The Vegan Affliction

 “You think by doing this you’re saving him, but you’re not. You’re making it worse. For fuck sake, John, save your family!”
I hear a crash as mum drops her makeup bag on the wooden floor upstairs. I ask MachineMaid to make a cup of tea to distract me, but it can’t hear my voice above their screaming. I press the button myself instead and ten seconds later muddy water scolds my tongue. I miss the thick, creamy taste of milky tea.
Over the last few weeks I’d tried to decode the vague language my parents use. I’d tried to understand why Mum’s throat croaks, every time the phone rings. I’d asked my dad early one morning when he couldn’t sleep. He sat by the fridge for hours eating prunes and pita chips; answering my questions with aggressive snorts, that told me to mind my own business.
 
The tea doesn’t help and the screaming persists until I can no longer stand it. I flee to the only place I know will transform my mind from a stormy sea to a millpond- London Borough Market. I pass Starbucks, now with Soy Latte’s a fixed part of the menu. Next to it the newest FreeFrom supermarket, which had popped up a week ago. Its first initial was now more common than the golden arches used to be. And on the cinema screen attached to the brick wall facing me, I watch old school athletic heroes advertising Quorn; pretending edible fungus had made them the gold medallists they are today.
 
When I reach London Borough Market, the main gates are still soldered shut. A CCTV camera is poised ready to fry anyone attempting to open it. But I have been here enough times now to know there is a blind spot by the side entrance. I walk into the now abandoned market that Prime Minister Chain closed immediately after he was elected three years ago. 
Cade Jackson’s Meat Selection still stands in the market’s centre, accumulating dust. It wears its security grate like armour, reluctant to show vulnerability. Despite the paint chipping, I feel proud, knowing my father named the only thing he truly cared about after his only son.
There are no people- only the alpine balustrades and ivory bricks keep me company. The birds squawk above, trapped and tricked by the glass sky.
 
Chain’s inauguration speech still rings in my ears- even now- the words that ruined my life.
“Nationwide Veganism will not only reduce global greenhouse emissions; it will alleviate animal suffering. Maintaining a sustainable diet will enable us to prosper. Which is why, for my first act as Prime Minister, I am making veganism a legal requirement for anyone residing in the United Kingdom.”
 
Those who petitioned and protested were told they didn’t give a fuck about Animal Rights. Those that didn’t were told they didn’t give a shit about human rights. But all of us were left to question: what if? What if people like my father had refused to leave their jobs? Maybe Chain would have given up. What if the media hadn’t made us so weight conscious? Or if we hadn’t been mesmerised by his complex vocabulary, which masked his inability to answer questions? Maybe then I wouldn’t be standing here in this maze of jilted market stalls, imagining them once again beaming with colour and culture. I smile at the sound of stallholders preaching their prices and the public begging for bargains.
The path is still painted with yellow lines, encouraging me to dream of old school London, where cyclists still braved the main road. I sit on the step, which once belonged to a vibrant cheese stall, where lifeless grey spheres now tower alongside me. Stale diced bread waits to be reunited with the uniform bottles of oil and vinegar next to them; each growing a solid piece of yellow film on top. I used to eat that same bread for lunch on the weekends when I helped Dad and Uncle Ronnie cut the meat and hand out testers.
Uncle Ronnie didn’t take his redundancy half as well as my father. My mum opened the door to him one night chanting the specials as if he was drumming up trade or casting spells. She thought it was a mental breakdown until my father took her into another room and explained. That’s when the arguing began.
When I asked mum myself, she told about the people Uncle Ronnie was selling to. They would buy meat even if it smelt- rinse it and risk it. Her eyes looked sore and her skin malnourished.  Last week saw the first annual protein check, carried out by a doctor and introduced to ensure no meat has passed through your system. The computer lights throbbed pink after Ronnie was examined so they detained him. That was the last time I saw Ronny Jackson.
 
“S'cuse me ma love, you’re not meant to be in ‘ere.” A woman sits curled up, against a trolley, in the corner. She wears a woolly hat with a wiry, frayed bobble and is surrounded by ripped plastic bags that reek of banana and cabbage. The dirt lingering in her finger nails and the scabs on her knuckles tell me she doesn’t have a place to call home.
 
“Could say the same for you.” I edge towards her grey skin, which is filigreed with scars.
She avoids eye contact with me so I know she’s isn’t a threat but the smell of rotting food makes me queasy.
 
“You’re Johnny Jackson’s kid, aren't you?” She asks. I nod, caught off guard.
“How’s he doing now anyway? My husband used to work over there selling flowers,”
 I follow her eyes to the stall that was once her husband’s. Suddenly it makes sense that a person without a home would seek shelter in the only place she felt she belonged.
 
“Dad’s fine, I guess.”
 
“He heard from Ronnie?”
 
I look up to the ceiling, wondering how well she knows my family. Did she know them well enough to know what Ronnie was doing? I shrug my shoulders, and scrape invisible dirt off the sole of my shoe.
 
“I assume he won’t get bail… Jeffrey didn’t”
 
I follow her eyes once more to the stall, which is littered with wilted petals. Dry, grey compost graffities the counter and the leaves have been ripped by creatures. I remember Jeffery. He would put aside the best bouquet every weekend to take home to his wife. I watch as the stall becomes alive once more with customers buying for their family and friends, to congratulate, apologise, say happy birthday, or give their sympathies.
 
“Bit silly them all thinking they could get away with it. I told Jeff I didn’t want him doing it- going behind the governments back and that just like I’m sure your mother said the same to ya father, but you men don’t listen to…”
 
“What did you just say?”
 
“Oh don’t take it personally kiddo. You men don’t even realise you aren’t listening half the time…”
 
“No before that.”
 
She stares into my eyes- this time with purpose. Her eyes are thieves, robbing me of everything I’ve ever known. My heart falls through my ribcage and sits on my bladder like it’s deflating a blow-up mattress.
 
“I… I thought you knew”
Sweat sticks to my armpits yet the sight of this woman gives me chills. She whines at me as I flee from her, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
I run behind a brick wall. It feels cold against my fist as I punch it. I fall to the pavement, comforted by the jagged edges of the cobbles. The question was never if I believed her, the question was how did I miss it.
 
My phone vibrates and I read the text from my Mum through a teary haze.
Cade come home. It’s your father.
 
As I turn around the corner I see flashing cop cars beneath the growing scarlet sky. The door is open. The hall is empty. I follow the voices coming from the living room, and see my father, handcuffed, kneeling on the ground. My mother stops her conversation with the officer. Her sleeves are damp and she has a crumpled tissue enveloped in her fist. She holds my shoulders, and I’m suddenly aware of how breakable I am.
“They’re taking him away, aren’t they,” I croak, “Dad was working with Uncle Ronnie wasn’t he?”
“Yes love,” she sniffs.
“This lady, she told me… she knew Ronnie and dad and she-“
“What Lady? Listen it doesn’t matter. Stay here while I go with your father to the station. We’ll be back soon. We’ll sort it all out and everything’s gonna be okay.”
 
She sniffs again but her eyes don’t cry. Maybe she’s just run out of tears. I read that they can do that somewhere. Or maybe she’s just relieved she doesn’t have a secret to keep anymore.
 
“Promise me you’ll stay strong kiddo.” My father says, as the officers bring him to his feet.
I sit on the window ledge watching while they take my parents away. It seems I’ve got plenty of tears left before I run out.