Special Effects: The Jacket

Daniel biked a long way. He followed a path through the streets, up one down another, until he reached the higher ground in the city, then he dismounted and started to walk. He was breathing hard. The street lights blinked on and the sun died in a massacre of reds. The evening closed in as Daniel continued to push his bike up the hill.

When he had continued this way for an hour, he stopped outside the gate of a large, modern house. He rested his bike against the wall and pushed the gate open. Up the path he went, without a glance left or right, until he reached the door. He turned the handle and went in.

A man was sitting in the living room, his feet on a small table and a newspaper beside him. The television was up loud. Daniel went past the man and into the kitchen. The man sat up, startled. He got up from his chair.

Daniel pulled a loaf of bread out of the bin and threw a couple of slices on the bench. He got a knife from the drawer and started to spread butter.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, coming into the kitchen.

"Don't be silly, Dad!" said Daniel.

"I want to know who you are! Give me an answer or I'll call the police!"

"Good one!" said Daniel, pushing a liberal blob of honey across his bread. He smiled as he lifted the sandwich to his mouth.

"That does it!" said the man. He was angry. He went to the phone and started to press the numbers.

"I'm your son of course!" said Daniel "Don't you remember?"

"You're not my son!" the man shouted. But there was fear in his eyes. He stopped dialing. Hesitated.

Daniel dropped down casually into a chair and put his feet up on the table. He took another big bite of his sandwich and looked, with humour, at the man.

"You mean to say you've forgotten?" said Daniel.

"Forgotten what?"

"Forgotten who I am! Me? Your own dear son! The one and only son who lived with you for eight long years, until . . ."