two weeks notice!"
I could see that his typical way of handling things was beginning to take over. His 'work face' masked his real thoughts and he started to dismiss my protests as though I were just another of his employees begging him to take back those three little words "you've been sacked" and not force them to pack their belongings into cardboard boxes and vacate their office before the appointed date. Once again, I found that I was just yet another employee to the man, not a daughter. I was someone to steer in the right direction, to watch over with an aloof awareness of their actions but I wasn't someone to shower in love. I never had been.
"Two weeks is more than enough time to find a place of your own," he informed me, obviously fully believing his own words.
I felt as though I'd fallen from a great height and the fall had left me winded. I couldn't get my head around the fact that he really believed what he was saying, he actually thought that, despite the current economical and housing crises, I could pull off a miracle and find a place of my own within a fortnight. At some point in the last sixty-one years he really had lost his marbles.
"Yes, because finding a place to live on my salary is going to be as easy as pie."
Sarcasm oozed from my words like big, ugly beetles digging their way out of an underground lair. Despite biting my tongue to try to keep at least some control over my anger and the pretence of civility, I couldn't stop my biting words.
I glanced across at my mother, hiding in one of the high-backed lounge chairs on the other side of the room. She was staring at her hands, her fingers methodically plucking imaginary dust and hair from her skirt. Her body language screamed that she just wanted the chair to come to life and gobble her up so that she wouldn't have to deal with the situation at hand. A snort of disgust ground its way out of my throat, my gaze on her sour and demeaning. She was in league with my father. She'd known about this all along. Hell, it was my trust in her innocent and sweet voice that had lured me from the sanctuary and protection of my room in the first place.
There were no doubts in my mind that my father had been putting this confrontation off for as long as possible, nor that he wouldn't have continued to put it off until the day before, maybe even the day of, the move had my mother not bullied him into giving me at least some forewarning. But now that I was in the room and the bombshell had been dropped she was hiding in the corner, hoping that her presence would go unnoticed. She was too cowardly to look at me and speak the words herself. It was a good thing that she was staring so intently at the imaginary dirt because she would have withered under the intense glare I was shooting at her had she dared to meet my eye.
"Your mother and I have been talking about this for a while, Tess. The house is getting to be too big for us now that your brothers are gone and it's too hard for us to keep such a big place spick and span around our jobs."
Us? I wanted to demand. Us? He never did any housework! It was my mother's job to keep the house clean, do the washing, do the ironing, cook and scurry around after the kids. It always had been. The only thing he ever did to help out was take the dog for a walk, and even then he'd bring Muttley back covered in mud, leaving a steady brown trail wherever he went.
In the end, I limited myself to a disbelieving scoff.
"Sam, Dan and James have been gone for years," I dismissed his claims, "you'll have to do better than that."
I spoke the truth and he knew it. My parents had waited seven years after the birth of my youngest older brother before they'd had me. Sam had left the house over twelve years ago, followed by Dan and James over the next few years. It had been only the three of us and Muttley in the house for almost six years now, and for the past four years I'd only been there during my breaks from Uni. We'd all managed well enough for that long so I knew that there was another driving factor behind this decision and for whatever reason they didn't want to let me in on it.
"There's nothing you can do the changed this," he repeated, "we're leaving the house in two weeks time and you have no choice but to be gone by then."
He was going back to his original train of thought. I knew he didn't like being dragged off topic for too long but that didn't stop a flash of annoyance from ripping through me that my request for knowledge as to why exactly I was being thrown out of the house, my own home, was dismissed as though the question held next to no importance anyway.
"Are you paying the rent for this imaginary house then?" I demanded tartly, still seething from the increase in adrenaline pumping through my system. He knew as well as I did that I couldn't get by on my wages. Maybe I could afford food and heating if my meals were sparse and low quality food, but the idea of returning back to my student days really didn't hold any appeal for me, and I couldn't afford the house to pay the heating for at any rate.
I gasped, sudden realisation sweeping over me as I remembered a phone call from my mother during my last year of study and training. I recollected now that she'd told me that she felt like the house was empty and cold now that all her babies had left, that she didn't like the vast amount of space being filled only by herself and the dog, my father spending most of his life at his office, and she wanted a bungalow that she could make warm and homey.
