The Problem With Crazy Read Online Free

I’m not entirely sure why, but I’m trying.” Mum’s voice was clipped.
    My heart slid down to my stomach and I held my breath. What was going on?
    Was my drunken father moving back in?
    It felt like something out of a movie. I didn’t belong in this scene. I delicately tiptoed to the end of the tiled kitchen area. If I was fast enough, perhaps I could slip past them and straight up the stairs, escaping observation whatsoever. But the sinking feeling that had lurked in my belly since Dad showed up at school turned into an anchor. It weighed me down, forcing my feet to stay rooted to the spot.
    “Oh! Kate. Hi,” Mum said, as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. Dad was draped over her shoulder, leaning on her for assistance. He was worse than I’d thought. “We didn’t think you were at home. Why are all the lights off?”
    I watched as Mum helped Dad into a chair at the breakfast bar. The whites of his eyes weren’t the bloodshot colour I’d expected them to be, and he didn’t smell of booze. His posture gave him away, though. He was hunched, bent and slack, like his bones were jellied. When Mum released her support on his shoulder, he slumped forward like a sack of potatoes before righting himself.
    “What’s he doing here?” I raised my eyebrows. He couldn’t just walk back in here, needing our help like this. That wasn’t fair. Not when he’d embarrassed me so much and disappeared for a whole year.
    “Sweetheart, we’ll talk about it in a second. Can you go get me a beer from the fridge outside, please?” Mum dismissed me.
    “The last thing he needs is another drink.” I pointed at my father’s sorry figure.
    “It’s not for him. It’s for me.”
    I stepped back. For my mother? But she rarely drank. We only kept booze in the fridge outside for special occasions.
    So what was so special about this?
    “Make that two,” Dad’s voice was breathy, exhausted.
    “No.”
    “Kate …” Mum warned.
    “Not until somebody tells me what’s going on.” I locked eyes with my mother, engaged in a silent stand-off.
    “Kate. Tomlinson. Go and get me a beer from the outside fridge. Now .” Mum’s words were fierce, her eyes flashing with anger.
    I sighed and stomped out the back door, walking through the slightly too long grass accompanied by a chorus of cicadas to the garage where we kept the second fridge. It housed copious amounts of water, soft drinks and beer, as well as the occasional supply of ice cream I liked to hide from Mum.
    I opened the door and covered my mouth. The room before me was a dirty, dusty mess. I kicked at a wrench lying on the floor near the entrance, watching as it scratched out a path past tools, Mum’s car and the window, which offered a twilight view of our empty driveway with its fresh-cut grass. Everything looked so normal out there.
    Heat radiated off the engine of Mum’s Ford as I stepped closer to it. That was when I realised.
    Dad’s car wasn’t in the garage; Mum’s was. I hadn’t really expected it to be parked alongside hers, what with him clearly having been on a bit of a bender, but if he really were here for two days or more, where had he left his pride and joy?
    How had he even gotten to the ceremony yesterday?
    My mind started spinning as I tried to piece it all together. Maybe this had been a long-term problem, the reason he left. Maybe he’d sold his car to pay for drinks, and bought a ticket back to see us when the money finally ran dry?
    I shook my head. That was the sort of behaviour drug addicts engaged in, not the sort of thing my father would do.
    Would he?
    I made my way through the dirt, around the bumper of Mum’s car and retrieved a bottle from the fridge, slowly traipsing my way back through the garden. The beer was cool, a nice contrast to the summer air that had my armpits drenched in sweat.
    Mum and Dad weren’t in the kitchen anymore. They’d retired to the living room, with its almost floor-to-ceiling window draped in floral