A Spot Of Bother

128

George looked around the room and felt oddly fond of all these people.

It was not something he was accustomed to feeling at family gatherings.

He squeezed Jean’s hand. He was in love with his wife. It made him feel warm inside.

Everything was going to be different from now on.

What, in any case, was frightening about death? It came to everyone sooner or later. It was a part of life. Like going to sleep, minus the waking up.

And there was Jamie, arriving late, as children usually did.

Jamie was a homosexual. And what was wrong with that? Nothing whatsoever. So long as one was hygienic.

And there was his husband beside him. Boyfriend. Partner. Whatever the word was. He would ask Jamie later.

No. That was the man who was operating the wheelchair for the crippled girl, wasn’t it. Plump. Scruffy hair. Beard. Obviously not a homosexual now that George thought about it.

Even Douglas and Maureen were all right, really. A little vulgar. A little loud. But everyone had their faults.

And, look, there were fluorescent lights in the room, which meant that if you spread your hand out and waved it from side to side at the correct frequency you could make it look as if you had six fingers. Wasn’t that strange. Like spinning a bike wheel to make it look as if it was not moving.