The Prodigal Son

Eric let himself in with his own key. These days, it took Thea at least ten minutes to hobble from her chair in front of the TV all the way to the front door, and he thought he could at least spare her that indignity.

“It’s only me, Mum,” he called, hanging his jacket on its usual peg by the door.

As he walked over to kiss his fragile mother on the cheek, his eyes performed their usual practised sweep of the room. Widescreen TV. Surround-sound speakers. Top-of-the-line media hub; not that Thea knew how to use it, but of course she had to have the best. None of it really mattered though; the real value was in the house itself-

“…Eric? Eric!” his mother’s voice called his mind back to the present.

“Sorry, miles away. Yes, mum?”

“I was just saying how nice it is to see you. It always seems like such a long time between your visits, and they do brighten my day. How’s everything at work?”

“Oh, it’s fine, mum.” He’d been unemployed for six months, and was now getting his sense of achievement from dominating the leaderboards of his favourite computer games. “Shall I make us some tea?”

“Oh yes dear, that’d be nice.”

As usual, he was relieved to leave his mother’s greying presence. Her fragile bones and papery skin reminded him too much of his own mortality. But these little visits were necessary. He knew that his sister, Kira, visited every now and then, and he didn’t want the old woman getting any funny ideas in her final moments.

Waiting for the kettle to boil, he glanced around the kitchen with narrowed eyes, licking his lips at the sight of the high-end gadgets arrayed before him.

“Soon,” he whispered to himself.