by Amy Daws
She passed away in our family home just two months after her diagnosis. Dad retired from the sport immediately following her death. Both our maternal and paternal grandparents passed away before I was even born, so there were no other family members to help him take care of us. Although, I’m not sure it would have mattered since he refused all offers of help from friends. He was determined to raise us on his own. Truthfully, I think he just didn’t want anyone around to witness his immense grief.
It was…painful.
After Mum’s death, Dad moved us permanently into the mansion he and Mum owned in the posh neighbourhood of Chigwell. They had a smaller flat in Manchester during football season so Dad could be closer to his team, but I don’t remember much about living there. Our dad’s career was very successful and had set us all up for life. Materially, we wanted for nothing. But it still wasn’t an easy childhood. He loved us fiercely, but being both a mother and a father is too much for any one person to handle. I think the stress of it would have killed him had he not been offered a managing position for the Bethnel Green Rollers Champion Football Club.
Once football came back into his life, he was a new man. Happier and more alive than I’d ever remembered him being. I was so delighted to see this newfound light in him that I was all too willing to help pick up the slack with my brothers. And when your dad manages a team and your brothers all play, you pretty much have no choice but to submerge yourself in that lifestyle.
Football was my life. Without question. I didn’t play a lick of it, though. Honestly, I had no desire to. Booker was a killer goalie. And Camden and Tanner argued over who was the better striker between the two of them. Me? I was just happy to mother-hen them and know the ins and outs and needs of a footballing athlete.
Last year I finally reached a breaking point when Gareth got in a massive row with my boyfriend at the time. Rumours had been circulating that Pierce was cheating on me. He showed up when we were all at a pub and Gareth grabbed him around the throat. He looked positively homicidal as he slammed Pierce against a wall. Paparazzi got hold of pictures; the whole scene almost ruined his football career. It wouldn’t have been that big of an issue for me if it was the first time Gareth did something like this. But it wasn’t. My relationship track record was meagre to say the least. Regardless, every one of my breakups involved one of my brothers turning into a crazy, neurotic, bruiser of a brother. Maybe if I had been the one to do the dumping, things would have been easier for them to accept. However, I was cursed with constantly being the dumpee.
But Pierce was the straw that broke the camel’s back. After that incident, I knew I had to get out of my dad’s house or I’d never have a life without my brothers interfering. And I am doing a proper job of it if I may say so myself. Of course I’m still very close to my family and I see them every week, but having my own space to go to has been extremely liberating.
“How was China, Vi?” Gareth asks after some idle football chatter. They’re always talking football.
“Fine, fine. Nothing too exciting. I’m just finally starting to feel human again. It’s always so exhausting over there. Those factories work intense hours.”
“I want to go with ya sometime,” Booker says, propping his head on his hand. “I imagine it’s beautiful there.”
“You see plenty of the world with the team, Book,” Camden admonishes.
“Yeah, but it’d be quite different going when you don’t have to be thinking ‘bout the game the whole time.”
“Oh, stuff it. We live the life other sorry bastards only dream of. You’d do well to remember that.” Camden scowls into his glass as he takes a sip.
“There’s more to life than football,” I snap defensively on behalf of Booker. He’s the littlest and even though he stands six inches taller than me, I can’t help but continue seeing him that way. I’m protective over him the way all of my brothers are protective over me. And I sometimes get the impression he doesn’t even like playing football but is too scared to ever say.
“Not in the Harris house.” Camden takes another long drink of his beer.
“You doing anything special for your birthday, Vi?” Tanner asks, oblivious to Camden’s owly mood toward Booker. Tanner doesn’t take anything too seriously, including girls. He and Camden aren’t identical but they look very similar, which is probably why Tanner wears his blond hair shaggy around his ears. It matches his playful personality perfectly.
“Not really. I mean…I have…well, a date I suppose.” I look down and cringe.
“Who the fuck—?” Tanner barks while Camden finishes his sentence, “What’s his name? I better not bloody well know him.”
“Why wouldn’t ya just spend it with us?” Booker asks quietly beside me.
“He better not be a prat like the last one,” Gareth’s voice booms loudly over all of them. “I won’t tolerate another wanker like him stepping inside our home. I’ll fucking lose it, Vi. You better not bring him around.”
I turn my wide, accusing eyes on him. He’s the oldest one…He should be more mature about this! “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re nearly thirty, Gareth! I expect more from you. All of you! Christ, I’m twenty-five years old and you lot are going mental over your sister having a date! I’m going to date! This is why I moved out. This, right here. You guys can’t just let me figure things out on my own. Do you want me to end up alone forever?”
“Stop being dramatic. You’d hardly be alone,” Tanner bellows. “You’d have us!”
“Are you fucking dense? You lot are going to find nice girls to settle down with someday, and I’m not going to be the lonely sister tagging along with you on romantic holidays.”
“Oh Christ, be serious. We’re not going to settle down,” Camden mumbles into his glass.
Gareth at least has the cheek to look contemplative.
“You know what’s worse?” I groan. “I don’t even have a date. I made it up as a test and you buggers all failed miserably.”
I see Camden exhale with relief as Gareth murmurs, “Thank fuck for that.”
Booker turns his quizzical brow to me. “This is good, then? So you don’t have a date?”
“No, I don’t have a date!” I shriek. “Let me out.” I shove against Tanner to move over. He eyes me sternly and doesn’t budge an inch. “You know what? I’m going to start throwing punches if you all don’t let me out of this booth right now.”
Tanner bursts out into a hearty laugh. “I love when you throw punches. You get that weird vein in your forehead that looks like Harry Potter.”
This sets Camden off too. “Fuck, you’re right! She does! It’s like a little bitty lightning bolt of ineffectual fury!”
