2.2 News

The price war was over and my dad was declared the winner. The grand prize of the book worked out to be a cool two and a half million. Proof of its authenticity was declared. Publicity is a good thing and maybe my dad secretly had realised this and had gambled with this and it worked out in his favour. Steven Spielberg’s company wanted to buy the rights for his story and numerous other propositions had been raised by other interested parties. It was an exciting time for my dad he was very wealthy now and a variety of new and interesting doors were being opened to him.

When such prospects are opened little things change like supermodels wanting to come over for sleepover and unlimited amount of cocktail parties held in your honour. Little things make life easier like a mortgage being wiped off your house, access to the finest property worldwide. New friends are available and religion such as Scientology welcomes you in with open arms. Sometimes I wished I was rich, my father had turned his gamble into a gold mine.

It was late, I checked my watch, 3am in the morning and I couldn’t sleep something was bothering me, I knew it, I neared the widow. Traffic still rushed below though I couldn’t’ see much but dots below and city lights. Some thing told me to ring my dad. I checked my watch. There was a time difference by three hours it would still be late for me to call. I had to call. I crawled out of bed, hardly even bothering to look out in front of me. I found the phone about a minute later and lazily dialled the number. No tone, nothing. Strange. After dialling a few times, I gave up and went to bed; there was no point worrying about it.

It was all over the news the next day as I sat glued to the TV with a bowl of cornflakes in my hand, the milk tasted like it was sour. “Man dies in his house!” the news presenter shouted out from the box. He was wearing a green tie which did not go with his salmon pink shirt. Who in God’s name dressed him? The house was on a high embankment, surrounded by tall green leafy trees. A garage with a black door was on the right of the house. The main building was a two storey bungalow, red brick house. A conservatory had been recently built at the back. A row of geraniums and tulips were starting to blossom in the garden. The phone started to scream.

“Hello?” It was my mom

“Hi, mom,” I replied, I hadn’t heard from her in ages.

“Are you watching the news?” her voice started to shake, it sounded like she had been crying. It had been a while since I heard her let alone cry.

“Are you ok?” I asked, my voice starting to shake, not knowing what she was going to tell me. Obviously the news would not be good. I thought of my cornflakes soaking in the chipped bowl. They would be soggy when I got back to them. I did not enjoy soggy cornflakes. I thought what it could be, something had visibly shaken her up. Was it Rice, her little brown and white terrier, had she died? I remembered briefly the dog pottering around the kitchen when I last saw mom. That was ten years ago and I briefly remembered that the dog had cancer and was given a month to live. Rice had probably died and gone to doggie heaven years ago.

“It’s your dad,” she finally spit it out, “He’s dead!”

It suddenly hit me; the house was our house, the house I had grown up in. The house that dad had worked so hard for.

“Dead…?” I questioned not believing it.

“Yes…I…I…” She couldn’t speak anymore. She was sobbing uncontrollably; I never heard her sound so terrible - like a sick dying cat.

I wanted to fall unto the floor immediately, I didn’t care if I hit my head off the wall or split up skull. Dad was dead; nothing would bring him back, nothing.