It frustrated Isaac. His husband, Lyndon, was being his typical laid-back self. Not perturbed by the laziness of their son. Didn’t he realise that if their son was unsuccessful in life, it was a direct reflection on their parenting skills?
“Simon, will you get out of bed,” he shouted up the stairs.
“Why are you shouting?” asked Lyndon.
“He needs to get up. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”
“It’s a Saturday, let the boy sleep. You were a teenager once.”
“I wasn’t this lazy. I was working from the age of sixteen, and going to college. He’s nineteen and isn’t doing either.”
“He’ll figure it out for himself in time. You don’t need to be constantly on his back.”
“Well, you don’t need to pander to him either. Especially those ridiculous stories he comes out with.”
“He’s just got an overactive imagination.”
“It’s getting worse.”
Isaac knew he was right because Lyndon didn’t respond. Simon might be lazy, but his imagination certainly wasn’t. It was something he had done since childhood, although the tall tales had grown as much as Simon, who was now six foot four.
“Let’s do the shopping. Get that out of the way. He might be awake when we get back,” suggested Lyndon.
Isaac knew what Lyndon was doing, but he agreed. It was best to keep his mind occupied.
They arrived home from shopping. Simon was eating toast, which was all he could cook. He had showered and dressed, which was something.
“Did you have a good sleep?” asked Lyndon.
Simon shrugged. It pissed Isaac off. His husband was a kind and caring man, sometimes too soft for his own good, but it was one of the many things he loved about him. What he didn’t love was this brute of a teenager being rude.
“Are you going to answer your dad?”
“Yeah, it was fine.”
“That’s great. Why don’t you help me unpack the shopping, Simon, so your dad can get his work out of the way?”
“Why don’t you deal with the shopping, Lyndon. Simon and I can have a chat in the lounge. Work can wait.”
Simon knew there was no point in arguing. He slid off the stool and walked into the lounge, slumping down on the sofa. The crumbs from his toast falling on the floor. Isaac took a deep breath.
“Simon, something needs to change here. You can’t expect us to keep you forever.”
“It’s not like we can’t afford it.”
“That’s not the point. You’ll never appreciate money if you don’t earn your own.”
“I thought you said you’d support me if I stayed in full-time education.”
“We will, but you dropped out.”
“You know why.”
“You can’t let bullies rule your entire life. They only understand one thing.”
“Dad said that violence doesn’t solve anything.”
“Your dad’s wrong. It’s how I dealt with my bully. You only have to fight back once, and it’ll give you confidence. You don’t need to punch everyone. Next time, you come across a group of bullies, just whack the biggest and loudest one as hard as you can.”
“There’s only one.”
“Then that’s the one you have to whack. Just don’t tell your dad!”
Simon smiled.
Isaac knew Simon had struggled through school with one specific bully. It was when Simon had started telling ridiculous stories. Anything he could think of to get out of going to school. It was only after he lied about a dead twin brother that Simon had finally shared what was going on. He wouldn’t let his dads intervene, and they had respected that. Lyndon had suggested a water off a duck’s back approach. Isaac was more for the direct approach. It was the only way to deal with people like that. When school had finished, they had hoped that was the end, but the bully had gone to the same college. Simon had dropped out after a few weeks.
***
The following weekend, Isaac was awake early catching up on some work. Lyndon was still asleep. The front door opened and closed. Simon walked into the lounge. He was carrying a plastic bag with something in it.
“You been out all night?”
“I wanted to talk to you without Dad listening in.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I took your advice.”
“What advice?”
“To stand up to that bully.”
Isaac wasn’t sure if this was going to another of Simon’s tall tales, but he’d humour him.
“Sit down. Tell me what happened.”
“I think I went too far.”
“How d’you mean?”
Simon went into the bag and pulled out a rounders bat covered in something which looked like blood. Isaac knew now that this was definitely another of Simon’s stories, and it was a whopper this time.
“I’m going to need to get rid of this, and I’m going to need you to say I was home all night.”
Isaac smiled and held out his hand for the bag. They were going to have to get some professional help for Simon. This was another level of storytelling.
“Right, I better get some sleep. Dad, do you promise to get rid of it as soon as possible? It’s really important.”
“Of course. Go to bed. I’ll deal with it.”
Simon left the room. Isaac wasn’t sure what had just happened. It was all very elaborate. He looked in the bag at the bat. The blood was very realistic. He had to admire the creativity, even if it was a worrying development in Simon’s behaviour.
Later that morning, Lyndon was putting the shopping away. Isaac was finishing some work. Simon was still asleep. Other than saying he’d come home early in the morning; Isaac had shared nothing else from their conversation. He knew it would worry Lyndon. He wasn’t sure how to approach it. He’d put the plastic bag with the bat inside his work bag, out of the way. He knew he’d need to show it to Lyndon, so he could see for himself how serious this had become.
The doorbell chimed.
“I’ll get it!” shouted Lyndon.
Isaac heard muffled voices but couldn’t work out what was being said.
Lyndon walked into the lounge with a concerned look on his face.
“Who was it?”
“It’s the police. They want to speak to Simon.”