robinet burke. (robinet) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-04-03 20:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | robinet burke |
WHO: Robinet Burke & family
WHAT: Breakfast with the Burkes
WHERE: family home, Knockturn
WHEN: Tuesday 3rd April, morning
WARNINGS: Mentions of alcohol abuse
The door flung open, hitting the wall with a loud slam, ricocheting off the wall. Gertrude Burke was too light footed for it to catch her, darting into the room, a huge grin on her face. She was fourteen and looked younger, the naked excitement in her expression furthering that impression. Robin, pushing himself up onto his elbows, couldn’t help but think she looked the same as she had when she was a kid. He would never say that to her. “MORNING,” she crowed, flinging herself onto the bed. “You gotta get up right now or else you’re totally gonna miss birthday breakfast and I’ll eat every last pancake.” Robin pulled a face at her, pushing a hand through his hair and squinting at his sister. He hadn’t been asleep — he’d slept badly, waking in fits, finally deciding at half five to lie in bed and listen to podcasts. Still, there was something a bit much about Gertie’s habit to go into glee that was almost like a fever: it tended to catch on. Robin didn’t feel much like catching a glee fever. “Nah you won’t,” he said, a smile creaking its way onto his face. “Because if you eat them all you gotta do it by putting them all into your mouth at the same time.” “The teachers all call me bigmouth.” “That’s a different kind of bigmouth.” Robin kicked at Gertie, pushing himself up completely and looking at her for a moment. He’d come home last night because it was a ritual, one he’d decried last year as being childish. It might have been childish but he hadn’t wanted to be alone, staring at his phone. He didn’t want to think about any of it. Not thinking about any of it was easier at home, in spurts. He pushed the duvet off him and said, “Why are you still here? I gotta get up.” “I can be here for you to stand up, asshole, jeez.” Gertie rolled her eyes and didn’t make a single movement as Robin stood, wiping sleep from his eyes. He caught a glance of himself in the bedroom mirror and let his gaze slide away. He didn’t want to dwell on how he looked he didn’t need his own voice telling him he looked crap before his parents got a chance to. “I’ll be down in a minute,” Robin said, “shove off.” “No,” Gertie said, slowly, “you know if I go down by myself I’ll just have to wait for you and I’m starving, Rob, I won’t do it.” “You’re so annoying,” he said, but he didn’t argue anymore, following Gertie down the hall. She was chattering as she went and Robin let her words wash over him, a tidal wave of inconsequential early morning talking. Gertie had always dealt with their home this way — if she thought something seemed cool or distant, she launched herself at it with all the warmth and finesse of a fireball. Robin entered the dining room after Gertie, a half smile on his face as he walked past his parents. “Morning.” “Good morning, Robinet,” Emory said and Delia reached out for him, hand clawing at Robin’s elbow as he passed. “Give your mother a kiss,” she said, turning her cheek. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.” “I changed your nappies,” Delia said, shaking her head. “I don’t care. Birthday kiss.” He acquiesced, pecking her on the cheek as she half-hugged him, a smile on her face. Robin tried to smell her breath as she let him go, as subtly as possible. Delia Burke’s displays of pretending to be a normal family happened every so often: birthdays, family weddings, when she’d reached the end of her pint of vodka. He didn’t trust any of those times. “Gertie said there’s pancakes,” he said, eyeing the food which was hidden behind a garishly blue cover emblazoned with HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY ROBINET. They hadn’t thrown it out. His parents tended to laugh over it, claiming nostalgia. Robin stuck a finger in his mouth and bit down on his nail. It snapped off between his teeth and the sound was a loud crack in his ears. Remember to smile, he told himself, as his mother said, “Of course there is! Who do you think we are?” A flick of her wrist and the cover disappeared, zooming to the corner of the room and displaying the typical breakfast spread. There were pancakes and a row of teapots, all with different teas, a plate filled with bacon and sausages, a bowl of fruit, and some warm porridge, in the corner. Emory Burke reached for the porridge instantly, hoarding the fruit for himself. Robin allowed himself a small grin as everyone threw themselves on the food, Gertie’s quick movements ending up with a towering pile of pancakes in front of her. They talked as they ate, though Robin talked less than usual, popping small pieces of pancakes into his mouth every time anyone asked him if he was doing anything with his friends later. They noticed, quickly. The Burke family had not got where they were by being imperceptive. As Robin dodged the fourth question of the morning, each one slightly more pointed than the last, he felt his dad looking at him. Emory took a bite of the strawberry in his hand and then said, “Robinet, is this about Richenza?” There was a sudden silence over the table, stark and cool as ice. Robin felt it lodge under his skin. His throat felt tight. He hated it: it always felt like a weakness to feel soft and vulnerable. To compensate, his voice turned harsher. “Breakfast or my birthday?” “Your mood.” Robin lifted a shoulder and pretended he wasn’t scowling into his breakfast. “Not everything’s about a dead girl, Dad, jeez. Bit