"Mum? Where are you? I need to ask if something is Ok?"
"What are you yakking on about?" said Bill's dad.
Bill pursed his lips. "I'm not yakking, dad. I'm trying to ask a question. Where is she?"
"I'm coming!" The sound of a toilet flushing grew louder as a door opened and slammed shut. "What the hell is it now?"
"I wanna know if it's Ok to have a— a companion over for dinner tomorrow."
"A companion? Speak English for crying out loud! Are you talking about a friend? Cos I can't imagine a useless tub of lard like you having a girlfriend."
Bill rolled his eyes. "Just answer the question, would you? Is it Ok or isn't it?"
She pushed past him, and lit up a cigarette over the kitchen sink. "I suppose so. Just don't expect anything fancy. We're having bangers and mash. I'm not splashing out to feed some lay-about friend of yours. Twenty three and still at home on incapacity benefit. I don't know."
Bill watched her shaking her head and left her to mutter to herself over her cigarette. Bangers and mash was perfect. Some good old British culinary delights to introduce the Arcturian to. Cats liked sausages and potatoes, right?
But what would the superior being think of his family's dinner habits? It was customary in their household to eat in front of the TV. Bill usually sat with his plate in his lap and a drink on the coffee table. Maybe a proper family meal would be better.
He started the preparations early the following day. After moving the coffee table to one side, he cleared the trinkets and photos from a family trip to the Isle of Man off the collapsible table and unfolded it in the centre of the room. In one of the kitchen drawers was a moldy old lace table cloth which he threw over it, and he found plastic place mats from Christmas in another drawer. He switched the TV off and unplugged it to avoid distractions. As Bill was laying out the knives and forks in their correct places, he realized the most important thing he had forgotten to do. He hadn't told the Arcturian what time to arrive.
As his mother bustled by holding plates and pots full of steaming food, Bill made his way to the back door and stood overlooking the garden as he had done the previous night. Nothing. No movement apart from the trees swaying in the breeze.
Muttering a shamanic conjuration, Bill made himself a cup of his special herbal tea for Dutch courage. Now all he needed was bait. A packet of ham would suffice. He ripped it open and shredded the contents, emptying the pieces on the ground. The cats came right away through gaps in the fence. And then he saw it. A disturbance in the bushes at the end of the garden.
"Hello again," said Bill. "You're just in time."
The Arcturian dipped its head in response and moved past Bill into the house. The cat-like being walked so smoothly, it was as if it was gliding.
A sour thought crossed his mind. He had been too excited and preoccupied with the alien coming to tea to think about the potential consequences. He was bringing the enemy, his mother's lover, into the household to enhance the rift between his parents. A sinking feeling overcame him. Too late for regrets now.
As he entered the living room, Bill saw that the Arcturian was already seated. Adjacent to it at the head of the table sat his father with his hands on his lap, staring ahead, his eyes unfocussed.
"Bill?" said his mother from the kitchen, "Where is that damn kid?"
"I'm coming."
"Make use of yourself. Take this pot."
Bill carried the large pot of mash through to the living room, his mother following behind with a dish full of sausages. As he set the pot down he saw her halt, almost dropping the dish. A lone sausage tumbled to the floor.
"What's going on?" said his mother, her face beet-root. She looked from the Arcturian to Bill. Bill saw her straighten up as she regained her composure. Bill made a beeline for the buttered peas, a narrow escape.
"Eh– nice to meet you," she said, sticking out a hand to the guest. "I'm Claire."
"Juliano," said the Arcturian. "Enlightened."
She took the creature's cat-like paw in her hand, her fingers closing around the splayed toes and shook. Quite the exaggerated gesture. Bill felt heat creep into his face as his mother took her seat opposite his father.
As he sat in the remaining seat facing Juliano, Bill began loading up his plate without speaking. What was going on? Ok, so his mother's odd behavior was normal, her adultery was being laid on a plate as plain as the sausages. But what of his dad? Wasn't he even in the least bit—
"Dad, you've met Juliano, haven't you?"
"What's that son?" he said, through a mouthful of mash.
Bill tried to read his eyes behind the reflection of his glasses. "Never mind."
"Then why are you wasting time talking? Tuck in."
Silence fell and Bill shifted in his seat. He dug the spoon into the buttered peas and moved the scoop towards his plate, but his hand was shaking too much. Miniature green cannon balls rolled towards Juliano, as if they were magnetized. He reached into his pocket, fumbling inside the plastic bag and caught a few herb fragments with the tips of his fingers. His own special seasoning and a mid-dinner relaxant at the same time.
