by Mary Jaine
After she'd calmed down a little, she fumbled out her phone and tried to call Shari, but she started crying again when Shari answered, so I took the phone from her and spoke to Shari.
"Shari, could you come and get us, please, Yaz is...not good, she needs you and your mum, can you hurry, please?"
Shari's voice was full of concern.
"It didn't work, did it? What actually happened?"
"It got...kind of nasty..." I admitted, "Yaz told me some stuff and it seems like she kind of had good reason to kick off like that, but I don't know, there's stuff I don't understand; please hurry, we need to get her home as soon as possible..."
"On my way, wait outside, and Ricky? Thanks for looking out for her. Be there in five."
*
Yaz was silent all the way home. Shari glanced at me when she picked us up, her eyes asking the question, but I shook my head; we needed to be at home for this, now was not the time or place. Yaz sat silently in the back with me the whole time, hugging my arm in a death-grip, with her face buried behind my arm, avoiding looking at Shari, and when we got home she ran straight up to her room, slamming the door hard enough to make the whole house shake. Ayesha questioned me with her eyes, watching as Shari followed her, before pulling me into the lounge.
"What happened, Ricky, it didn't work, did it? Whatever she was planning went wrong, didn't it?"
I drew a deep breath, wondering how to explain how I was feeling about this whole thing, still confused at how it had all gone so completely tits-up, when I heard Shari calling for me. Ayesha nodded, so I tore upstairs, not forgetting to knock and wait.
"Door's open, Ricky, come in." came Shari's voice, so for the first time, I entered my little sister's bedroom. Shari was sitting on a big, soft, frilly bed, all pink ruffles and plush toys, with Yaz huddled against her. She'd changed into a baggy sweatshirt and track-pants, and her eyes were two red blurs in her pale face. As I came up to the bed, Yaz jumped up and hugged me so tightly I swear I felt my ribcage creak.
I looked helplessly at Shari who just shrugged and mimed hugging her back, so I did, nudging her over to the bed so we could both sit down, me with my arm around her, holding her against me, and her with her face buried in my chest.
At first I wondered what she wanted me to do, but then I felt her trembling again, and my shoulder felt hot and damp; she was crying again, and suddenly a rush of insight, of connection and brotherly love swept over me; she'd wanted to cry, and she'd wanted me to hold her, not Shari, while she cried; I really WAS her big brother, and she wanted me to make it right again. Distressed as I was at her obvious distress, I was also elated at this first, tangible sign that I was one of them now; my days of being an outsider were coming to an end.
Holding my little sister, comforting her, was the single most satisfying, 'blaze of light' moment of my life so far; she needed me, she actually needed me, my strength, my presence, and it was so wholly satisfying I was actually blissed-out on the thought of it. The weeks of learning how to be a real person, how to fit in somewhere had paid off, and it was because of my sisters, two lovely girls who'd taken me into their lives and made me one of them and shown me how something so simple could be so special.
Shari looked at me quizzically; she could tell something had happened, that some sort of defining moment had occurred with me; maybe the way my arm around her had changed from a support to an embrace, but then she smiled and nodded, touched her finger to her lips and pointed at Yaz, mouthing 'talk to her...' before silently slipping out of the room.
Yaz seemed content to huddle against me in silence, and truthfully, it was OK by me; suddenly realising I really was her big brother, that that was how she saw me, and that's what she needed me for, filled me with a warm glow I didn't want to let go of anytime soon. We sat in companionable silence for a while, Yaz making no move to sit away from me just yet, and the room so silent I could hear Ayesha moving around downstairs, and the soft, regular flutter of her breathing. I'd just about decided she'd dozed-off when she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Ricky," so soft it was no more than a murmur, "that was wrong, what I made you do, that was wrong. I thought I had a right to pay them back, but what I did, it made me no better than them. I'm sorry, sweetie, so sorry, and the look on your face...I never want to see you look at me like that again, please never let me do something so mean ever again, promise me?"
I pulled her closer to me so I could encircle her shoulder more easily.
