THE RELIC GUILD (and other stories) Updated regularly.

THE KINGS OF BRAN'S CAULDRON (part 5 of 10)

BRIAN III: Home Life

Parked beside a secluded phone booth, down a quiet country lane, Brian sat in his car, looking at the business card that had been living in his pocket. A few days ago it had been stiff and white, with sharp, crisp corners. Now it was frayed at the edges and sullied by grime from Brian's fingers.
It carried the Bran's Cauldron's puerile logo; a cauldron from which a host of bright, pointed stars spilled out into the world. Beneath that, in pen, someone had scribbled a phone number and the words: Call me. Don't use a company line! But there was no name.
With a tired sigh, Brian opened the car door. But just as he was getting out, the car phone rang. The display announced his wife as the caller, and Brian closed the door and sat back again. With the card still in his hand, he answered.
Immediately the small telecom screen on the dashboard showed Helen's image. Her eyes were red from crying, and she sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue.
"Where are you?" she demanded.
"Working," Brian replied.
"Donald's come home."
"Did he tell you where he's been this time?"
"No. He said it wasn't my business." Helen sniffed again. "I need you to talk to him. Now. I can't control him anymore."
"Calm down.
"He ... He threatened me, Brian."
Brian sighed. "Put him on."
"I can't. He won't come out of his room."
"Right. I'll talk to him tonight."
"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Helen's voice had taken a decidedly shrill turn. "He won't listen to me, Brian."
"Well, he obviously has things on his mind. Just give him some space for now."
"Oh, you would say that, wouldn't you? Always taking the easy road."
"Don't start on me again, Helen."
"Brian, this is our son we're talking about! Half the time we don't know where he is, and when we do, he acts as if we're his prison wardens. He doesn't go to school, he hasn't got any friends, and leaving him to stew in his own gloom isn't going to help. I need you to come home – right now!"
"I'm at work, for Christ's sake!" Brian snapped. "I can't just take off whenever I feel like it!"
"Bullshit, Brian! Since when has work been more important than family?"
"Hey! Without my job we'd have nothing. Work and family go hand-in-hand – you know that, Helen."
"Yeah, but it applies to you and me more than most, right?"
Helen's words were like acid, and her face burned from the screen. Brian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Look ..."
Helen hung up.
Staring at the darkened telecom screen even after the call end symbol stopped flashing, Brian suddenly realised he'd been crushing the business card in a clenched fist. He looked out at the phone booth, standing innocently against a backdrop of trees and hedgerows, fields and crops, and a clear blue sky. Brian left the car, his fist still clenched.

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