"Er— so what's it like where you're from Juliano?" said Bill.
"Quite hot, but not uncomfortably so." Juliano took a dainty bite of sausage and chewed with feline grace.
"How long did it take you to get here?"
"It was instantaneous. I'm always around."
Cryptic. Bill watched the being as the peas rolled around his mouth. "Do the cats always come to you?"
"I have a great connection with them. They bond well with me."
The clink of cutlery on crockery filled the air, smacking lips and the occasional grunt. A million questions blossomed in Bill's brain.
"I saw Dave today across the road," said Bill's dad with a thick tongue.
"Was it dead?" said Bill's mother, forking a sausage.
A hesitation followed. "He's not dead, he just got back from holiday."
Another pause. "What are you on about? Wouldn't it be quarantined?"
Bill looked from his father to mother, confused. Juliano kept eating, looking at his plate.
"What are you on about?" said his dad swallowing his food. "I'm talking about Dave."
"Oh Dave! I thought you said deer. You shouldn't ruddy well talk with your mouth full."
His dad rolled his eyes and went back to his food. Silence fell once again.
Bill looked down at the TV plug lying on the floor, the prongs facing upwards. Any old crap show would be better than a lack of conversation. What would Juliano think?
Apparently it agreed. The Arcturian dabbed its mouth on a Christmas napkin and pushed its seat back from the table, standing up.
"Well, thank you for a lovely dinner, but I must be going now."
"What— so soon?" said Bill's mother and Bill stared at her. She caught sight of him and averted her gaze. "We have dessert, is all."
Juliano smiled. "A kind offer, but I feel I've imposed upon you enough as it is." The creature offered a bow to all and padded towards the kitchen. Bill started to see it out, but his mother had rushed ahead closely tailing it. Bill turned to look at his father. The man was chewing `with bulging cheeks, oblivious to the whole situation.
Bill plugged the TV in and let the sounds and colours wash over him. How on earth were these people able to see the Arcturian too? He balled his hands into fists.
His mother came back in looking windswept and sat back down, tucking her hair behind an ear. She speared another sausage and started chewing it on the fork.
"What's going on?" said Bill, looking from his dad, to his mum.
"That's what I'd like to know," said his dad. "How long has it been going on, Irene?"
"Irene?" said Bill, his scalp pulling taut. "But mum's name's Claire–"
"Only Irene would cheat," said his father, staring across the table at her. "How long?"
She shrugged. "A few weeks. Maybe a month."
"Am I hearing this right?" said Bill, leaning his elbows on the table. "You're worried about the fact that mum's cheating, and not about who with?"
"Oh I know who with alright. The bloke looks homeless."
"Homeless? Dad, what the–?"
"Fine. So he is homeless, so what? He's one hell of a lover!"
Bill jumped up and snatched the plug out of the socket, rage searing through him.
"Dad, don't you even give a damn that mum's seeing an Arcturian? Don't you know what this means?"
"He's Brazilian actually," said his mother, slouching back in her chair, arms folded.
"Brazilian?" Bill ran his hands through his hair. His mouth felt dry. "How many Brazilians look like that?"
"So what if he's only four feet two. All I know is it's the most fun I've had in years."
Bill walked into the kitchen, blood pumping in his chest. They didn't deserve it, to see Juliano or to talk to him, never mind sleep with him. How could his mother possibly be a higher spiritual soul if she was too focused on earthly pleasures?
He felt his frown dissolve. That was it. So simple. It was another challenge of his spirit, another step to climb on the ladder to enlightenment. An image of Juliano appeared before his eyes. The golden cat-fur dissolved into olive skin, the feline eyes changed into almond-shaped Latino ones. Bill shook his head to clear it. Juliano had set up a scenario to test him, by pretending to be human and having an affair with his mother. It was all to see if his soul was strong enough, ready for more. He had to overcome this dilemma of the physical plane in order to placate his consciousness. Bill smiled to himself. He reached into his pocket and extracted a few more strands of his special herbs, which he placed in his mouth. His family saw Juliano as a homeless Brazilian midget, but he saw to a deeper level of understanding. Swimming before his dilated pupils, he saw the truth.
Rodney Ramos lives in London and has been writing for five years. In his free time he takes Karate classes with his girlfriend. More about his writing can be found at RodneyRamos.wordpress.com.