Page 8 of Don't Say A Word
Silence. His mouth does something odd, with his chin moving sideways. ‘Why would you do that?’
I try for a fake shrug. ‘I guess I misunderstood. Does it matter?’
He narrows his eyes at me. ‘Does it matter?’ He slams his hand on the table. The glasses shudder. I swallow. ‘Yes, it matters, Kate! What’s the matter with you?’
‘Come on, let’s not fight, Max. It’s Saturday night, she’s making new friends?—’
He gives me a look, head to the side. ‘You know what your problem is, Kate?’
You’re too weak.
‘You’re too weak,’ he says.
‘I’m sorry. I misunderstood?—’
‘Hey!’ He bangs the table again. Then he lays his hands flat and leans forward. ‘Do you take me for an idiot?’
‘No—’
‘Do I look like an idiot to you?’
‘Of course not,’ I whisper.
‘I said eight thirty, Kate,’ he slurs. ‘And when I say eight thirty, what does it mean?’
My body begins to shake. I sit on my hands. ‘Eight thirty.’
He leans forward even more and cups his hand over his ear. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Eight thirty,’ I say a little louder.
‘I really can’t hear you.’
‘Eight thirty!’ I shout.
He straightens up. ‘That’s right. Eight thirty means eight thirty. It’s not rocket science, is it? I won’t have my slut daughter running around the neighbourhood getting impregnated by some pimply kid just because you’re hard of hearing.’
‘She’s not doing that,’ I say.
‘Shut up, Kate. I’m going to get her.’ He stands, shoving his chair backwards.
God. What was I thinking? Did I really think I could stick on a short dress, make a rather average dinner and that Max would agree? What’s wrong with me?
‘Don’t, please! I told her she could stay until ten. It’s my fault.’
‘We’ve already established that.’
I run behind him down the corridor. He reaches for his jacket on the coat rack.
‘You’ll embarrass her in front of her friends.’ Then I add, ‘It will be a scene, you know that. What will people think?’
He stops and turns around. This is the only way to get to Max. Suggest that he may be embarrassing himself. My heart ispounding. He thinks about it for a moment, then hangs up his coat again and walks back down the short hall to the living room.
I let out a breath, then go and sit next to him on the sofa. I lean against him, my head on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.’
He rubs his hands down his face. ‘I’m going to tell the office I can’t go to Zurich.’
My heart skips a beat. I raise my head. ‘Why?’
