Turn Around (Conor Maynard)

Chapter 13

As I joined the table, Conor scooted his chair, looking straight at Mum. She was blushig like a little girl recieving roses.

She cleared her throat. "Well, welcome to our family, Conor. We're thrilled to have yu with us." Mum looked over at Dad, who coughed.

"Yes, we hope you have a good tie in AUstralia while you're here. We might have to show you around Melbourne."

Conor chuckled. "I woud love that, thanks agai for having me." He glanced at me sideways. "Congratulations again." All life was gone from his voice, and it made me wonder about whether or not the politeness was to please my parents.

"Thanks.' I looked at Mum, who motioned at the dinner sitting in the middle of the table. "Oh, this is our favourite, one of Mum's cassaroles. We thought you might enjoy it."

"Thankyou." He smiled at my mother, who picked up her fork. We all did the same. The beautiful tenderness of the beef made me momentarily forget Conor's apparent dislike for me.

***

A unified clatter of cutlery signified the end of our meal. It was the first ound since Conor had thanked my mother. Ah. I sighed, sitting back and stretched. When I did so, Conor, shot me a look of utter disgust, his nose crinkling. He did so, knowing full well that my parents' attention was diverted elsewhere.As soon as he did this, my stomach dropped. He looked at me as though I had no right to feel full and satified in my own home. I looked away, hating myself for thinking he would change. He's rude, and that's all there is to it. 

Mum looked away from Dad, and Conor's expression shifted. Of course, she didn't notice. I guess he was used to acting the way he wanted people to see him as. "Annie, dishes."

I pushed myself up from the table, reaching over the empty pot to colect my parent's plates, and as I did, Conor put his on top of mine. I looked at hik to thank him, and noticed another change. His eyes were o longer blue as the night sky, glitttering with strs. They had turned to te colour of flat grey metal, lifeless and dull. The way he looked at me last week was so different to how he looked at me now I had to remind mysekf it was the same person. It was as though I had offended him deeply that he couldn't ear to look at me. The disgust eminted from his body language, too, as he leaned away from me as I passed him.

***

My hands were stuck in soapy water, and bubbles were climbing up my arms. I took a step to the left, having srubbed everything. I was ready to move on to rinsing, and I almost had a heart attack. Standing, leanig against the opposite cabinets was Conor, staring at me. Not in the disgusted way he did at dinner. A more confsed expession was shown on his face.

"What are you doing?" He was looking at the soapy water my hands were immersed in.

"Um, washing the dishes?" Wasn't it obvious?

"Why don't you just usethat machine type thing? It''s what they were made for.." His confusion grew. He looked at me as though he was missing a vitl fact of something, sort of like the way he had looked at our family portrait.

"It doesn't work, so I have to do it most nights." I looked back at him, His confusion had faded, leaving a blank stare in its place. When he said nothing, I turned back to the dishes and got lost in my own little world. He left the kitchen, and I heard a door close. I started humming, the sound of it soothing my sudden irritation somewhat. It wasn't Conor's fault he always had everything he ever needed, or people to do everything everything for him.

All the dishes were glistening when I finished, the occasional droplet sliding dow the cookware. I went to my room, shutting myself in with my thoughts.