by Aidan Thorn
“I’ll find a room in a hotel somewhere, don’t worry,” Kyle directed his comment to his mother.
“You will not, this is your home and you’ll…”
“It’s not been his home for 20 fucking years, and he didn’t like it when it was,” Frank interrupted. He belched as he spoke and Kyle could smell the alcohol on his father’s rancid breath. “He can fuck off and find somewhere else to sleep.”
“He’ll stay here and if you don’t like that, you can find somewhere else to sleep.”
Kyle could hear in his mother’s voice that she’d wanted to shout her response, but she didn’t have the energy.
“Fine, it’s not like you’ve made me any dinner anyway, so I might as well fuck off out again.”
Frank staggered as he turned to leave. Kyle stood, his back up.
“Kyle, leave it,” Violet said with the quiet authority that only a mother has over her son.
Kyle respected his mother’s wishes and made his way back to his seat, but his father had heard her instruction and reacted in the opposite.
“What? Does the big tough army man have something he wants to say to me?” Frank said turning back into the room and stumbling towards his son. “Come on then. Out with it.”
Kyle stood again. He saw his mother’s eyes roll and heard her sigh, but this time she wasn’t going to stop him.
“I never expected to come home and find out you were suddenly someone worth knowing, Frank.” Kyle wouldn’t call him dad. “But I had hoped to find that, with Ma in this situation, you would be here to take care of her. But surprise, surprise, you disappoint again. Have you ever given a fuck about anyone but yourself?”
Frank’s eyes suggested that he wanted to take a swing at his son, but, even in his drunken state, he was able to work out that would be a mistake—he’d come off second best if fists started flying.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, hey?” Frank’s voice was raised, the belching continued between words. “You stroll in here after not showing your face in god knows how long and suddenly you think you’re in some sort of position to tell me how to look after my wife. Where have you been when your mother has needed you over the past two decades? Where were you when she was lying awake at night terrified that you’d exploded in some Baghdad warzone? Don’t come back here and tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. You’ve put your mother through hell for over half the time you’ve been on this earth.”
Kyle had no respect for his father but his words still hit hard— he was right. He’d neglected his family, he’d done so to get away from his father and his brother, but done so all the same and had no response to the words. But then he didn’t need one—because his mother cut them both off.
“Stop it, the pair of you, just stop it.” She’d found some strength to shout and it had clearly hurt her. “I don’t have long, I want Kyle here so you are both going to have to find a way to get along. Kyle, your old room is ready for you up there. Frank, if you want to eat, I suggest you go out and get us all fish and chips.”
Frank had always been the boss on the street, but in the home Violet ruled and that wasn’t going to change now. Frank nodded his agreement and turned to head out. Kyle stood to follow.
“Kyle…” Violet said in a tone that suggested he stay put.
“Don’t worry Ma, it’s cool.”
Kyle followed his father into the hallway and spoke in a whisper.
“Look, we don’t have to like each other, we don’t even have to speak to each other. I know I’d prefer it that way, but, that woman in there is dying and she needs us both around, so let’s just agree to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible and get through this.”
Frank didn’t respond with words; he just gave Kyle a grudging look before heading back out of the door.
They’d eaten their fish and chips in virtual silence. Violet barely touched hers, but she’d taken heart in the fact that Frank had returned with portions for all three of them. Kyle hadn’t realised how hungry he’d been until the food was in front of him, or how tired. When he’d finished his meal he said goodnight to his mother and kissed her cheek. He exchanged a reluctant nod with his father and headed upstairs to his old room.
It hadn’t changed in 19 years. A poster of Henrik Larsson in full Celtic kit still hung on the wall above a single bed. The room bought back memories for Kyle, very few of them good.
