05 December 2024
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Read James McCreet's suggested rewrite for Under the Microscope in WM Jan
‘Tea’s ready, Donny!’
His sister’s screech up the stairs jarred him. He rolled his eyes and continued turning his head in the cloudy antique mirror to catch the light from the bathroom’s shadeless bulb. His dark brown eyes were haloed with a bluish tinge. His mouth was pinched in annoyance. The mirror’s speckled mercury-tin silvering gave his skin a lizard-like effect.
His hair was very black – he’d overdone the dye this time ¬– but he was sure the King would approve. He put the lid back on the Brylcreem jar and replaced it carefully in the wobbly cabinet. He squirted two jets of Old Spice aftershave and winced as the alcohol burned his nose.
With a final slick of the comb and a last look in the mirror, he left the dark-brown-wallpapered bathroom. The wallpaper matched his mood. Wallpaper in the bathroom for heaven’s sake!
The smell of steak and kidney pie and sprouts rose to meet him in the corridor and his vision was assailed by the faded, floral décor. Roses. Sunflowers. Poppies . . . whatever. Leaves. A chintz assault. The clashing patterned stair carpet didn’t help, creating a kaleidoscopic effect like the King might have experienced on a powerful ’60s acid trip. The carpet was loose and threadbare in places after forty years of wear – a metaphor, probably, if he wanted to think about it.
He was irritable. Just a general agitation, made worse by the babbling of his sister to the fat, tabby cat they had adopted after it wandered into the kitchen three years ago. It sided against him whenever they had words. He knew because it glared at him.
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