Katmeridou

By Atharva Patwardhan

Amid the gloomy backdrop of Glasgow’s streets, Noah strives to carve out a semblance of normalcy. His odyssey through secondary school is fraught with hurdles as he grapples with familial strife and the daily grind of academia. Determined to secure a future beyond the confines of his challenging circumstances, he is intent on performing well enough to land a respectable job.

Noah’s sanctuary lies in the ivories of the piano, an instrument he has dedicated years to mastering. It’s more than a pastime: it’s his lifeline, providing solace in moments when the weight of the world bears down on him. When his school announces a music competition complete with a lucrative cash award, Noah sees a glimmer of hope. With the keys at his fingertips, he sets out to conquer the contest, a beacon of determination in a city that seems to have turned its back on him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035831159

Atharva Patwardhan

Atharva Patwardhan was born in Middlesbrough, England, in 2002. At the age of seven, he emigrated up to Scotland with his family. He completed his first novel, Katmeridou, at eighteen years old.

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About the Author

Atharva Patwardhan was born in Middlesbrough, England, in 2002. At the age of seven, he emigrated up to Scotland with his family. He completed his first novel, Katmeridou, at eighteen years old.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to:

Afrodita Katmeridou – My piano teacher for whom I’ve used her surname as the title.

Sebastian Hawker – My only genuine friend in school.

My two sisters, Ketaki and Kasturi – For which this book might show a different side of me.

Copyright Information ©

Atharva Patwardhan 2024

The right of Atharva Patwardhan to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398424432 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035831159 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I am wholeheartedly grateful to the team at Austin Macauley who have worked on the publication of this novel.

1

The air was crisp, chilly and unnerving to say the least. Scotland had always been cold, and this day was no exception. Tourists have always complained about the weather in the UK, especially Scotland, but after a while, it becomes a way of life. On the pavements of Glasgow were either bits of litter, dog droppings or an occasional empty can of beer. Noah walked past them and kept his gait steady. It was a Wednesday; he’d just come out of school and was making his way towards his piano teacher’s house. The weather made his body shiver, and his white shirt and tie weren’t doing much to protect him from the harsh winds of the city’s breeze. He had gloves on but that only did so much, and thus, he kept walking at a somewhat fast pace, so freezing to death wouldn’t be a possible option.

His piano teacher’s house was a fifteen-minute walk from the school and Noah went eagerly, with a spring in his step, wanting to elude the cold as fast as possible, so he could go and play his beloved musical instrument. A couple passed him who were holding hands and Noah frowned while progressing further. He’d always had a pessimistic view of love, what with all the commitments and bondage that it required. His parents’ marriage was a troubled and strenuous burden on him which required a lot of mental strength to endure. His mother had struggled with her sanity and often was easily reduced to having suicidal thoughts while his father remained an egotistical and furious man, whose body was becoming more brittle by the second. Noah knew very little about him, with his secrecy for certain issues remaining a priority and communication on the decline recently. He ruminated about his father sometimes and thought about the possibility of him being unable to walk in the future.

Eventually, he made it. It was a block of flats and his teacher lived on the top floor. The outside of the building was a brown, mahogany colour and appeared identical to the others that were adjacent to it. It stood tall and stable while cars on the major road whizzed by with an occasional bark from a dog. Noah grasped at the steel door handle and pushed it down. The door opened with a slight creak and he began his ascent to the top. He arrived at the fourth floor, calmly and controlled as his piano teacher’s front door gradually came into view. The number thirty-four in gold steel letters, which appeared to be rusty against the black hue of the door. Just before it and to the left, there was a large window in which the whole of the surrounding area could be seen, along with all the other neighbouring flat towers that were huddled together.

Noah paused briefly, witnessing a man taking his dog for a walk after exiting onto the ground floor and a lady park her car, presumably coming home from work and keen to end the day. He pressed the doorbell and faintly heard a tone emit from inside the house. The door unlocked and a short woman in her fifties, wearing colourful trousers and a yellow jumper, stood there. It was Ulana, his piano teacher. She was a small Ukrainian-born woman living in Kyiv and teaching in the conservatoire for thirteen years, before leaving for Scotland just immediately after the disastrous effects of Chernobyl on the whole of Eastern Europe. She had been teaching Noah for the last two years and her demeanour and attitude remained the same; a very self-reliant and sincere woman looking to study her true calling of music.