Chapter Five
Kyle woke confused by his surroundings. He’d woken up in worse places more times than he’d cared to remember, but he’d never woken so depressed. The knowledge of his mother’s illness had been bought starkly to life yesterday and now felt so real. Adding to that the fact he was sleeping under the same roof as his father again, and Kyle wasn’t glad to be waking up this morning. Despite his mood, he jumped from the bed and went through a routine that he’d adopted since leaving the army. He was afraid he’d get fat without the discipline and exercise of the army life—seeing his father last night hadn’t done much to allay those fears. He dressed himself in running gear and made his way down the stairs.
The house was in almost darkness. Spring was just around the corner but that didn’t guarantee good weather would follow—not in Scotland. Kyle knew his run would be cold and dressed for it. As he moved through the house, he heard his father snoring, the deep snores of a man too heavy and sleeping off too much drink. Before heading out, Kyle cracked open the door to the living room and looked in on his mother. Unable to climb the stairs to her marital bed, Violet slept soundly on a pull-out sofa. Kyle smiled as he watched her sleep. Yes, she looked frail but if she was sleeping she couldn’t be hurting. He pulled the door closed and headed out for his run.
The cold bit deeper than he expected. Kyle’s breath misted in front of his face. The neighbourhood in which Frank and Violet had made their home still stood proud and well maintained on the edge of the town. These were large expensive houses; the people that lived there hadn’t been affected by the downturn in fortune of the community as a whole, they had money, the sort of money that didn’t disappear if work did. However, within just 90 seconds of running, the poverty was evident as he reached the edge of the street and turned to see a row of boarded shops up ahead. Shops Kyle remembered using as a child.
As he ran, he headed into the more rural areas of the town, the areas that had been its heart, its economic centre for so long. The farmland through which the majority of the town’s residents made their living, either off the land or selling product from it. The fields now stood almost lifeless and overgrown. Farm buildings were abandoned and vandalised. Kyle’s curiosity took him off the tracks that ran along the side of the fields. He hopped a broken fence and took his route closer to the outbuildings of a farm he’d been familiar with as a youngster. Back then the field he now paced across would have been home to dozens of grazing cows being readied for the beef market. Today those cows were gone, in their place two stags rutted furiously in a cloud of mist, unaware of the rich farming history on the ground for which they now fought.
He slowed his pace as he approached a barn. The once familiar smell of farm animal had been replaced with new but equally unpleasant scents—stale urine and body odour. The light was still not great with dawn yet to break. Kyle stopped at the opening to the barn and saw piles of blankets and clothing under which lay the bodies of sleeping vagrants. They weren’t disturbed by Kyle’s presence; it would have taken more than a passing jogger to wake them. Kyle squinted into the darkness and could make out cheap brand bottles of spirits lying empty on the floor as well as drug paraphernalia. They probably wouldn’t wake until long after the sun rose, if it did—it wasn’t looking promising. Grey skies had turned black as clouds rolled above. Kyle looked up into the roof of the barn. There were gaps where slate had fallen away. When the rains came, it would offer no protection to those inside. Perhaps they’d wake then.
Kyle’s run continued in a similar vein. Everything he moved past
was derelict and abandoned. The farmland was a graveyard for rusting tools and even heavy machinery. A tractor sat out of commission with a plough still attached. Kyle imagined the farmer had finished using it one day, planning to go back to it the next, but heard news of foreclosure and simply left, never to return. As he headed back toward his parent’s home, two things became more apparent, the level of dereliction and the fact that it probably wouldn’t really get light today.
His running shoes were caked in mud, he kicked them off at the door and stood in socks on cold damp concrete. As he entered, he heard a soft female voice that he didn’t recognise. Kyle made his way to the living room to find his mother and father sat on the sofa and large woman in her early fifties wearing a nurse-like tabard.
“Debbie, this is my son,” Violet said to the woman who was checking her over. Debbie eyed Kyle with a mix of disapproval and fear. Violet saw the look and continued her introduction, “Kyle was in the army, he’s just come home to us. Debbie comes by a couple of times a day, Kyle. She’s from the home support team that the NHS send out.”