"No harm done, Yaz, it's OK, you were angry, you said things, mean things, but you're sorry; that's good. Look at me, look at all the mean, angry, stuff I said about...about Nicky, about Bar...my mother, I thought I had a right to, you guys showed me how wrong I was, and now you know what you did tonight was wrong, so we're even, OK?"
Yaz cocked her head up to stare at me, a puzzled look on her face.
"Whoa, Ricky, muy profundo; where did that come from?"
I smiled at her, flicking a curl away from her face.
"From you, Yaz, you, and Shari, and your mum. I was only half awake when you guys took me in; I still don't know half what you know, but I'm learning. Give me time, and give yourself a break, OK?"
Yaz hugged me closer and gave me that lip-biting grin I found so attractive as she nestled down beside me. I plumped-up a couple of pillows and put them behind her, making ready to leave now she was in a good mood again, but she had other ideas, instead clutching my arm so I couldn't move.
"Don't leave me, Ricky, please! Just stay 'til I fall asleep, OK? This feels good, please don't leave..."
So of course I stayed; she seemed to need contact, and I could almost sense her imprinting on me, and feel her trusting me more and more. When she started yawning and her eyes began fluttering I kind of slid her down from her sitting position (without her once letting go of my arm...) and she immediately rolled against me, her head tucked in against my arm, her eyes closed and her breathing becoming slow and even. The bedroom door inched open and Shari looked in, grinning and making the 'sleepy-pillow hands' gesture, and I nodded, returning her smile. Yaz was now fully asleep, so I carefully unwound her arm from mine and slipped off the bed so Shari could tuck her in, and we tip-toed out of the room, Shari looking her over one last time before switching off the light. Outside in the hallway, Shari took my arm when I would have made my way back down to my room, and she stood on tip-toes and kissed me on the cheek.
"Thank you, Ricky," she whispered, "she knew you'd make a difference, she was always on your side, now I know why. Goodnight, little brother!"
*
From that point on, Yaz and I seemed to have a special understanding; over the next few months it gradually got easier to understand her moods, often mercurial, sometimes melancholy, but never morose, and never angry or snappish, at least, not towards me, anyway; Shari always kept a certain 'big sister' aloofness front and centre, but Yaz was always ready to be my friend, partner in crime, and willing co-conspirator. She obviously liked hugging me, because she did it at the drop of a hat, and more than once I had to sternly remind myself that beautiful, exotic girl though she was, and nice as it felt, she was my sister first and foremost! The fact that, when we commandeered the couch to watch TV, the way she always managed to find herself snuggled up against me, thereby making it more difficult cut no ice with how I was feeling; still, attractive as she undoubtedly was, I instinctively knew anything other than big-brotherly affection was not going to fly.
I seemed to have another, more positive effect on both of them, though, and I couldn't figure out why. Yaz and Shari loved each other dearly, but they also had some epic fights, and when they really got into it, it was like hormone bombs were going off left, right, and centre. Strangely enough, though, they never fought with me; if I suggested something, or threw out a compromise, Yaz immediately agreed with it, and Shari gave in to me, sometimes indulgently, possibly because she was humouring her kid brother, but the fact remains, for some reason I never had a fight or more than a very minor dis
agreement with either of them; it was like my field overlapped both of theirs enough that they got me and gave in without a struggle.
Even Ayesha noticed how I interacted with my sisters; her smile when she spoke to me was more than just as the lady whose house I lived in. I in turn found her increasingly easier to approach and talk to; any residual guilt and embarrassment on my part over who I was had long since vanished, and she actually seemed interested in me as her daughters' brother, and a member of this family. It took a while to seep into my consciousness, but I slowly began to realise she was gradually coming to mean more to me than just being my sisters' mother, and that pulled me up short; in a strange, and not unpleasant way at all, I began to see her as more than just the lady who'd let me live with them, although I still was confused as to how I was actually perceiving her when it came to her and me.
