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It said ‘Why are you here? What are you doing?’ Nick did not know why or what, but he knew that it was too late for that anyway. They made small talk through out the evening. Nick’s cell phone rang once with an angel’s voice on the line. He told her an estimated time that he would be home. He prayed it gave him little time to continue to fall into the trap that Vanessa so silently laid. During their talk, Vanessa spoke of how she broke up with some author. She then spoke of how she attended a few rallies protesting the war in Iraq. Lisa’s father was a veteran and wanted to sign up to go to the front lines. Nick decided early on not to take a side, he didn’t like death, but he didn’t like cruel and unusual death and torture. He was about as in the middle as you could get on the issue. There was a fatal mistake during the exchange of conversation. Nick smiled when she spoke of the author. That smile would be the finishing of Nick. As Nick watched on with his silent audience,. My own sense of apprehension was almost tangible by now. Icould almost taste it - a spicy, cloying flavour of delicious unease atthe way we were drawing out the drama in which we both knew we wereacting, but in which tension was hidden beneath a veneer of civility. Attimes, I could hear my heart beating. My mother, while perfectly politeto me, was restless and irritable, complaining at the lack of anythinggood to watch or read, and the fact that during the run-up to Christmasit was impossible to go out without being overwhelmed by drunkadolescents (her phrase). She walked round, tidying up, picking up andputting down ornaments and magazines, her heels clicking on the woodenfloor of the dining area. Once, she stumbled over a rug, and swore at itangrily, giving me a look which suggested that it was somehow my faultthat she had tripped. We were both exhausted by the time we went to bed.The quarrel started, as I half expected, the following evening as soon asmy mother had returned.
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