It wasn't a ordinary day in our house.....catch-up

My tabby cat was clawing his way up the living room curtains. Hissing back at his foe Rex who retaliated with a bark.

It wasn't a ordinary day in our house; though we didn't know it at that time. We were just kids so not perceptive to notice the fierce redness around mums eyes or aware her face was flushed.

Dad came down the stairs and into the tiny hallway; where his work-coat hung on its peg with his collapsibe cane just visible poking out from his pocket. First post dropped through the letter-box but no-one went to fetch it. No braille books delivered today as mum hadn't the time or the heart to read the usual braille stories we had always looked forward to hearing; as she sat on our bed each evening bringing words alive. Her slender fingers rarely sweeping the lumpy brown pages from left to right.

The braille clock ticked in the living room sitting on the tiled hearth. The kettle hissed in the kitchen. Our plastic cereal bowls and mugs languised in the washing up bowl,

I was fighting with my two brothers Richard and Peter over some triviality.

"Stop it you three; can't you behave just for once and be good kids. There were tears again rolling down mum's cheeks. Dad remained quiet as he faced his own wars which of course we were ignorant about. The braille clock ticked on the hearth. The October winds rattled our letter-box.

"We might be a bit late getting back from Harold Wood hospital tonight!
My younger brother Peter, by eighteen months, squeaked the question we hadn't asked, why has daddy got his brown suitcase in his hands if he is coming home tonight then mummy?
She answered flatly. He is going for the results of tests he has been having for his poorly legs; you know that's why daddy hasn't been walking out with us in the fields lately!

Dad didn't answer but reached out for the hallway door handle; turning round to call quietly "Come on kids, get a move on or you will be late for school"
Mum spoke again. "Mrs Netherton, (our next door neighbour who had lived in Swindon Close for as long as I could recall) will be giving you tea if we aren't back from hospital. You must come straight home from school and no paddling in the stream please"

We didn't answer but just gathered our clothes and our bags; squabbling whilst we walked down the Close where recently the Daily Mirror had been taking photo's of us all holding hands running obliviously down the road unaware how our lives journey would change. The dog and the cat might still hiss. The braille clock still tick on the hearth but everything else was to change.