It wasn’t the sort of night that inspires a person to fight crime or go dancing. It was a night perfectly suited to a soft blanket and a warm mug of hot chocolate. The crickets had run out of things to say. The television was a comforting but unobtrusive mumble. The fridge had stopped doing that weird humming thing that hopefully didn’t mean there was something wrong with it.
‘What do you think of Brandon?’ said Dianne.
‘I think he’s great,’ said Russell.
‘Well, obviously. But what do you actually think of him, as a person?’
‘Why are you asking this?’
‘I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately, and I’ve come to the realisation that I just don’t like him. He’s clingy, abrasive, insensitive. He never says thank you.’
‘He’s our son.’ (more…)