Citation de missmolko1
‘What’s happened?’
‘Just thought I’d pop in.’
Matt stared at his mother, aghast. He couldn’t think of a single thing that might have prompted her to turn up, here, at his flat, on a weekday evening, uninvited, without even giving him a warning. There was no precedent for this behaviour, and he immediately assumed that something terrible must have happened, something too awful to discuss over the phone – an event to be spoken of in hushed voices, with a chair at the ready and hot, sweet tea to hand.
At the very least, someone must have died.
‘What’s wrong.’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘Is everyone OK?’
‘Everyone’s fine,’ she said.
They stared at one another across the threshold, both at a loss as to what to do next, like hikers suddenly realising they are lost.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ said Carol eventually.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Matt. ‘Come in. I’ll make some tea. Sorry, I’m just a bit surprised to see you. Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
Hearing his mother say those words, with that particular high, clipped intonation, took him back twenty years, to his adolescence, when the word ‘fine’ had been a key weapon, in his mother’s emotional arsenal. This one word had a huge variety of meanings, depending on various faint nuances of tone, as if the word was not English but Chinese. ‘I’m fine’ could mean ‘I’m tense’, or ‘I’m upset’, or ‘I’m angry’, or ‘Why does no one ever listen to me?’, or even’ Look, I’m clearing away the breakfast things that you said you’d clear away but never did.’ The statement, in fact, had a near infinite range of meanings, all of which had only one thing in common. They all meant, in essence, ‘I’m not fine.’
‘Just thought I’d pop in.’
Matt stared at his mother, aghast. He couldn’t think of a single thing that might have prompted her to turn up, here, at his flat, on a weekday evening, uninvited, without even giving him a warning. There was no precedent for this behaviour, and he immediately assumed that something terrible must have happened, something too awful to discuss over the phone – an event to be spoken of in hushed voices, with a chair at the ready and hot, sweet tea to hand.
At the very least, someone must have died.
‘What’s wrong.’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘Is everyone OK?’
‘Everyone’s fine,’ she said.
They stared at one another across the threshold, both at a loss as to what to do next, like hikers suddenly realising they are lost.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ said Carol eventually.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Matt. ‘Come in. I’ll make some tea. Sorry, I’m just a bit surprised to see you. Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
Hearing his mother say those words, with that particular high, clipped intonation, took him back twenty years, to his adolescence, when the word ‘fine’ had been a key weapon, in his mother’s emotional arsenal. This one word had a huge variety of meanings, depending on various faint nuances of tone, as if the word was not English but Chinese. ‘I’m fine’ could mean ‘I’m tense’, or ‘I’m upset’, or ‘I’m angry’, or ‘Why does no one ever listen to me?’, or even’ Look, I’m clearing away the breakfast things that you said you’d clear away but never did.’ The statement, in fact, had a near infinite range of meanings, all of which had only one thing in common. They all meant, in essence, ‘I’m not fine.’
