Free Imaginary Foe by Shannon Leahy

the bedroom. In fact, I’m enjoying his passion. Everything he says is true.
    ‘You know, some people are just born arseholes. And this guy, Father Ryan, is a two-faced showman. I’ve seen him deliver sermons. He’s a fucking actor. Why, I ought to burn his playhouse down!’
    ‘You can’t just go around burning things down, Bruce.’
    ‘And why not?’
    ‘Because you just can’t, that’s why.’
    Bruce grabs the bottle off me and pours port over his head in a bid to dramatise his anger. With the dark liquor dripping down his face, he looks at me coldly. He holds my stare until the dripping ceases. ‘You’ve got some growing up to do and I’m getting impatient,’ he says in a quiet, controlled voice that scares the shit out of me. ‘Don’t make me make you grow up, Stan. Step up. Be a man. There’s no room in this world for lame-arse pussies.’ Bruce thrusts the bottle back into my chest. ‘Now, drink. And if you don’t get with the program soon, Stan, there’ll be hell to pay.’

9
    I wake up. The sun is going down. I must’ve drifted off. Bruce has gone. I can smell food and I’m famished. Thankfully, I don’t feel too bad after all that drinking. Just a bit seedy. The bottle is on the floor. There’s still a bit of port in it. I look in the mirror and I’m surprised to see that I don’t look too bad. I look like a teenager who’s just woken up. I edge out of my bedroom, head to the bathroom and wash up. I’m so pissed off with Mum! What the hell is she thinking? Is she really cheating on Dad? I go back to my room and put on a clean t-shirt. Mum will be in the kitchen making dinner. I decide that I’m going to play detective and get to the bottom of this whole stinking mess. I seat myself at the breakfast bench so I can keep an eye on her. I make it subtle, though; I have some chemistry homework in front of me. Dad is in the study. He’s on the phone to his sister. Grandad is in hospital at the moment. He had a heart attack. He’s doing OK, but it’s really shaken Dad. I can’t imagine Grandad having a heart attack. I’ve tried to picture it, but it just doesn’t seem like something that could happen to him. He’s strong and he’s never shown any weakness. I’ve always thought of him as super-human; that nothing can beat him, including illness. The thought of him lying in a hospital bed is absurd. He wouldn’t want us to see him in that state. I don’t want to see him in that state. What could I possibly say to the man?
    I hear Mum say something to herself. ‘What, Mum?’
    She looks up, alarmed. ‘I’m sorry, Stan. What was that?’
    ‘You were saying something. It sounded like, “Oh, stop it.” What does that mean?’
    ‘I don’t think I said anything.’ Mum wipes her brow with her apron.
    I decide to press on. ‘Yes, you did. You said, “Oh, stop it.” Who were you speaking to?’
    ‘Who was I speaking to? What are you talking about? I’m in the kitchen, cooking, Stan. I wasn’t speaking to anyone.’
    ‘You were having an imaginary conversation with someone. Who were you speaking to?’
    ‘Stan, you’re being completely unreasonable. I didn’t say anything.’
    ‘I heard you. You said, “Oh, stop it” in a flirty way and I want to know who you said that to.’
    Mum takes a few heavy steps towards me and swipes her spoon in the air. ‘What? What is this? I’m cooking the bloody dinner. I was probably singing to myself.’
    ‘No, you weren’t. It was clear enough. You know what you said.’
    ‘I don’t appreciate your tone, young man. Take your homework and pretend to do it somewhere else!’
    ‘Fine. But I heard you.’
    ‘Oh, you heard me, did you? You’re acting like a bloody lunatic. I don’t know what’s got into you.’ Mum turns away from me and stirs the gravy frantically.
    ‘Mia!’ she shouts. ‘Set the table, please!’ She barks out the order without even turning around. My sister, who has been sitting there watching TV without a worry