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The alarm goes off, and a small hand reaches out and fumbles for the button to shut it off. Matthew rises groggily, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes, his hair sticking up on end. He glances over at Alfred who has burrowed into his bedcovers and continues to sleep. His brother has never been much of a morning person.
Matthew gets out of bed and pads into the bathroom. It is a cold November morning, so he shivers a little and hurriedly twists on the tap for some hot water, scalding himself in his haste. After adjusting the temperature with the cold tap, he goes through the ritual of washing his face and brushing his teeth. He feels much more awake once he is done.
He returns to the bedroom and heads straight to his wardrobe to pull out his school uniform. Alfred hasn’t budged an inch. Matthew contemplates waking him up, when a squawk sounds out suddenly from the next room followed by a painful-sounding slap.
“Arthur, the children…”
“Then keep your paws to yourself, frog!”
Matthew pulls on his school jumper, blushing furiously, as Alfred stirs and groans and rolls out of his bed to land with a graceless thump on the floor.
“Whattimeizzit?” he mumbles thickly.
“Ten to seven,” Matthew informs him, putting on his glasses. “You better get up.”
A grunt is his only reply.
Matthew runs a brush quickly through his hair, checks that his tie is straight, then grabs his satchel and starts stuffing in his school things; a pencil case, a folder, a couple of textbooks, and last night’s homework. He checks his timetable to make sure he has packed everything he will need. Alfred remains seated at the foot of his bed, dozing lightly.
The house is beginning to stir awake. A pair of slippered feet shuffles past their bedroom and clomps heavily down the stairs. Alfred jerks awake and yawns and stretches. Matthew puts on his satchel and heads out of the room with a parting, “See you downstairs!”
He thunders down the stairs two at a time, swings around the banister and rushes into the kitchen, and collides into Arthur who was fixing on an apron.
“Morning, dad!”
“Good morning, Matthew.” A blink. “You’re up early today.”
“Uh-huh,” Matthew says. He sets down his satchel on the floor and sits at the table. Arthur comes over with a teapot and pours him a cup of hot milky tea.
“Two sugars and no more,” Arthur says warningly as Matthew reaches for the sugar cannister.
Matthew heaps two teaspoonfuls of sugar into his tea, stirs it and takes a sip as he watches Arthur retrieve a loaf of bread from the depths of the freezer bin. It was frozen solid, and Arthur has to bang it a few times on the countertop before he could pry the bread slices apart. He slots a handful of them into the family-sized toaster and starts up the stove to fry some eggs and sausages.
Just then, Francis breezes in with an airy, “Bonjour!” which earns him a sniff from Arthur.
“And how is mon petit ange this fine morning?” Francis says with a puff of minty breath as he kisses Matthew on the cheek.
“Papa, that tickles!” Matthew squeals.
Francis rubs his stubbly chin against Matthew's face, and Matthew falls into a fit of laughter.
“If you’re quite finished,” Arthur says bad-humouredly, sliding plates of eggs and sausages onto the table. They are burnt to black crisps and smell faintly of charcoal.
“Cher! I thought we agreed that I will be cooking the breakfast this week!” Francis cries with undisguised dismay.
Arthur, buttering up slices of equally blackened toasts, opens his mouth to say something nasty but catches himself, remembering that Matthew is present. He clears his throat. “W-well, it’s already made, so eat up! And just where is Alfred, that lazy boy?”
He flies out of the kitchen, and Francis takes the opportunity to tip the contents of his plate straight into the bin.
“Not a word to Daddy if you want your allowance this week,” Francis says, but with a cheery wink which takes the bite out of his threat. Matthew nods and glumly picks at the charred mount he has been given.
Alfred straggles into the kitchen with a loud yawn, his hair unbrushed and his shirt buttons done the wrong way up, dragging his school bag behind him. Arthur hurries him into a seat and pushes over his breakfast. His face lights up upon seeing Francis’s empty plate.
“Oh darling, you’ve cleaned your plate!”
“You made it for me with so much love, how could I not?” Francis says as Arthur flies to kiss him.
Arthur gazes up adoringly at his husband of six years and says, “So when I take out the rubbish later, I will not find your breakfast in there?”
The sound Francis forces out is something between a snort and a choke.
“Oh, you wound me with such unfair accusations, chéri.”
He hurries out of a potential storm post haste.
Arthur snatches up the empty plate, takes it to the sink and runs it under the cold tap, his sour mood coming off in murderous waves. Matthew screws up the courage to scrape the more inedible parts of his breakfast onto Alfred’s plate.
“F’anks!” Alfred says indignantly around a mouthful of charred sausages.
“Alfred, don’t talk with your mouth full! Are you finished, Matthew? Then bring your plate over, please. Alfred, stop dawdling or you’re going to be late for school!”
Alfred’s protest is drowned out by a sudden honk.
“There’s Papa waiting in the car,” Arthur says exasperatedly. “Hurry along now– Alfred, your buttons! Come here.”
“I’ll fix it later, Dad!”
Alfred ducks under Arthur’s arms and runs off with Matthew hurrying after him crying, “Wait for me!”
Once they are settled in the car, Francis checks to make sure they have put on their seatbelts. Arthur folds his arms and leans down, and through the open window he says, “Study hard, all right, boys?”
“Sure,” Matthew chirps as Alfred stifles a yawn.
Arthur nods. Before he could stick his head out, however, Francis catches him in a full-mouthed kiss. Arthur kisses back, a little grudgingly at first, but quickly melting to Francis’s expert lips. Matthew stares open-mouthed, and Alfred rubs enough sleep from his eyes to catch the spectacle they were making and begins making retching noises.
“Stop being disgusting, Dad, Pa!”
Francis breaks off to say, “It is not disgusting, mon petit. It is how Daddy and I show our love. When two adults–”
“Yes, yes, all right,” Arthur cuts in, embarrassed. “The lot of you are going to be late now, get a move on.”
“Bye Daddy!”
“Bye!”
“Goodbye, kids. Be safe.”
“Adieu, mon amour, mon bel ange…”
“Stop it.”
Francis winds up the window, sets the handbrake down, and backs the car out of the driveway as Arthur steps back, wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the chill of the morning. Matthew waves goodbye and Alfred takes it up as well but more energetically, both gratified to see Arthur waving back. When the car gets to the road, Francis blows a kiss to Arthur and speeds off before Arthur’s scowl could crawl fully down his face.
“Now, I believe you have a test today, Alfred?” Francis says conversationally. “What subject is it?”
“Maths,” Alfred mumbles.
“Oh? And I trust you have studied for it? It is your times table, is it not? Will you recite it for Papa?”
“Do I have to?” Alfred whines.
“Oui, s’il vous plait. Show Papa how clever you are.”
Alfred sighs, but obediently starts, “Two and two is four, two and three is six, two and four is eight…”
Matthew settles back into his seat, falling to the beat of Alfred’s voice and the low purr of the car engine as they rush headlong into morning traffic.
It is another day in the lives of the Kirkland-Bonnefoy family.