Ripple Effect

Chapter Thirty-Three: ...privacy.

Henry

Saturday, 17th November, 2018

10:13 AM

Sunlight spooled in through the window of the spare room and illuminated the motes of dust that spiralled through the air, but as Henry ended the call and placed his cell phone—(the upgrade he'd been wanting, the upgrade he wished he'd never needed)—down on the window sill, the beams carried with them more chill than warmth.

"So...what did they say?"

Henry's heart lurched, and he spun around.

Jason leant in the doorway, his arms folded loosely across his chest and crumpling the open fronts of his plaid shirt.

"Hey, Jase." Though Henry's heart continued to pound, he tried to pass it off with a smile. "I didn't see you there."

He picked up the fitted sheet that was folded into a sort of square at the end of the bed, and he flicked it out so that it billowed like a market stall canopy caught in the breeze. It released a waft of laundry detergent, a sting of synthesised lavender.

"Give me a hand, will you?"

But Jason didn't budge. "What did they say?"

"What did who say?" Henry tugged the corners of the sheet over the edge of the mattress one by one. His back ached as he stooped down.

"Come on. I know you call them every morning."

Henry glanced over his shoulder. "Call who?"

Jason gave an exaggerated eye roll. "The neural health facility."

Henry chuckled and he smoothed out the non-existent creases in the sheet. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Thought that was more PC than nuthouse or asylum."

Henry shot him a look. He chucked a pillow at him, followed by a second. "Do these." He pointed to the pillowcases that rested on the wicker chair in the corner of the bedroom.

Jason grumbled, but he trudged into the room, snatched up the pillowcases and slumped down into the seat. The wicker creaked beneath his weight. He stuffed one pillow into its cover, and then wedged it by his side and grabbed the second from where it rested between his feet.

When the pillows were done, he chucked them back at Henry. "Seriously though, how is she?"

"She's fine." Henry plumped up the pillows. A faint mustiness bloomed from them, a reminder of how infrequently they had guests. Then he set them at the top of the bed.

The wicker squeaked as Jason eased up from the chair. He sidled closer to the bed, and his arms came to rest across his chest once more. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he shot a quick glance towards the door, towards the hum of the television and the thump of footfall against floorboards that drifted up the stairs. "Look, I get that you don't want to scare the girls, but I know why she's there, so you don't have to try and protect me."

"She's fine, Jase." Henry cast him another look, and then fed the corners of the duvet into the teal-and-pink-chequered cover. He held the duvet up and shook it out until the opening in the cover fell down to the bottom, and then he laid it out on the bed and squashed the remaining corners inside before doing up the poppers. Each one released a snap into the silence.

"How's she ever meant to talk about it if you won't?"

"I will talk about it—" Henry adjusted the quilt so that its edges draped evenly across the mattress. "—with her."