This brand new knowledge, that my mother was the culprit and the driving force behind all of this, left me reeling. She was the one that was supposed to be on my side, backing me up in my times of need, not the one plotting against me.
I turned the full power of my angry glare to her and marched across the room to stand above her until she was forced to pick her head up and acknowledge my presence there.
"It's all your fault, isn't it?" I hissed though clasped teeth.
She emitted a small sound that sounded almost like an awkward squeak and glanced past me to my father, her eyes begging for his help before she locked her gaze back on her lap.
A suffering sigh sounded behind me but I ignored it, repeating my question over and over until a hand clasped down on my shoulder and whirled me around. He looked angry as well now, leaving me feeling off balance and unsteady, I was supposed to be the victim in all of this – I cursed my fear of his wrath that kept me from lobbing a punch into his gut.
"Alright Tess, that's enough now," he ordered. I glared defiantly up at him but didn't dare to open my mouth, "Yes, we will pay for your rent for the time being. Now sit down, shut up and listen to the terms."
I reluctantly followed his instructions and perched myself on the edge of the sofa against my wishes.
He informed me that they would pay any rent and help me with bills for the time being until I got a decent enough job that would allow me to pay for everything by myself. I knew that as a high-ranked businessman with only a wife, dog and daughter to pay for, he wasn't strapped for money. On top of this, if my theory was correct and they had purchased that quaint little bungalow that my mother had had her eye on, then he would make a substantial profit from selling this house to be replaced by a much smaller one. The condition for this ongoing payment was that I actively set off on a job search. Well, my life sounded like, in the space of ten minutes, it had just become one search after another. I most definitely was not best impressed by this change in circumstances.
"Before I agree or disagree to anything," I started, sighing in defeat as all of us knowing that I had no choice but to agree anyway, "I wanted you to tell me one thing."
"Go on."
"How long have you been planning the move for?"
The tall man before me pursed his lips as though he were considering whether or not an answer to my request would be diplomatic or unnecessary stupidity.
"A year and a half," came the eventual answer, sent my way with a dismissive sniff.
I felt the blood ebb away from my face as another cold blanket of choked realisation folded itself firmly around me like an unwelcome ally. Eighteen months and they'd left it to the last two weeks to inform me of this crucial development in my life. At least the answer confirmed my suspicions that everything had been set in motion during my last year of study.
"You know that we'll be here for you to fall back on if you need to," my father's voice picked up once again, "we don't want you to ever have to deal with any money troubles. But it's time for you to find your own place in life – without our constant protection."
For a moment I dryly thought that he was forcing me off into 'my own place in life' at a much younger age than he was when he took his first steps, but then he turned and left the room and realisation sunk in that his speech had sounded very practised. I briefly wondered whether my brothers had been submitted to the same speech, but decided that now was not the right time to fan the flames of sibling rivalry. Instead, I turned to face my mother, who had finally plucked up enough courage to face me.
Her lips trembled and her eyes wandered everywhere around the room, resting on anything but refusing to look at me. Despite this, her voice was strong and unwavering when she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Tess."
The apology sounded sincere enough but I wasn't ready to accept it. In my mind she was still the bad guy who was forcing me out of my cocoon of protection to face the real world before my wings were ready to be spread. I felt a sneer tug its way over my features and I couldn't help the unsavoury thoughts from rushing through my mind.
My mother squeaked again, as though she were a mouse about to be caught in my kitty-cat claws and quickly scurried from the room. Coward, I thought sourly.
Finally alone in the room where I'd spent my childhood warring with my three older brothers – countless small lumps out of the wall plaster attesting to our many battles; the room where my mother had first sat me down to talk about the birds and the bees, much to my disgust at the time; the room reflecting numerous peals of laughter as we told each other stories, and tears of sorrow as we learnt of the deaths of loved one, I found myself feeling very small, very insignificant and very, very alone in life.
I collapsed back into my seat, deflated like a balloon that had been filled with air and then cruelly had its end pinched together, only to be released and left fizzing around the room as the air rushed free of me, humorous farting noise and all, completely and utterly out of control.