The Swap - By Antony Moore Page 0,34

Harvey, once upright, moved quickly towards the door and then caught sight of himself in the oval mirror. 'Jesus, look at that.' He studied the beginnings of a black eye. 'I look like a real bruiser.' Trying to control the pride that was replacing the panic, he moved to the door. 'So er, see you then, Charles, yeah?'

'Yes. Yes, see you, H . . . Harvey. We must have another talk. I'm sure we will . . . talk.'

'Er, yeah.' Harvey grabbed the doorhandle and ran.

'A fight?' Mrs Briscow looked at Harvey with her deepest disapproval. 'You go to a party and you get into a fight?'

The alcohol and the bruises from earlier in the afternoon were beginning to take their toll. All Harvey really wanted was to go back to sleep. 'Look, actually it was just a bit of horseplay and I don't think it needs any more discussion.' The eye was coming up nicely and Harvey was examining it in the hallway mirror. He had attempted to tell his father than he had fallen down the stairs but unfortunately Steve had already explained over the phone.

'Lying and fighting, I don't know which is worse.'

Harvey pulled a face and watched himself pull it. Was that really how he looked when he did that? He did it again a couple of times. Jesus, he looked fifty when he did that.

'You should surely be too old for putting us through this, Harvey.' His mother's voice dragged him unhappily away from the mirror.

'Oh yes, sorry, Mum. I get punched in the face and kicked in the kidneys but you are the ones that really suffer, aren't you? I mean, Jesus, how inconsiderate of me.'

'Kicked in the kidneys! I thought you said it was just some horseplay. I should take you down to the doctor's, you might be bleeding inside.'

'I'm not bleeding inside. I may be crying inside but don't trouble yourselves about that, I wouldn't.'

'Don't be soft, lad.' His father was now reading the paper. 'If you get into a fight you must accept the consequences, no good blubbing about it afterwards.'

'Thanks, Dad. What a loss you were to the caring professions.'

'Your father was an ambulance driver in the army,' his mother reminded him.

'Yes I know, Mum, we've met before, if you remember. The point is that I am alive and I suggest we break out the champagne rather than behaving as if I am nine years old and have misbehaved myself. Now, I am going up to my room and I am going to stay there for a long time. I have had a shock and what I need is rest. I do not want to be disturbed. If there are any drills needing to be found, or little chores to be performed outside my door I would ask you both very kindly to delay them until I get out of this lazar house first thing tomorrow. OK?'

'First thing, is it?' Mr Briscow's eyes shone. 'I'll see you first thing then, son.'

'Oh shit.' Harvey shook his head and felt the exhaustion more strongly than before.

'And no more rubbish under your bed, please.' His mother had returned to the kitchen and was humming happily having delivered this directive. Harvey was halfway up the stairs before it reached his brain. He walked carefully down again.

'Sorry?'

'I found that bag of clothes under your bed, covered in muck. I dread to think what you get up to sometimes. I put the whole lot through the washing machine twice, including your plimsolls. They are as good as new now.'

'Er, right. OK. Thanks, Mum.' And he crept up to bed at half past eight, exactly as if he was nine years old. It had been a very long day and for once, for once only, it felt good.

Chapter Fourteen

Why do parents like waiting at railway stations? If there is anything to say it can be said in the car, or before leaving the house even. Yet here were Harvey's parents hanging about with him on the Penzance platform in an awkward and unnatural silence waiting for a train that was ten minutes delayed. 'You can go if you want, you know. I'll be all right.' I'm thirty-five, for Christ's sake. But he couldn't say that because he had a rule: never leave under a cloud. You don't want your last face-to-face words to your parents until next Christmas to be unkind ones.

'No, we'll stay, darling. We want to see you off. We see you so rarely, we