Noah’s parents had conveniently found her after she’d placed an advertisement on a job listing newspaper, looking to earn additional income. As expected, Noah was marginally apprehensive about meeting her for the first time, unsure of her experience and fighting general nervousness simultaneously. Over the years, they had built up an amicable friendship and joyous rapport, and he held her in high esteem as if she was his second mother.

Noah, please come in, she said cheerfully.

He entered the flat and closed the door behind him, taking off his shoes at the entrance and looking around. It was a small flat with only four rooms and Noah wondered how effortless it would be for someone to lose their sanity in a place like this. His teacher wasn’t very rich but made enough to live on through giving these lessons. She was a university professor and taught music theory to the students whilst giving these piano lessons as another modest source of additional income, to which Noah felt some sense of remorse for her.

The flat had cream-coloured walls and a pleasant aroma to it. The living room consisted of a small, brown wooden table with a vase of flowers on it, a small plain white sofa, a bookshelf with numerous music and history books and an upright piano perched at the end of the room. This was how simply she lived, and Noah admired it, although his house wasn’t quite filled with luxuries either. He’d always wondered how such simplicity and minimalism could affect the human brain. The texture and smoothness of the carpet was much more inviting than the bottom of his shoe as he entered into the living room, set down his school bag and sat down on one of the chairs at the table.

Often, when he came around, she would bake some type of cake or treat for him to eat. She made these delicacies and gave them to all of her students as she’d once told him, and he deeply appreciated the gesture. Biting into a succulent, soft piece of cake was refreshing after trudging along in the arctic temperature for fifteen minutes. Today, she brought out a pecan cake with lavish flower plates and set them on the table. Noah took a piece for himself as she sat down with him.

Thank you, he remarked.

For nothing, she said.

It was a phrase she’d always used in response to somebody expressing gratitude and he thought it was a very sweet personality trait of hers. He ate for a couple of minutes before she initiated the conversation.

How have you been?

Everything has been the same, more or less. Just schoolwork and the eventual cycle of repeating it every day.

Trust me, your life will get better. I have always thought that life gets better when you change your thinking. If you change your approach to something, you can change your life for the better. Small steps like those help us grow, both physically and mentally.

I know. Staying like this gets boring after a while.

I’ll tell you something. I was at the university teaching, and the students in my class are not so clever when it comes to theory. They are constantly asking me questions like how many flats does this key signature have or what chords are written on the page, and so on and so on. From where I come from, the children know more than the students here.

Really? How much more educated are the children than to the students?

A lot more.

Ulana usually explained and expanded upon her stories and experiences throughout the week, to which he sat patiently and listened. He’d always listened as a sign of respect and asked about various composers and orchestral implementation to help with his knowledge. Noah was often dazzled by how much she actually knew. The bleak side of Glasgow and its depressing, often ominous tone was a regular occurrence, but he found comfort in talking and confiding to his teacher. It was as if they were friends and simply catching up after being separated for a long time. This gave him some sort of hope.

How are your parents? Ulana said.

Honestly, you can never tell. My mum is on her medication, but she goes crazy all the time, just constantly starting unnecessary arguments and shouting. I can’t tell what’s happening in her head, but I would sure like to find out. Or maybe not, but who knows. I just don’t want her to hurt herself, but with all her commotion that she creates, it becomes increasingly difficult to care most of the time.

You should try to reason with your mum sensibly, and let her know that you care for her and love her. That is the best medicine in my experience.

Noah acknowledged this with a nod and looked off to the side.

And your father?

My father is okay, to say the least. He complies and tries to calm my mum down, but often with very little success. He’s working but the man seems to fade away, more and more every day. I’m a bit scared, Ulana.

