AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’re tanned,” he says accusingly, wrenching his sleeve and pressing his pale, hairy arm against mine. “It’s almost October. We’ve got the bloody heating on at home.” He takes control of my trolley; a man thing, I know.
I link my arm through his. “It was twenty-nine degrees yesterday,” I say, as we walk across Terminal Five, “I was lying on a sunbed almost every day.” I scratch the back of his shaved head playfully. George scrunches his face, I know he’s forty but he’s still my kid brother. “How’s the family?”
“Oh, you know, kids screaming, Florian being a nuisance and Vicky…well, you know how low she’s been feeling lately. So what’s new?” My brother looks tired and haggard in his baggy jeans and khaki parka coat. I feel a pang of guilt for dragging him out of his warm bed at this ungodly hour. I should’ve just jumped in a cab. What was I thinking? He steers the trolley into the lift and gives me a warm grin.
“I hope you’ve taken the day off tomorrow,” I say, pulling my cardigan around me as we step into the car park to the sound of whistling aircraft.
“Bloody right I have. I could do with a few days off from that madhouse, anyway.”
I listen to my brother’s anecdotes with a smile as we soar along the M4 heading for north London. It’s good to be home.
* * *
My flat is just as I left it – only tidier. I notice immediately that all pictures of me and Nick have vanished. And gone too is the pop-art canvas of the two of us that adorned the eggshell coloured wall above the fireplace. Vicky must’ve been around with a duster and gotten rid of all traces of Nick. Vicky’s great like that, always thoughtful, always compassionate. She stayed over the night Nick left me, consoling me, making me hot drinks, wiping away my tears, making sure I didn’t do anything stupid – not that I would’ve. I’m not that daft.
“We had a bit of a tidy-up, watered the plants, sprayed the garden,” George calls out from the kitchen. “Hope you don’t mind.” He reappears with two mugs and a teapot. We sit side by side on the sofa. I’m glad to be home but it feels odd knowing that Nick will never walk through my front door again, that I’ll never fall asleep in his arms on this sofa. A cold, eerie feeling crawls over my skin and I quiver. “Oh, before I forget,” George says. His hand disappears into his coat pocket. “Better give these back.” He hands me my door keys, smiling. “And if you don’t mind, babe, could you help with house-sitting Mum and Dad’s pad? It’s been a bit difficult for me trekking up to Whetstone from Archway three times a week, what with Vicky feeling so tired all the time.”
“Of course, I can.” A tinge of guilt pinches my skin. “I’m sorry I left you in the lurch.” I lean onto him, closing my eyes, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. It’s almost daylight. We’re both exhausted. He presses his chin over my head affectionately and Nick’s face propels into my mind. I pull away quickly.
“Are you okay?” George looks startled.
“Yes, it’s just that smell…I…”
“God, I don’t smell that bad, do I?” He sniffs under his coat. “I have washed, you know, and I splashed on that aftershave Vicky got me last Christmas. One you recommended she said.” Dior Eau Sauvage. Nick’s favourite.
“Of course, you don’t smell, you numpty.” I lay a hand on his forearm, the other over my stomach. “It’s just that scent. It made me feel bit nauseous, that’s all.”
George looks horrified. “You’re not…” It takes me a few moments to register what he’s implying.
“Don’t be so stupid, of course, I’m not pregnant.”
“I was going to say, what with the news about…” he falters. My poor brother’s eyes are red, he needs to sleep. I should tell him to go.
“It’s okay,” I smile. “Louise told me about Nick’s accident.”
“Yeah, I know,” he groans. “I did tell her…”
“Don’t be angry with Loulou.” There’s no way I’m going to let him land this on her. Louise has been my rock. I don’t know how I’d have coped without her these last few weeks. “I made her tell me,” I insist. George grunts and takes a slurp from his mug. He knows Louise and I always stick up for each other, no matter what. We always have, even as kids. “Any news on Nick’s condition?” I ask casually, refilling our cups from the teapot.
“I dunno,” George fidgets with his key fob. “Look, I feel sorry for the guy and that, and I hope he’ll be back on his feet soon, but he’s got nothing to do with us anymore, has he?” I watch silently as he flicks the key in and out of its fob. Thud, thud, thud. “And quite frankly, I don’t know why that cousin of his tried to contact you. Had he forgotten that he jilted you and humiliated the lot of us?” He hisses loudly through his nose, then suddenly puts his mug down on the coffee table and faces me. “I hope you’re not planning on visiting him in hospital,” he warns, knotting his thick, dark eyebrows.
“As if.” I pull a face, then blow onto my hot tea. Clearly, I’m not going to get anything out of George. “I just wanted to know if he’s okay, that’s all. Jesus, am I not even allowed to ask how he is?” I say rhetorically. “And I think you’re forgetting that I’m the injured party here, George, and if I can have some compassion for him…” I tail off, taking a large sip from my cup, forgetting that it’s hot. My lips burn.
George picks up his mug and draws it to his lips, all the time regarding me dubiously. He doesn’t provoke me further, and we finish our drinks in silence.
7
Sleeping in until 2 p.m. is unheard of for me, but I really needed those seven hours. I bet George is still snoring. “Don’t call the flat until after school,” he warned, squeezing me in his arms on my doorstep this morning. “Vicky’s got a coffee morning on with some of the mums from nursery and I don’t want the phone going off every flipping five minutes. You know I can’t get back to sleep once I’m awake.”
I pour myself a coffee and shuffle into the lounge with it, sipping from my mug. A neat tower of mail is waiting for me on the dining table. Vicky must’ve assembled it, George doesn’t do tidy. I sift through it quickly - a few cards, probably wedding ones, which I really can’t face right now. The rest is bills and junk mail. I toss them to one side and sink into the high-backed chair at the table, wrapping my hands around my warm mug. I’ll deal with them later. There’s no rush. I’ve got all day. I’m on compassionate leave, anyway.
Closing my eyes, I’m suddenly aware of the ticking clock on the mantelpiece – tick, tick, tick in time to my beating heart. Apart from the muffled sound of traffic outside and the odd tweet and ruffle coming from the birds in my garden, it’s deadly quiet in here, and I’m not sure I like it. Perhaps I should get a cat or a dog. I’ve heard that pets reduce stress levels, and it’ll be nice to have something pottering around the empty flat.
The bare wooden floors creak under my weight as I walk towards the French doors. Nick was supposed to change a couple of dodgy floorboards, but, what with the wedding and everything, never got round to it. He was good at DIY and gardening, fixed most things when they went wrong, decorated my flat singlehandedly. I wonder how he is today. If he’s okay. If they’re looking after him well. I wonder if he’s thinking of me too. I shake my head, gazing into the garden. We almost had it all. When is this aching going to end?
A bird lands on my garden fence. “Hello, Mr Magpie,” I say, saluting it, although I’m not quite sure why; could my luck possibly get any wor se? The bird hops along then spreads its wings and takes off. I watch enviously as it soars into a blanket of grey sky. We had big plans for this good-sized garden - bedding plants along the foot of the raised decked patio with a splash of colour on either side of the green; tulips, daffodils and gerberas.
“And a couple of rose bushes, Foxy,” Nick had said last summer, standing on the lawn in his army green wellies, shovel in hand, sweat trickling down his heaving bare chest, “And I think a camellia too. In the far corner, just there.” He nodded towards the gazebo he’d built the year before, wiping the sweat off his hair speckled torso with his rolled-up vest. “My mum loved camellias.”
