Pink Elephant Red Rose



The storm, when it came was not unexpected. It had always been a question of when and not if. Nor was the banality of the flashpoint any surprise. Kev hauled himself out of his armchair and grumbled, “Where the hell is the remote?”

Bobby, sitting on the sofa scribbling song lyrics onto a pad, neither knew nor cared, and made no effort to look.
“I said, where’s the bloody remote?” He picked up a pile of carelessly folded newspapers before turning his attention to Bobby. “Oi! Shift yourself. Are you sitting on it? Move your fat arse.”
“No, I’m not sitting on it. You had it last.”
Kev looked at the newspaper he’d picked up before flinging it down again in disgust.
“Friday. What the hell are we doing with Friday’s paper still in the house?”
Bobby turned away from him, irritated by the commotion; he wanted to concentrate.
“And you,” Kev’s frustration was mounting. “What the hell are you still doing in the house? It’s time you were bringing something in instead of scrounging all the time.”
Bobby tried to ignore him. He’d lived in the house over sixteen years, much longer than Kev. He’d seen his dad move out, he’d seen his mum during the crying months and he’d seen the shouting oaf, Kev, move in. Kev who was once smiling and solicitous and was now a bullying moron; Kev who thought he now ruled the roost.
“Where is the bloody thing?”
Although there was no possibility that the remote could have been concealed by the guitar leaning in its case against the sofa, Kev kicked it aside anyway. Which is how the storm broke: Bobby jumped from the sofa in protest.
“Hey!”
But he could say no more. It was all the provocation Kev needed, he shot out a right jab with his huge clenched fist and caught Bobby a juddering blow flush above the eye sending him sprawling back onto the sofa. It was the lightning flash, the storm breaking. Bobby sat back stunned, the force of the blow still reverberating around his head as he tried to regain his senses.
“What’s going off?” Startled by the commotion, Bobby’s mum appeared in the doorway wringing her hands in a tea towel; she saw her son with one hand over his eye trying to rise again to his feet. “Bobby! What’s the matter?”
“Nowt’s the matter.” Kev answered for him. “I only tapped him.” He stood there challenging, hoping that Bobby would come back at him. Come on, have a go, but you’ll regret it.
Slowly and measuredly, Bobby got to his feet, picked up his guitar case and pushed his way past the gloating figure of Kev.
“Bobby, where’re you going?” She tried to hold the departing boy.
“Work; I’ve got to go to work tonight, haven’t I? I’m going to work.” He walked into the hallway, picked a jacket off a peg and opened the front door.
“Go on then, get out. And don’t bother coming back, you idle toad.” Bloated by victory, Kev’s voice bellowed behind him.
“Kev!” His mum’s futile remonstrance was drowned by the slamming of the front door. Leaving home was a simple as that.