But he hadn’t said the full truth. His father was quite a fierce and infamous figure in his life. Noah knew deep down that his father suffered from anger and mental health problems of his own but never admitted to them. He was too often trying to keep his mother sane that he didn’t even consider his own mental problems, nor admit them to himself or anybody else. After one too many beers or glasses of whiskey, he frequently became arrogant and abusive. Noah didn’t mention any of this because he didn’t want to darken the conversation with his family life.

Your parents will come around one day, and if they don’t, you have to try and distance yourself mentally from them. When you leave them to themselves, they will realise how much they need to change, and they might accept their past behaviours.

He gave an affirming nod, but that advice was hard to stick to. Family problems are difficult. There’s always an extent to how far someone can ignore help before it drives the others around them insane or even on the verge of collapse. They both sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Ulana said, Shall we start? Play your scales for me.

Noah wiped his hands, got up and sat down at the piano. He retrieved his music books from his school bag, opened the cover of the piano and adjusted the stand. He pressed a couple of notes and precise sounds come out from deep within the bowels of the instrument. It was satisfying and the soft, stringed sound of Ulana’s piano always relaxed him. The one thing that he cared about, above everything else, was the piano. He had performed decently in school at other subjects, but he took his piano playing very seriously and genuinely aspired to commit to his craft. He warmed up by playing Waltz in A minor by Chopin from one of his music books. It wasn’t too difficult and allowed him to stretch his fingers out. After this, Ulana took his scale book and asked him to play the required scales for the exam.

Play me C major, four octaves, hands together.

Noah traversed the entirety of keyboard. He often struggled with trying to maintain a steady rhythm, with Ulana always telling him to play calmly and not accentuate any notes when changing fingers.

Play me C minor, melodic and harmonic.

He did, and made a few slips with his hands, but was fine overall. They went through the entirety of the scales; every major, minor and minor melodic, whole tone, thirds, arpeggios, contrary motion and chromatic contrary. It sounded substantially difficult, but wasn’t too arduous if a person knew the basic principle as every scale is virtually played in the same way. The scales had to be performed from memory in the exam, with the examination board vehemently claiming that it helps with hand coordination and a baseline for fundamental music theory knowledge. It’s probably bullshit, Noah thought, but it was a requirement.

He finished the scales and was glad that they were done. Himself and other musicians knew how annoying and meaningless the scales can be, no matter how simple some of them were. He opened his other music book and began to play his exam pieces. The first one was Suite No.8 in F minor by George Frideric Handel. The second was Passepied, No. 6 from Six airs de danse by Léo Delibes and the third, Rosemary’s Waltz by Richard Rodney Bennett.

Noah didn’t like these pieces very much, but they provided some type of theme, so they were generally pleasurable to play insofar as the feeling could be interpreted. The Handel piece and the Passepied required lots of hand jumps and movement in order to be played correctly. The Rosemary’s Waltz was very abstract but also required complex and strenuous fingering. This was his favourite piece by far and Noah admired it due to its soft and subtle nature.

He started with the Handel. It had four flats. The prominent feature of baroque music was that the two hands often did separate things, a polyphonic texture, and it was a challenge to perform this clearly. He played the entire piece while trying to implement the ornaments in and making a couple of slips with his hand in the process, but that was not the immediate problem according to Ulana. Noah’s sense of rhythm was incorrect, and his hands weren’t sounding like they were together. Ulana told him to start again, and he did. He still made the same mistakes but she told him to work on that for next time.

The Passepied had four sharps in it. Music pieces in the higher grades tended to have either more sharps, flats, tricky fingerings or intricate rhythms to make it more difficult. This piece wasn’t so difficult with the four sharps, but the stamina tended to be an issue for Noah. There were constant hand jumps in the left hand and keeping a light and delicate tone to the music proved to be especially challenging. He started and made a couple slips as usual, but it turned out to be relatively fine. The middle part with the modulation was tricky and Ulana also told him to practice this as to not disturb the flow of rhythm and feeling of the piece.