morbid even for us.” Emory sighed, a loud noise which rippled through relative silence. If Robin tilted his head, he knew he would be able to see his mother closing her eyes and shaking her head. Gertie, sitting beside his dad, was still placing bits of pancakes into her mouth, slowly and methodically. “If you were even half as smart as you thought you were, we’d be getting a whole lot further than we are,” Emory said. Robin pretended that he didn’t draw a sharp breath in. “Can we not do this?” “Yes,” Delia said, instantly. “Can we not do this? It’s his birthday! I thought maybe we could talk about dinner plans.” “Maybe he’ll have plans with those friends. Not the Lestrange boy,” Emory said. Robin heard a hitch in his voice which sounded to him like a taunt and he could feel himself bristling. “Will you, Robinet?” “No,” he said, anger twisting up in him. “No, I don’t really, all right?” “Why?” “I thought I’d rather spend time with all of you.” “Why, really?” Emory barely looked at him as he spoke, but his questions were paid, barely letting Robin finish speaking before he started. He’d spotted a weakness. Burkes didn’t let other Burkes indulge the chinks in their armour. “We had a fight,” Robin said. “It was about Richenza. Pass the fruit bowl before you eat it all.” Emory held out the bowl. Gertie had started to roll her eyes. “The strawberries certainly won’t make you any sweeter or palatable to your friends.” Robin watched his father’s expression, the part of him that was gagging for a fight hoping he would smile. He didn’t. He looked vaguely ill as he said it instead, which Robin hated more. He didn’t understand what that meant. “Perhaps you should take this as a sign.” “A sign of what?” Robin snatched the bowl and let it hit the table top. It made him feel better. His mother tutted and reached for it, unloading a few raspberries onto her plate. “A sign,” she said, “that maybe you should let them go.” Robin turned to her, eyebrows raised, pulling a face. Delia sighed heavily and Robin pretended not to notice the smell. “Look, Robinet, we’re very glad that you made friends with people and it’s lovely to know that you have friends who have your back. But the important part is they have your back.” “Exactly,” Emory said, hands folding around his mug of tea. He leaned forward, thin shoulders jutting forwards, waiting until Robin was looking him directly in the eye. He looked calm, cool and certain. Robin knew he looked like his father’s younger, angrier shadow. It made him scowl more. Emory caught it and frowned but didn’t let it deter him. Instead, he said, “We have each other’s backs. All of the time. No matter what. Richenza had yours; we have hers. Always.” “That’s — Dad, I really don’t wanna talk about it.” “I don’t care.” Emory was still leaning forward. “It doesn’t matter what: we look after each other. Your friends either can or they can’t. And if they can’t, then they’re not your friends.” Robin felt his stomach twist and he regretted, suddenly, shovelling so much food into it so quickly. As if he was hungry. As if the pancakes wouldn’t always be there. As if he shouldn’t have expected this. He was so stupid, sometimes. “It’s the Death Eater thing,” he told the table. It was embarrassing he couldn’t tell his father’s face. It was embarrassing that Gertie reached across the table squeezing his wrist in between her fingers. “It’s because they don’t support them.” “Well, neither do we,” Delia said, pointing her fork at him, before she speared a bit of sausage. “Apart from we support them as they feed their gold to us and if they’re one of us.” Robin took a breath. He knew that. It didn’t matter that Richenza was a Death Eater (had been a Death Eater) because she was family, first and foremost. It didn’t matter what she’d done because she’d been closer to him than his sister. It didn’t matter, because she was dead and cold, and Gertie could squeeze his wrist and his dad could chastise him and make him feel small and his mother could be drunk before eight and pretending like she was wise. It didn’t matter to him, or them, but it mattered to other people. Robin thought all those years in yellow and black had made him soft, because he cared, and he hated that. “What do I do about everyone else?” Delia reached over and patted his shoulder. “Darling, you ignore them. They’re probably boring anyway.” Gertie nodded. “They are,” she said, solemnly. “They’re spending all that time with you.” “Not anymore,” Emory said, before Robin could, without the same twist to his mouth that Robin would have gave it. He stared at his dad and tried not to resent him. “Happy birthday to me,” Robin said instead. “This is a lovely family breakfast. Do you want to pick apart any other interpersonal relationships of mine? We could talk about the new cursebreaker. He could be one of my new closest friends. I might let rumours start about how close we are.” “You can tell that to Richenza’s grave later,” Delia said. “She’ll haunt you.” Robin tried not to roll his eyes. “Why are you so cheerful?” “I just think she would come back to haunt people.” Delia reached for her coffee. “I would, if I died young. None of you had better kill me because I’ll haunt you until you die.” “Of course we won’t, dear,” Emory said, leaning back in his chair. Robin let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and let himself breathe too. That was one hour of one day down: he just had to navigate the rest. As he took a sip of his tea, he tried not to think about whether he’d have any messages on his phone. At least his parents could distract him from that. At least they were useful, in that way. |