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<\/p>\n
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Busy at the office <\/strong><\/p>\n It\u2019s wet. \u00a0The car\u2019s stopped in a layby. \u00a0Dad\u2019s left on the engine. \u00a0The wipers go backwards and forwards. \u00a0We\u2019re under a tree, it\u2019s windy; the rain seems to stop and then it\u2019s loud again. \u00a0Steam from Mum\u2019s thermos means we can\u2019t see out.<\/p>\n My brother Douglas and I are in the back, Mum and Dad in the front. \u00a0I can smell Nescafe. \u00a0We\u2019re going to Wales on holiday. \u00a0Every summer we do the same. \u00a0Years later Mum told me she hated the Welsh holidays, she went for us. \u00a0She wanted a fortnight in a hotel in Spain, like everyone where we lived. \u00a0But for my brother and me, she spent eight weeks in a static caravan, the toilet block a field away.<\/p>\n I think it\u2019s odd that Mum and Dad only argue in the car. \u00a0But Douglas says it\u2019s the same at home when we\u2019re in bed; his bedroom\u2019s above the sitting room so he should know. \u00a0He can tell when they\u2019re getting started: they turn off the TV. \u00a0Mum\u2019s pouring coffee into plastic mugs that she hands back to us. \u00a0She goes on and on at him, then she starts crying. \u00a0He barely speaks but when he does, he shouts, looking ahead at the windscreen, gripping onto the steering wheel. \u00a0She starts wiping her window but outside there\u2019s only rain. \u00a0So she opens a packet of Rich Tea. \u00a0He lights his pipe and winds the window down an inch. \u00a0Drops of rain land cold on my bare legs. \u00a0Douglas\u2019s staring at his steamed up window, knees clenched. \u00a0I try to hide my tears but Dad looks round, saying \u2018Now look what you\u2019ve done\u2019; then she\u2019s off again at him.<\/p>\n I can\u2019t remember a summer holiday when we didn\u2019t go to the caravan. \u00a0Dad loved the outdoors \u2013 that\u2019s why he bought the van. \u00a0But he was almost never there, he was at home instead. \u00a0I asked him once if he didn\u2019t come with us because he and Mum argued. \u00a0But he said, no, he had to go to work, he couldn\u2019t get away from the office.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Busy at the office It\u2019s wet. \u00a0The car\u2019s stopped in a layby. \u00a0Dad\u2019s left on the engine. \u00a0The wipers go backwards and forwards. \u00a0We\u2019re under a tree, it\u2019s windy; the rain seems to stop and then it\u2019s loud again. \u00a0Steam from Mum\u2019s thermos means we can\u2019t see out. My brother Douglas and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4130","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4130","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4130"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4130\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4132,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4130\/revisions\/4132"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4130"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4130"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4130"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nMartin Redfern<\/strong> lives and works in Edinburgh. \u00a0A publisher by occupation, he also writes short stories and poetry. \u00a0His work has recently been published in Ink, Sweat and Tears<\/em> and Obsessed with Pipework.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"