It all finally worked itself out one night, as I was lying in bed pondering my situation and what came next, when it literally hit me like a bolt from the blue; Ayesha wasn't just being nice to me because I was her daughters' half-brother, or because I had no-one else; she was treating me just like she did Shari and Yaz; she was actually making no distinction between me and her daughters. Instead, she was treating me exactly like a family member; she fed me, housed me, clothed me, she trusted me and she never went out of her way to let me know how much I owed her; she was acting like I was one of her children, and it was then I finally understood she really was the closest thing I had to a mother, and she knew it. Just like Yaz had imprinted on me, so I'd imprinted on her mother, and now she really was my mother.
This was too much to try and get straight, and the way my head was in turmoil, I wasn't going to get to sleep anytime soon, so I decided to go make a mug of hot chocolate and a snack while I thought about it. I cat-footed upstairs to the kitchen, no sense in waking the entire household, but the light was on in the lounge, so I popped my head in and saw Ayesha curled up on the couch, watching the late news. She looked up and saw me, so I made the universal 'cup of tea?' gesture, and she smiled and nodded.
"The Oolong, please, Ricky," she smiled, "and there's a packet of Jaffa Cakes in the cupboard, if Yaz hasn't already found them, bring that through as well, will you?"
I made her a tall glass of tea the way she liked it, Oolong leaf with a stick of cinnamon, a sprig of fresh mint, a teaspoon of honey, and a couple of crushed cardamom pods, and brought it back with the chocolate orange snacks and my mug of chocolate.
We drank our hot drinks in silence, but Ayesha never took her eyes off me, she just sipped the aromatic tea and watched me, but it seemed like a compassionate gaze rather than idle curiosity. Eventually, she put her glass down on the tea-table next to her and smiled at me.
"So Ricky, what's troubling you at this time of night? You're sitting there drawn tight, something's up. What's wrong?"
I didn't even know where to start, so I just waffled and rambled, making no real sense, conscious of her keen gaze on me the whole time, until eventually I just dried up.
Ayesha pulled her robe closer around herself and patted the couch next to her.
"Come here, Ricky, sit here with me. I think we need to talk." she smiled, so I did as she asked. When I was seated comfortably, she took my hand.
"Ricky, first of all, let me say how glad I am you came to us. Shari and Yaz, and me too, we want you to know that since you've been here with us, we've realised how much you mean to us; these last few months have been a real eye-opener for all of us; you joined us, and suddenly our family feels complete. Yasmin and Shereen already feel like you've always been part of us, they're your family, and you're ours. You're with family too, now, for real and always, remember that.
Her eyes unfocused for a second, and her lips moved, like she was rehearsing something to say, but then she snapped back to the here and now and interlaced her fingers with mine.
"One thing you should always remember, Richard Davies, Ricky; when it comes to family, it's not about who gave birth to whom, it's about how you care about those closest to you, about what you do to keep your loved ones safe, close, and happy; it's about taking care of those who mean the most to you, it's about including them in, and sharing with them the things that mean the most to you, that's what family is. Family isn't defined by some dots on a DNA chart, not some words on a piece of paper. They say you can choose your friends, but your family's thrust upon you, but really, that's just not true; you DO get to choose your family, you DO get to choose who means the most to you, and you DO get to love and protect the ones you know and believe are your real family."
She patted our conjoined hands and smiled at me again.
"Every time you talk, and laugh with, and help your sisters I see how true that is; you're always the peacemaker, and your sisters know you won't take sides, that's why they trust you. That's why I want to say now, and for you to know, that you Ricky Davies, are with your family now for real. Ever since you came to us we've watched the efforts you've made to fit in with us, and the way you care for your sisters, we've all come to love and trust you very much. I need you to know that we're so proud of you, of the changes you've made in yourself, and of the things you do for this family; there will always be a place at our table for you, Ricky, because you're one of us now, an important part of the family, our family, and we look after our own."
I just sat with my mouth open; of all the things she could have said to me, it was the most unexpected of all; it literally came at me out of nowhere, I was totally gobsmacked, and this sudden revelation of how they felt about me completely threw me for a loop. All I could do was sit there with my mouth hanging open, trying desperately to understand this wonderful thing that was happening to me. I wanted to say so much, so many things, but all that came out was a kind of disjoined stammering.