The last piece, the Rosemary’s Waltz, was Noah’s favourite. No sharps or flats but its precise and complex fingering earned it a place on this high grade’s syllabus. It was an expressive and light feeling piece with a somewhat opulent melody and had elements of colour and jazz due to it having dissonant harmony with some big chords. It was written in 1985 and was supposed to be in accordance to that of a Viennese waltz, a popular 19th century ballroom dance. Lovely, Noah thought. He put his hands on and began. There were a lot of slips now and again, having to repeat some sections, and he felt particularly ashamed after making these mistakes so frequently in front of his teacher. Its tempo and dynamic markings also proved to be a struggle and Ulana advised him the same as the last two pieces.

The last part was the aural test. This involved singing to which Noah was the least confident at. It required having to identify the types of cadences, sight sing, explain the characteristics of a piece of music and the type of modulation. This wasn’t terribly hard, but possessing a naturally exceptional ear able to hear various subtleties in the music was preferable . Noah was unsure as to how good his actually was. He identified some cadences and modulations and gave an incorrect answer infrequently but Ulana had no issue with it, as this would be remedied with more practice. His sight singing had to be worked on and Noah was somewhat less than indefatigable in his efforts to perfect this.

After an hour of working with Ulana, he relaxed by playing a Chopin waltz before leaving. The added bonus about her was that she didn’t focus on money. So many music teachers and educators always teach by their rate and don’t like to go even a second above that, because these types of people sadly don’t earn a steady income, and tend to be stingy and stubborn in that regard. However, Ulana wasn’t like that. She didn’t have many valuables or possessions but always remained a kind, old woman in pursuit to constantly perfect her craft. To him, Ulana definitely was his second mother. Noah sometimes thanked God for his unique stroke of luck in finding her, although religion was not a pastime he aspired to or practiced.

The walk back to his house was miserable as always. The unforgiving, frosty wind of Glasgow and the usual rubbish left on the street was a regular occurrence, and this demonstrated the destitute stature of the area Noah lived in. He exited her flat and walked on the main road to continue his journey home. The walk home wouldn’t take so long, but and the street was filled with the typical undesirables that the city could offer. It was starting to get dark and Noah knew better than to be here at this time. There was immense traffic, and that in turn caused pollution. There were some supermarkets with people dressed in jogger bottoms and hoodies while smoking cigarettes from a pack, placed tenaciously in their hands. They stared at anybody passing and attempted to intimidate them while trying to stare into their soul or whatever was left of it. Homeless people and dog excrement was present on almost every corner. Noah tried to compose himself and keep a straight face without reacting to anything, but that proved to be more difficult than anticipated. He was also still in his school uniform, and people generally tended to make comments and judgements from the way that others were dressed. His school uniform may suggest vulnerability or unfamiliarity, because it was the attire of a child, not an adult.

As he walked past a small supermarket, he saw a middle-aged woman talking to a homeless man. The homeless man had a cardboard sign with a message telling passersby to give him money while he appeared to be wearing multiple layers of clothing and eating from a small, white plastic box. The woman also appeared to be eating the same thing but it was unclear. She’d apparently gotten the man some food for the night and was now talking to him, apparently out of unforeseen altruism. Definitely a kind gesture to see, but one that surprised him as it’s not often observed around this area. Noah walked past them, and when he was confident they weren’t looking at him, he turned around and took another glance. Nothing new and he continued walking.

He was brisk and made sure not to pay attention to anything in particular. He saw plenty of people smoking and even inhaled some of the smoke himself, grimacing after doing so. He was now in between the city and the neighbourhood where his house wasn’t too far away. The traffic lights were blaring, cars were hastily making their way across the road; a honk of the horn every now and then. The streetlights were now lighting up the roads while cyclists and pedestrians tried to make their way home amongst the intensity. Noah looked up occasionally at the windows in the buildings, trying to find some remainder of human life but to no avail. He saw the faintly emanating orange lights of the various flats from above, but no one appeared for him to actively focus on.

