The Music Of Bones And The Meaning Of Ghosts Chapter 3

I had listened alone in the dark, to the rattle of bottles on the porches outside, the whir of the milk float down the road, the click and rumble of the boiler coming on and the starlings singing from the nest in the guttering somewhere behind me, before I heard Tom's alarm sing out from the bedroom below. It usually rang six times, before I heard the whack of the hand that shut it down, and the sound of his feet on the wooden floorboards dragging towards the door and this morning was no different.
I listened carefully to his movements, looking out for some kind of acknowledgement that Tom knew, just as I and I was sure Delphine knew, about what had occurred in the night. Looking for a sign in the sounds.
The bedroom door clicked open, and sluggish footsteps descended the stairs,one at a time, to the bathroom at the back, behind the kitchen. There was Tom's silence, a loud yawn and then "God...Jesus..." before the taps for the shower adjustment went on, the sound of the water falling, the clang of a foot on the bath rim and a towel being pulled from the rack with the water turned off. How could he not know?
The usual sounds continued, the radio was switched on back in the bedroom, a talking station with News programmes, and the wardrobe door squeaked open. The sound of a shirt and tie being done up, and the inevitable pause before I heard him step forward as he always did, to the dresser, standing on the creaky floorboard. The sound of a sigh, a bottle top being unscrewed and the glug of another bottle.
The radio continued: "...but I must press you. You, like a true politician, are avoiding the question again. You are not answering the question I asked..." The interviewer persisted.
I heard a second glug from the bottle, before the screw went back on and...then another sigh. Footsteps, the bang of the front door and Tom was to work.
This was the usual song and dance of the morning. I'd listened to that ballet, that opera so many times, it was like a melody I'd learnt by heart. The cry to a God he denied believing in, the attempt at starting afresh and the inevitable return to the dresser.
Tom was oblivious that his brother had drifted back into the house during the night. To me, it was another question he seemed to be avoiding and questions need answers, like a singer needs a song.