"It's...umm...I...are you...what...?" was the best I could manage, but then it suddenly didn't matter, because Yaz and Shari were there hugging me and kissing my cheek and babbling fit to bust too, while Ayesha smiled at me as her eyes brimmed.
"Once again, Ricky Davies, welcome to your family!"
*
Life kind of rambled on for me; I seemed to spend a lot of time going shopping with one or the other of the girls, everything from grocery shopping to mall-raiding, and I was starting to notice a pattern. When I went out with Shari, she always wrapped her arm through mine, and piloted me though coffee shops and boutiques, chatting but never being TOO chatty; it was like she was simultaneously teaching me how to shop while showing me how to navigate Mall-space, and at the same time reminding me that she was the older one here, and I was kid sibling. Not that I minded; being seen with a seriously hot, exotic girl like her did wonders for my ego, believe me!
Shopping with Yaz couldn't have been more different; for one thing, she always held my hand, she never just linked arms with me, and she laughed and chattered and tugged me from place to random place on a whim. In supermarkets she played dodgems with the shopping carts and stood on the rail pointing out aisles she wanted to go down, or sat on the front section as I pushed her around the store, chucking groceries and snacks and any treats she thought I'd like into the cart while chattering about everything and nothing, or making me stretch up to get top-shelf items then tickling me when my hands were full and I couldn't fight back; we be sat on mall seats or the rim of fountains eating ice cream cones and she'd say 'quick, look over there!' and when I did she'd suddenly dab my nose with her ice cream and giggle uncontrollably, or she'd drag us into fast food places and talk endlessly while loading up on French Fries and cheeseburgers, nuggets, anything that took her fancy, then suddenly I'd be in a boutique with her while she paraded around in a succession of crazy outfits, hoping to make me laugh at the sheer absurdity or ugliness of some of them, and if she was tired and there was only limited seating available in the busy malls, she'd push me into the first free seat and plop herself down on my lap with her arm around my neck without a second thought. Add to that the longing, envious looks I'd be
getting from other men as they ogled her and the way it made her laugh happily usually made my day. Yaz was definitely the fun one.
In the house, it was just as...odd, but a very nice kind of odd; when we sat in the lounge and watched TV together, all three of us sprawled on the couch while Ayesha sat in her armchair, somehow Yaz would end up tucked against me, and if she thought I was being too serious or intent on a particular programme, she'd poke me in my side right in the ticklish spot just to make me jump, then demand hot chocolate or a cup of tea and snacks, and suddenly we'd be making mugs of hot drinks and carting around piles of toast and pots of jam and peanut butter and packets of chocolate biscuits. I can't count the number of times I dozed off in front of the TV with her leaning against me, snapping awake with a dead arm only when Ayesha ruffled my hair and pointed at Yaz fast asleep against me, with Shari curled up asleep on the other side of the couch.
At breakfast time, a kind of ritual developed between the two of us; Yaz would make a pot of tea, and a cafetiere of coffee, while I made a stack of hot, buttered toast, with a proper three-minute boiled egg for Shari, and scrambled egg on toast for Ayesha. Then, while Shari drank her tea and dipped her toast in her egg, Yaz and I would work our way through a pile of toast and a pot of marmalade, something she loved and I learned to love, and Shari absolutely hated. Toast and marmalade became our thing, our connection.
Downstairs in the rec room it was more of the same; if I was relaxing in my room after doing my chores and getting the place spic and span, the intercom would go off and Yaz would ask if wanted to watch TV. Of course I'd say yes, next thing I knew she'd be bounding down the stairs with a tin of chocolate biscuits and a six pack of cokes under one arm, and a duvet and pillows under the other, she'd make up the couch as an extravagant nest with the pillows and duvet from my bed too, and then the two of us would watch horror movies or her favourite rubbishy 'Hallmark' romances on the big screen TV down there. When Shari came in she'd join us, and I'd spend the evening with two beautiful girls screaming, hiding their eyes and clutching me, or huddling up against me sighing and weeping happily while I held the box of Kleenex they'd go through. It was a closeness I'd never had with anyone, and I ate it up.
