Hairline.

His fingers hooked around the other side of the glass, dragging it across the shelf towards him. As the base tipped over the edge his thumb wrapped around and his whole hand squeezed tight. He held the glass up for a moment, looking through it to see his skin white with pressure. He slowly lowered it to the work surface. He tried to crush it. He wanted it to shatter into his blood. He squeezed even tighter and his hand started to shake. What would he do if it broke? Would Jenny call an ambulance or would he have to do it himself ? He called an ambulance at thirteen, but things were different then. He imagined them both silent at the dinner table, her staring at the pepper pot whilst he ripped up his s alad leaves, hand blood serving as a dressing. He dropped the glass down from a centimetre or so, the clamber was loud enough to take him out of his trance. His left hand grabbed another tumbler from the shelf, much easier, looser. Suave. He raised it over his left shoulder whilst unscrewing the cap with his right hand. You? His forefinger flicked the cap off the bottle. Please The second glass dropped by the first, and he poured squash into them both before circling them to the sink, one in each hand. With his left hand he pulled down the tap halfway, filling the right glass first then the left. The left hand was used to push the handle back up again, spilling a little squash as he did so. Glasses filled he moved to the table, Jenny reaching for her own, which turned out to be the stronger. Why dont you drink wine, Dad? Tim sipped his squash, before cocking his head at her. She saw the need for explanation All my friends parents drink wine. He placed the glass onto the place mat and picked up his cutlery. Why dont you wear make-up? He showed her the smile he was hiding. She hid her own, choosing instead to stare at the pepper pot. He started ripping up his salad leaves.