Debbie’s eyes warmed and she smiled. This told Kyle two things, she knew of his brother Graham and his reputation, and she hadn’t met him yet. Graham clearly hadn’t exactly been present for his mother lately, but then Kyle had expected nothing different—he was surprised to see his father sat in the room, but then it was a bit early for a drink.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kyle.” Debbie said, “I’d shake your hand, but I’ve just sterilised mine. Violet has told me all about you, but she hadn’t told me you were home.”
“I got back yesterday,” Kyle said, not really sure how to respond.
“Well, I’m sure it’ll be a great tonic to your mother to have you about. Are you staying long?”
Again, Kyle wasn’t really sure how to respond. The truth was, he’d be here as long as it took, but he wasn’t going to say that.
“I’m moving back here for a while. My wife and daughter will be joining me soon.”
This appeared to be news to Frank Gordon, who rolled his eyes—he clearly didn’t want Kyle or his family around. Debbie also seemed shocked by Kyle’s statement, more than likely borne out of the fact that no one in their right mind would bring a wife and child to live around here.
Debbie was done with her work in a few short minutes.
“Now Kyle, maybe you can help me out here,” she said. “I’ve been talking to your mother for a while about the fact that it might be better for her to go into a residential care home. We could provide far better care for her there.”
Kyle wasn’t looking at Debbie as she spoke. He was looking at the sadness build on his mother’s face. Although her face had been made older than its years by the cancer, there was almost a childlike quality to it as she looked at him with a pleading.
“We’ve already said, she’s not going into one of those places,” Frank chipped in angrily. “My wife has lived in this house for 40 years, she’s not leaving it now.”
Debbie was clearly a little afraid of Frank and hurried her stuff into her bag in preparation to leave. Kyle didn’t like his father, or the way he’d spoken to this woman who was only here to help, but he did agree with him.
“I’m around now, Debbie and, when my wife gets here, we’ll have even more help. My ma’s needs will be taken care of, but thank you,” Kyle said. “Let me see you out.”
Debbie smiled thanks at Kyle as she clutched a bag tight to her oversized midriff. They walked together to the front of the house.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset them,” Debbie said as she walked into the rain that had started to fall properly when Kyle had returned from his run. “I’m just concerned for all of you. Things will be hard when the time comes. She’ll need professional care.”
“I know, Debbie, but let’s tackle that when the time comes. At the moment I just want my mother to try to enjoy what little time she can.”
“I understand that,” Debbie said, “She’s lucky to have a son like you.”
Kyle thought about what his father had said to him last night, he’d put her through hell and worry for over half his life. She wasn’t lucky at all, but he’d do what he could to make up for that now that he was home.
The next few days followed the same familiar pattern. Kyle woke early to darkness, exercised, had a passing acquaintance with Debbie and spent time with his mother. Frank was about occasionally; in the evenings he always stank of booze, but the angry tone of that first evening together didn’t return. Kyle and Frank were cordial with each other for Violet’s sake. The easiest way to achieve this was by not really speaking to each other, and that suited both men.
Kyle also spent time looking for a place to rent for when Emma and Zoe arrived. His mother had said they could all stay at the family home, but Kyle wasn’t keen on the idea for a number of reasons. He didn’t really want to spend any longer under the same roof as his father than he had to, and he certainly didn’t want his wife and daughter to. He also knew that, even though his mother had invited them to stay there, she would feel awkward not being able to look after her guests. It was in Violet’s nature to look after people, ensure everything was OK for her guests—she’d always been the perfect hostess. Kyle didn’t want to add to her frustrations by having her unable to fuss in the way that she loved to.
Finding a place to live wasn’t easy though. It wasn’t for want of empty property, there was plenty of that about, but there wasn’t much that Kyle was prepared to have his family live in. He found something eventually, it wasn’t great—good would have been stretching it, but it would do. He could make it decent enough with a bit of effort.