Finally, he was in his neighbourhood now and saw the somewhat decrepit building with a light on in the window in the distance. That was his house. He stepped onto his street and was filled with hope having made it this far. Up ahead, he saw a gentleman approaching him. He was a tall man with a solid stature and a somewhat ominous presence. His face wasn’t clear, but he could be seen wearing black jeans and trainers with a thick puffer jacket coat and accompanying sunglasses. Noah didn’t understand his logic for doing so, but eventually concluded on the obscuring of his face, for a reason unbeknownst to him. Suddenly, he stopped dead in front of Noah and removed his sunglasses, with his accent being particularly and notably thick.

Hey, Sonny, do you know where I can get some whiskey around here?

No, sorry.

The man laughed maniacally for a moment, spat something out between his teeth and passed him. Noah was in shock for a second but regained himself and looked behind to catch a lasting impression of the man. Within a couple of seconds, he disappeared from view and Noah continued on.

He unlocked the front door of his house, went in and shut it quickly without looking back. His upper body was freezing from the walk home but he expressed some sense of gratitude after having made it back in one peace. It was pitch-black inside, and he immediately turned the light on in the hallway after taking off his shoes. The warmth of the house was instantly felt by him as he dropped his school bag down next to the door. He stood there for a moment, taking in the presence and ambience of his house. It wasn’t very big, just like Ulana’s, but it was slightly more spacious. It was a detached house, consisting of five rooms. There was Noah’s bedroom, his parent’s bedroom, a kitchen with the dining area, a bathroom and study. He saw a light originating from the kitchen area as the door was left ajar. As he entered, there was an incandescent light bulb hanging from the ceiling which illuminated a specific corner of the room. Under the light, he saw an old, somewhat angry man, sitting and using a typewriter. The man was in his mid-fifties and had circular black glasses on. He had a beard with some white patches present on it and was wearing a pristine white shirt with a grey jumper along with innocuous brown trousers. His hair was fading away and much didn’t appear to be left while his face moved effortlessly and undisturbed by the wrinkles that were present on it. At one moment, he looked up and locked eyes with Noah. His eyes were a dark brown colour and remained perplexing and enigmatic to him, as if they were reaching deep into his soul or trying to engage in intimidation. That was his father.

Hey, Noah said.

His father looked at him but didn’t say anything and returned to his work. Noah, with some apprehension, turned away and went back to his room. He changed out of his school uniform and put on his home clothes, which were a sudden comforting relief after today. He took out his schoolbooks from his bag, putting them on his desk while separating the music books from the pile, and placed them on his bed. Subsequently, he scooped up the music books in his hands and went and placed them on the upright black piano in the kitchen, where his father remained within close distance. After this, he sat down on the chair directly opposite his father, and waited for him to initiate the start of this exchange.

This man was deeply invigorated by his work and Noah’s assumption was that it was the only thing in his life that he took more seriously than family. After a couple of minutes of complete silence, he stopped typing and pulled out the page from the typewriter. He glanced at it briefly, set it aside and placed the typewriter away from him on the other side of the table, a seemingly clear observation that he had finished. There was no obstruction between them now.

How was school? he said.

The classic question, thought Noah. Fine.

Learnt anything new?

Just the usual. A small amount every day that adds up over time. Then we take an exam for it.

His father gave a noncommittal head nod. How was your piano lesson? he said.

It was great. Everything we do adds up. The pieces I’ve been playing are coming along nicely and the scales just require continuous practice even though they aren’t the most fun to play.

What’s not fun about them?

Unlike the pieces, the scales are just a repeated pattern, going up and down. Nothing interesting about it, and some of them aren’t easy to play. It’s like if you were to write the same story, repeatedly as a journalist, you’d get bored.

His father looked to the side and then back at him.

So why play them then?

It’s a requirement, so we have to, although no one enjoys playing them.

And what about your pieces? How are they different?

The pieces have a melody and a feeling together while the scales do not. You will always hear a theme or something that catches your attention in a piece.

Can you play your pieces to me?

It surprised him that he would ask for this. Uh, yeah. Which one? All of them?

Play the one which you think will capture my attention.

Okay.

