SURGERY
A short story by Mick Macve
Part 4
Zoe’s family lived about three miles from Steven. As he opened the front gate, he was impressed by how tidy the front garden was. The lawn was in good condition; there were no bare patches. There was a beautifully trimmed hedge, but Steven suddenly realised there were no plants. Inside was the same. Every room was very tidy; there was one framed print in each room, the furniture was well kept and in good condition, but there was very little else. There were no ornaments, no magazines, no books, no CDs. In fact there was no sign that anyone lived in the house at all.
Zoe’s parents were very welcoming and immediately gave Steven a cup of coffee. However, while they were waiting for Zoe there were long periods of silence.
Steven felt uncomfortable. Things were getting more and more difficult for him. In order to get Zoe’s attention he had lied to her. In order to avoid a confrontation with his Dad, he had lied to him. Although things were now looking good for him and Zoe, his Dad was ill. The doctors did not know what was wrong. A viral infection they had said. That could mean anything. Steven had visited him every day for the last two weeks and although there had been a gradual improvement, his father was not his normal self. There were no jokes. There was no banter. There was very little talk. Mr. Williams showed no interest in football, in Steven’s news, in anything apart from his own illness. It seemed like his father was missing something. It was like some inner spark had been removed from him. Steven was reminded of a science fiction programme he had watched where some aliens believed that if doctors cut you open to perform surgery, your soul left your body. Well, Mr. Williams had not had an operation, but it seemed like his soul was missing.
"Hello crim!"
"Hello, Zoe."
Zoe’s parents looked at Steven questioningly.
"Steven’s a criminal. We forced open the door of that murderer in the High Street."
Mr. Johnson tried to sound mature, but his face betrayed his pride.
"Now you go carefully, young lady. Just watch your step. Where are you off to tonight?"
"The Rose And Crown," replied Zoe.
Oh! Are we?" asked Steven.
"Yes."
Zoe’s reply left no room for debate, but Steven knew there was no way he was going to the Rose And Crown. His Dad’s friends would be there and they would be clamouring to know the latest news. He hadn’t told Zoe about his Dad’s illness. There was soemthing Steven didn’t like about the way she had dismissed Steven’s account of his Dad’s reaction to coming to the police station. He still really really fancied Zoe and for some reason that he couldn’t rationalise, he didn’t want to crave sympathy from her.
"Why don’t we go the cinema?"
"No."
"Pizza?"
"No."
"I don’t want to go the Rose And Crown."
At least that was honest.
"Why not?"
"Because, because..." Steven switched his brain into overdrive.
"Because the landlord chucked a black couple out of his pub last week."
Now he was NOT being honest.
"What?"
"Didn’t you hear about it?"
"No! That’s disgraceful. We’ll have to go to the Chequers and we’ll organise a boycott of the pub. We’ll need to sort out placards, leaflets….."
What had he started? He had lied about his favourite pub and the whole of his Friday night was going to be taken up with plans for another demonstration. Why couldn’t he simply tell the truth? It always seemed so much easier to lie. He never anticipated the problems that evolved out of his lying. Now he would have to pretend to be interested in all this organising, when what he really wanted to do was organise a way for him and Zoe to become closer. They occasionally held hands, and pecked each other on the lips every now and again, but whenever Steven tried to ‘develop’ things, Zoe didn’t respond. It seemed that every time Steven put his arm around her, she was moved to become even more radical and before he realised what was happening, she was waving her arms around and planning ways to overthrow the government with all thoughts of a proper romantic kiss lost in the welter of words.
Early next morning there was a phone call.
"This is the District Hospital. Your father’s condition has deteriorated. Please come to the Hospital immediately."
Surgery part 5
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last modified: December 4, 1998
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