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The Uninvited

The Uninvited

The Uninvited

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next to the basin. ‘We were talking abouthow ill she is. And you cried.’‘That wasn’t me.’ He leans across tothe basin, opens the tap, and splashes coldwater on his face.‘Who was it then?’ I ask, passing him atowel. He used to like applying theshaving foam to my face. I hand him thecan. He presses out a squirt of foam andpats it over my face, then puts a blob onhis own nose, just as he always used to. ‘Isaid, who was it then?’‘Who was what? What are you talkingabout?’I persist. ‘Who was it? You said theperson who got upset about Mum wasn’tyou.’But he’s adamant that he doesn’t knowwhat I’m talking about. A hole has formed

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