Noah got up and sat down at the piano on the opposite side of the room. The piano was next to a glass cupboard with expensive cutlery inside and a box TV on two hind legs with buttons and knobs at its side. He opened the cover of the piano and laid his hands on. Getting the notes somewhat incorrect would not be an issue that his father would likely notice, just as he himself didn’t some of the time. He flipped the pages until settling on the correct piece and remained a little tense initially, but positioned himself and started.

He put his right thumb on the starting note, D, and carefully began to move his hands. He introduced his left hand shortly; trying to touch the notes as delicately as possible and with enough power to express the feeling of the music. Hand placement was difficult, and Noah made a couple of expected mistakes by accidentally pressing the wrong notes with his fingers. On some sections, he paused for a moment to figure the positioning and then continued. The first half was relatively easy but the middle and end sections required a little bit of work. As he was playing, Noah feared as to what his father might actually think of his ability and competence. His father had never talked much and that left him wondering as to what was actually occurring inside his head. He’d never once asked for Noah to play for him, so why now? Paranoia from his job, confusion with his marriage, occasional curiosity? Noah had no idea but realised that performing the small moments with success was a way to impress him.

He got to the forty-fifth bar, a poco rit marking was present. This simply meant that the player must slow down. He did and took gradual lengths of time between notes and emphasised this change of tempo. At the forty-eighth bar, an a tempo marking was there, and he did his best to make a fast return to the normal speed before finishing the piece off in a succinct and precise manner. He took his hands off the keys, waited a couple of seconds and turned to face this father.

He was already looking away, analysing what he’d just heard. Silence for a couple of seconds while various thoughts seemed to spring inside his head. Was he ashamed or was he giving him the impression that he didn’t care? Noah readied himself for any answer he might give. He sat on both hands until he had to remove them due to loss of circulation, causing his hand to pain. He appeared to be deep in thought as he removed his glasses and rubbed his face. His grisly moustache didn’t even move as he opened his mouth.

That was mediocre, Noah. Perhaps, maybe next time, you could try and make it more fluent because you didn’t seem very confident at it.

Bastard.

Yeah, okay, I will do that. Sorry, I made a couple of mistakes, Noah looked at the floor. Hopefully, I won’t be so scared in the exam.

Let’s hope. He got up from his seat and got himself a glass of water. Noah took a deep breath and slouched. He closed the cover of the piano and compartmentalised for a second before speaking.

Do you know when Mum will get home?

She’s been working a long day today. Since 9 a.m. this morning, Jesus Christ. She will be back at six. It was now five minutes to six.

Noah’s mother was a waitress in a local diner, approximately a ten-minute walk from their house. The diner was located in the same area and attracted far less criminals or unlawful hooligans to it, albeit it was still prone to someone causing trouble every now and then. This job was essential for his mother because she suffered from clinical depression, and with that came along some mild anxiety. The doctor was prescribing her antidepressants, but these only did so much as she occasionally showed periods of lethargy and lack of motivation. Some days were better than others, but Noah and his father were somewhat sceptical when she exhibited any kind of unnormal behaviour. Working long shifts was hard but necessary as they were trying to pay their bills and make ends meet. Noah wished he could take her pain away, but ultimately, didn’t know what else to do. They weren’t religious, but Noah whispered an occasional prayer under his breath before he went to sleep sometimes.

Come and help me set the table, his father said.

He got up and took out a mosaic-designed kitchen table cover from the cupboard and laid it on the table. His father, appearing to suffer from some medical condition, walked slowly and carefully to the drawers, placing cutlery and plates on the table. Noah frowned whenever he saw him like this. He expressed sympathy but also didn’t know what else to do, still resenting himself infrequently for his lack of action.

Lovely, his father remarked.

Just at that second, they heard the front door open and close. A small woman walked into the living room from the hallway. She was wearing a beige-coloured puffer jacket, solid black trousers and black heels. She took off her coat, hung it up and collapsed on the sofa. That was his mother, and she’d arrived home.

Long day today? his father said.

You would not believe it, she said. There were lots of customers today, more than usual and it was hard to keep up with most of them. One time, I accidentally brought a can of Pepsi to the wrong customer and I had to take it back. I was so embarrassed, and at points I wanted to shout at many of them, but I didn’t. Always on my feet trying to deal with those ungrateful bastards and the pay isn’t even great.