While his mother slept one afternoon, Kyle took himself back to the Bear and Stag. He wasn’t exactly keen on the idea but there wasn’t anywhere else to go. The wallpaper didn’t look as tired to Kyle’s eye this time around. The place hadn’t been decorated, Kyle’s expectations had clearly just dropped after nearly a week back in his run-down hometown. The barman from Kyle’s first visit was there again, on the wrong side of the bar swiping at his mobile phone screen and looking bored. He sat with his back to the door and hadn’t seen Kyle come in.
“Pint of something drinkable, if you’ve got it please, kid,” Kyle called out as he approached the bar.
The barman nearly fell from his stool on hearing Kyle’s voice. He clearly wasn’t used to seeing too many customers through here. When he turned to see Kyle, he eyed him with suspicion but there was also some relief in the look.
“Lager or bitter?” the barman asked.
“Will I be able to tell the difference?” Kyle asked but, seeing the barman wasn’t amused, just added, “Lager.”
Kyle took the stool that the barman had vacated and placed a book on the bar. His pint was placed next to it in a glass branded with the name of a beer that this place clearly no longer stocked. Kyle cracked open his book at the bend in the spine and took the top off of his pint. The barman stood on the other side of the bar and Kyle sensed his eyes boring into him.
“It’s alright, lad, you don’t have to babysit me. I’ve got my pint of pisswater, you can get back to your phone now.” Kyle just wanted a quiet pint on his own but, as he looked at the barman he could see something was bothering him. His eyes flicked from Kyle to the clock to the door. Kyle wanted to ask what the barman was afraid might be about to go down, but he didn’t want to let him know that he’d been affected by the younger man. “You want to relax a bit, lad, you’ll get grey hairs being that uptight.”
The barman grinned and nodded. It was supposed to be dismissive, it just came off more nervous.
“Right, what’s troubling you?” Kyle asked.
“Are you sure you’re not involved with your brother?” the barman asked, before quickly adding, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that if you are.”
“I haven’t seen my brother in nearly 20 years, and I haven’t spoken to him in longer.”
<
br /> “Right, well, it’s just that your timing is a little odd.”
“How’d you mean?”
“Because any time now he’s going to walk through that door to collect his dues. My boss has left it here for me,” the barman said, reaching under the bar and showing Kyle an envelope.
Kyle didn’t know how to react. He didn’t want to see Graham, but then he didn’t want to hide either. He thought about asking the barman if there was a back exit he could use. Just slip out and head back to his mother’s. But, why? He was going to come face to face with his brother at some point—might as well get it out of the way.
Before Kyle could make a decision, the choice was taken out of his hands. A big man walked in wearing a t-shirt that showed off tree trunk arms despite the weather outside, followed by a man and a face Kyle hadn’t wanted to see again if he’d lived a thousand lifetimes. Graham had bulked out by comparison to the boy that Kyle remembered, but his face was still thin and rat-like. Both men eyed Kyle as they walked in. There was recognition on Graham’s face as his stare met Kyle’s, but it was as if he was seeing an old classmate and couldn’t quite remember a name.
“Hello Graham,” Kyle said, folding his book shut and turning from the pint that he’d barely touched.
“Kyle?” Graham had worked out who it was, but he was still confused to see his brother.
“Yep.”
“What the fuck are you doing back here?” His tone quickly found hatred, which was more familiar to Kyle’s ears.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but our mother’s ill.”
Graham had maintained distance between himself and his brother when he’d walked into the pub, like he hadn’t wanted to get too close for fear of catching something. He closed that distance sharply as those words left Kyle’s lips. Kyle stood quickly, and his stool fell to the floor. The guy with the tree trunks for arms stood his ground but took a stance that showed he was poised should something kick off. The young barman’s face showed fear as he realised he was about to get caught up in something, or worse witness something, involving Graham Gordon.
