Chapter 1: Bacon and the Bat
A litany of things ran through my head as I awoke that morning but only a few of them were leaving any trace of meaning.
Firstly, I could smell cooking bacon and secondly the fact that I could smell cooking bacon was odd. It was odd for a number of reasons. Reason one, I had been so busy at the university that week marking some of my Dad's students dissertations, so that he didn't have to, that it had turned into a pizza and Chinese from the local takeout's near campus week, thus I had not been shopping in days and was not at that precise moment in possession of any of that glorious, greasy meat.
Secondly, even if the heavens had decided to bestow upon the lovely gift of bacon and I had decided to make some in my sleep, I would not have been woken by the smell but the whirring of the smoke alarm and a lung full of smoke. Eveytime in my life so far I had tried to make bacon I unfortunately had to bin the black cinders left within the pan, what I can say, I distract easily.
And finally, and in retrospect probably the most unnerving fact; even though on that particular morning it seemed to pale in importance to my general lack of bacon, was the fact the I was pretty sure, the last time I checked, for two years now I had been living very much alone.
Hmmm. Strange.
After making a metal note to buy whoever bought me bacon flowers and add 'extra bacon' to the shopping list, I made my way downstairs. Grabbing the baseball bat I kept by my bedroom door, for situations like this, just in case. It has been a compromise between my dad and I, he didn't want me living in the big city of London all by myself and I couldn't stand that big empty house of ours any longer. So the compromise was I get a flat a ten minute walk away and keep a baseball bat at hand just to be safe. We're a dysfunctional bunch.
Speaking of my dad he was currently standing in my kitchen pouring himself a coffee and reading a copy of some magazine I didn't even know I owned. Crisis averted. Memo to self, send dad flowers.
"What, may I ask are you doing here?" I asked hopping on the counter and pouring myself a coffee, after relinquishing the baseball bat to the sofa.
"Do I need a reason to come and visit my wonderful daughter?" he asked, pecking my forehead with a quick 'morning Sweetheart'.
"Morning and yes, seen as my sofa has clearly been slept on last night and your still wearing the clothes you had on when I left the office yesterday, yes you do. Spill!" I said innocently sipping on my coffee as he smirked at me knowingly.
"She was there again, asked if I wanted a lift." He said voice somewhere between resigned and disgusted.
"Aww, come on the woman's clearly desperate and be fair on yourself dad you are quite a catch," he chuckled. Miss Roberts was the receptionist at my Fathers department at the university, she was…interesting. She had been there as long as I could remember and I had the strangest feeling she had been after Dad longer than that. If you wanted a crazy cat lady she was it, but in all fairness she was a lovely lady. Just odd.
"Well as long as you think the old man's still got it. Nah, the dating game is not for me anymore and I wouldn't want anyone to try and replace your mum." I said nothing for a moment. My mother was a sore subject in many ways, and none of them in the way in which my father thought.
"It's a long time ago dad, I moved on. So should you." And with that I headed to the bathroom, taking the baseball bat back to its usual home on the way.
The last thing I heard before I closed the bathroom door was my father's dulcet tones, "Don't take your usual year in there, Stephen will be collecting us in twenty, you know how he hates to wait."
'Hmmm… 'I thought to myself 'I do believe a nice long relaxing shower is in order, I might even light some candles.'
Disclaimer- Hello, you wonderful people. So you know how this works by now, none of this is mine except Cassie Cutters mentalness and her story . Let me know what you think and we'll see how it goes. Ta Ta for now!