She was wearing a white shirt with a bow tie attached to the collar. There were small markings of what appeared to be condiments on her shirt. One or two patches of tomato sauce were present and some other coloured stains that Noah couldn’t determine. She had her hair in a ponytail and loosened it, getting up from the sofa and placing herself down at the dining table, after a moment. A sigh of exhaustion followed this.

It’s alright. We’ve got leftover lasagne from last night, so you don’t have to make anything, said his father. He took out a red rectangular plastic box containing the Italian meal from the fridge, and set it down on the table. That will be enough to last us tonight.

Grand, she said, continuing to close her eyes temporarily, hoping it would relieve any exasperation, shortly before turning towards him. How was your lesson, Noah?

It was fine. The pieces are coming along nicely, and I even played one to Dad.

And about school?

Noah’s schoolwork was satisfactory enough to say the least. He was trying as hard as he could to boost his grades, although his test scores were mediocre.

Everything is coming along nicely. I just need to study a bit more, that’s all.

Wonderful.

Eventually, they all came together at the table, eating in complete silence for the next ten minutes. His mother devoured the flimsy piece of lasagne within five minutes, while they both took more time to eat their meal. After this, she sat for another five minutes and waited until him and his father had finished. Noah was a slow eater and took considerably more time to eat, although his appetite was voracious after the events of today. He finished shortly after his mother and waited for his father. But his mother didn’t wait for much longer as she got up from the table and put her plate away in the sink.

Right then, I will be off to bed, ’cause I’m knackered.

She left the room and Noah listened for the thuds the staircase made when she walked up the stairs. When the thudding stopped, he put his plate away in the sink and sat back down. He watched his father eat and wondered what he could be possibly thinking about. His job, his relationship with his mother or the impending medical condition? Noah observed his demeanour as he lifted the final piece of lasagne in his mouth. Relaxed, or so it appeared.

After comfortably placing the knife and fork down, his father also put his plate in the sink and took out a can of Budweiser beer from the fridge. He opened it and began immediately drinking.

I think you should go to bed, Noah, he said.

And with that, he did. He took a final look over his shoulder, to see his father alone, drinking by himself, and then left the room. He changed into his pyjamas, turned off the light and pulled the covers over him. With a sense of bewilderment and morose, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself, floating in space, amongst the black void entrenched by never-ending dots of scintillating stars around him. It wasn’t enough, but it was nice.

2

It was still chilly the next day. The wind was continuing to be a nuisance while the sky was filled with ominous grey clouds. Noah was reluctant as always to go to school with the cold weather not seeming to stagnate for even a marginal length of time. His mother had already left the house as she was working the nine-hour shift again and his father was also not there as well, as his job required him to be out most of the day. A feeling of sadness and melancholy passed through his body when he remembered his parents. His mother was taking medication to keep sane but there were stages into which she entered into erratic or long cycles of depression. Often, she was tired and lethargic, and the stress of keeping her laborious job as a waitress proved to be difficult all the time. He wasn’t quite sure what occupation his father had as he’d never inquired before, and he was too afraid to ask. However, Noah did always have some assumptions formulated. Knowing the typewriter that he saw yesterday, it was fair to assume he was probably a journalist for a political or broadcast scenario, or another type of job requiring writing as the main objective. In the night, he invariably turned to alcohol to relax himself when he’d finished his work. Noah occasionally saw him pulling a can of beer from the fridge or arriving home with a four-pack of it from the weekly shop. The alcohol always made him enraged or arrogant, and Noah and his mother were unfortunately frequent victims, left to deal with the rage and aftermath after any of the numerous drinking sessions. Noah had never consumed beer or any type of alcoholic beverage before, as the actions of his father caused him to alienate himself from it, and he was greatly apprehensive and cautious of the fact that he might turn out like his father one day.

Noah left the house at 8 a.m. and locked the front door. He walked out onto the street, outside his house and breathed in the cold air. The sky appeared relentlessly chilling as he looked up to find greyness everywhere. He