Good Enough

Good Enough

Sunlight made the world seem more beautiful. By craning over the kitchen sink, she could see the immense, azure-coloured sky, flecked with cotton-wool clouds.

She could remember in her childhood, lying amongst the grass in her parent's garden, and staring upwards at the clouds, trying to determine what they looked like.

Her own garden looked wonderful, she thought. Everything was blooming, growing, alive with a rush of colour.

She had pruned her shrubs into just the right shape, and dear Vernon's lawn could be Wimbledon's for it was a perfect emerald, not a single weed in sight and the blades each cut to the precise height.

The only thing that was wrong with her gorgeous garden was that it had him in it. Scruffy lay-about he was, it'd do him good out in the sunshine tending to her plants.

Although, if he came in again soaking wet and telling tales about Dudley she'd be after his blood; especially if he dripped muddy water all over her pristine kitchen and her Persian rug again.

He was a troublemaker, that child, utterly horrid to her Dudders and an insolent brat to herself and Vernon.

Petunia stacked the last dish onto the draining board and pulled off her rubber gloves. They were pink and went well with her apron. Dudley had bought them for her birthday along with a box of 'Quality Street', which they'd shared together. Petunia had been keeping her gloves for a special occasion.

Such occasion was the barbecue that they had last weekend with her lovely (but nosey) neighbours. They had looked especially envious when she showed off her gloves when she rinsed the crystal wine glasses.

Petunia checked in on Dudley who was sprawled comfortably on the sofa, playing some sort of fighting game. Dudley made excited "Haha gottcha" noises and Petunia assumed he would be fine without her for now.

Her Dudley was nothing like that scum she called (grudgingly) her nephew. Dudley was a big, strong boy with shiny blonde hair and a smatter of freckles. A normal boy... Well almost. Dudley was so angelic that he was better than normal. Much better than anyone else on the planet, just like his Dad.

Harry, though... What had she done to get dumped with that straggly little freak?

Petunia walked smartly into the garden, careful to keep on the crazy paving. As she wandered up the path toward her disgraceful nephew, she inconspicuously looked over the lattice fencing into next doors vegetable patch and could see Mrs-What's-Her-Name dusting ornaments on the windowsill.

Right, that would be her next job. Dusting every day might be a trifle tiresome but it had to be done. Dudders could get asthma or something.

Harry was watching her as she approached, and she sniffed delicately. "Are you done yet, boy?"

"Not quite, Aunt Petunia. I haven't done all of the..."

"I can see what is done and what is not. Remember to clean all of the tools you've used with the hose and stack them neatly in the shed when you've finished."

"Ok."

"Pardon?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia. Uh, sorry, Aunt Petunia."

"Your manners are atrocious. If you don't start speaking to me politely, you'll be getting nothing but table scraps until you go back to school."

"Like I don't already," came the murmured reply.

Petunia gave him a thwack upside the head and hissed at him to get on with it.

The neighbour was staring rather openly now, and she gave Petunia a surprised look. Petunia mouthed "boys" whilst motioning helplessly. The neighbour gave a conspiratorial smile and nodded.

Petunia disappeared back into her cool house, as she didn't want to be near that disgusting, sweating child any longer, and so fixed her darling son some refrigerated fizzy drink with a family size bag of bacon flavoured crisps.

Settling herself down into her usual seat with a glass of orange juice and her needlework, Petunia was able to bathe herself in her dear son's presence and feel at peace.

The boy came in twenty minutes later. Twenty! It had taken that lazy child absolutely ages to plant a new Hibiscus, put some fertiliser onto the plants and water them. If she had asked Dudley he would have taken half the time, she was sure, and he would have done a better job.

Horrible time waster of her precious time. Ungrateful, he was. Just like her sister and that freak of a husband.

Thankfully the click of the lock and the creak of the front door announced Vernon was home.

Harry was slouching against the doorframe of the sitting room and he scowled as Vernon gently pushed him aside as he came and greeted his family.

After he had finished giving loving kisses and pats of the shoulder he turned and spoke to Harry. "Finished the garden yet boy? I'd better go check, I suppose, just in case it isn't done properly." He left a threat hanging in the air that meant trouble if it was not.

If Harry's mutinous expression was anything to go by, Petunia thought that neither her nor Vernon would be pleased with his supposed 'hard' work. But then the boy seemed unable to work hard; he was an idiot boy who just didn't care about anything.

Harry's eyes were closed behind those glasses of his, which she was thankful for, as it meant that she didn't have Lily watching her, judging her. Petunia could see his fists were clenching and un-clenching and he had some sort of aura of anger about him.

Vernon, clever as he was, had noticed too. "Boy!" He barked as if to scare Harry out of his detestable behaviour.

"What?"

"Don't you speak to me like that,"

"I haven't done anything!"

"Like heck you haven't. Behave!"

"I haven't..."

"Be quiet boy!"

Petunia squealed then, as her beautiful ornaments, pictures and photograph frames shattered into irreparable smithereens.

"I'm sorry!" Harry cried, distressed like some sort of baby.

"Not good enough" Vernon was colouring quickly, and Petunia wondered horrified if this boy was causing her husband to have a heart attack.

But Petunia agreed sorry wasn't good enough. Harry wasn't good enough. His control wasn't good enough. Having him in the house wasn't good enough.

"Get out!" Petunia shrieked.

She'd had enough, how dare he stand there with that messy nest of hair of his father's, staring at her with his mother's eyes.

He wasn't even good enough to look like his own person. He reminded her of the past, and she wasn't going to have it any more.

He'd never be good enough to belong with her family. Not good enough at all.

~*~*~*~*~