When I see Gareth start chortling too, it makes me see red. “You know what? It’s my birthday and you guys are ruining it. I don’t have a date. I have nothing. I just wanted a quiet day at home and the opportunity to move on with my life. There’s nothing bloody wrong with that.” I’m surprised when I feel the sting of tears pricking at my eyes.
Tanner’s face drops instantly. “What’s this? No tears! Christ, Vi, we were only messing about.” I fight his huge embrace as he pulls me under his arm and rubs my shoulder.
“Bugger, I didn’t think you’d get emotional over it,” Camden says, reaching out and gripping my hand in an apologetic gesture.
“Vi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” Booker says, which only makes me laugh.
“Book, you really need to stop apologising for these prats,” I giggle and sit up, dabbing the corners of my eyes.
“Camden’s the prat,” Tanner mutters. “He’s the one who always makes you cry.”
I hold my hand out and stop Camden from unleashing on Tanner. “Just stop. I’m fine. I’m just feeling a bit emotional today. It’s probably my period.”
I look up and see all their faces frozen in horror and disgust. “I thought you boys were all supposed to be tough footballers!” I exclaim, erupting into a fit of giggles.
They a
ll shake their heads and, in unison, pick up their glasses and take long gulps of their beers. They even set their drinks down at the same time. Now my eyes are wet from tears of laughter instead of pain. These brothers of mine are a pain in the arse, but they’re mine. And the truth is it isn’t just them that upset me today.
They have no clue how incredibly hard it is to share a birthday with a ghost.
THE BABY WHISPERER
Sprawled out on the long grey couch in my brother’s flat, I flick mindlessly through the channels on the telly trying to stop myself from going upstairs to help my brother’s fiancé, Leslie. The baby has been crying for fifteen minutes straight, but Leslie made me promise to back off and stop helping so much.
“You’re not going to live here forever, Hayden. Theo and I have to figure this out on our own. She’s fine crying for a few moments.”
My jaw clenches as I stare at the clock, watching each passing moment that I’m forced to sit here and listen to my niece’s desperate cries. I unsnap and re-snap the brown leather cuffs on my wrists to try to distract myself. She wants me…I know it. I can feel it for Christ’s sake. She’s the most gorgeous and the most colicky baby you’ll ever meet, but for some reason she likes me.
“Colicky,” I huff. What an odd word for a single, twenty-six-year-old male to know. But fuck, I couldn’t not read the baby books Leslie and Theo had lying around. Especially when I bloody well live with them and hear that poor child wailing every single night. The five S’s are like the bible around here. Swaddle, side, shush, swing, and suck. No five tips have ever helped a family more, I assure you.
I glance down at my watch for the fourth time in the last three minutes and see it tick over to 11:11. I pinch my eyes shut and exhale a wish for luck. A wish for a time machine. A wish for change.
Finally, as if Leslie could hear my silent pleas, her head pops up over the cast iron railing that looks down on the sunken living room. Her face looks flushed and she is near tears. Without hesitation, I spring up and take the steps two at a time all the way to her and my brother’s loft bedroom.
“She doesn’t even like the football hold right now. I’ve rubbed her tummy, but she’s not gassy. I thought if I could strap her to me while I got ready, she’d settle down…but she won’t. She’s tired…I know she is. She just won’t fall asleep.” Leslie’s voice cracks at the end.
“I wish you’d stop fighting my help,” I say, scooping up a besotted three-month-old Baby Marisa off the bed. I tuck her into that perfect place between my shoulder and neck where my voice can tunnel right into her ear. Then I begin shushing her loudly while I swoosh from side to side in short, fast spurts. Her tiny, rigid frame instantly relaxes. A few more loud puffs of air later and her wails morph from battle cries into the cry that sounds more like she’s saying, “It’s about bloody time you got here, Uncle Hayden. Mum’s been messing about with me for ages.”
Her cries continue to calm as I swing. She doesn’t like to be bounced. Everybody wants to bounce her, but it just pisses her off more. I peek at our reflection in the long horizontal mirror on the side wall between the bedroom and the large en suite bathroom. Marisa’s eyes look dazed and heavy now. She’s seconds away from falling asleep.
“Hayden, you freaking British baby whisperer,” Leslie gripes in her distinct American accent.
“She was going to crash any second. You almost had her. This is just luck.”
She drops down onto the bed and pushes her auburn hair back from her face. “It’s not luck, Hay. You have the touch. Jeez, I don’t know what we’d do without you here.”
I huff out an incredulous laugh at that preposterous notion. She’s got no clue how much they help me a thousand times more than I could ever help them. She saved my fucking life for Christ’s sake. Yet I know that Doc is right…There is more to the world outside this flat.
I pause as I hear a soft snore coming from beside my ear and glance at the mirror to find Marisa out cold. I smile triumphantly and turn her to show Leslie.
Her face splits into a grin as she thrusts her hands into the air and does a hilarious silent scream with a little wiggly butt dance. My chest rumbles with laughter as she flops herself back onto the bed and lets out a huge sigh.
After a moment, she sits up and has a serious look upon her face. “Hayden, I know tonight is your big night and you probably have like a trillion things on your mind…but is there any way you could hold her for a while so I can make some calls and take a shower?”
“It’s a tough job, but I think I might just be man enough to do it,” I say with a wink. “Don’t tell my brother, though. He’ll thump me if he knows he missed out on cuddle time again.”
Leslie smiles in a quiet way she only ever does when she thinks of my brother. “He’s hauling the last furniture pieces for the auction over to the ballroom now. He should be back any second and you shall be relieved.”
“No worries. There’s an old football game on downstairs. I’ve got this,” I said, lifting my eyebrows and glancing down at the limp, pink, perfect bundle against my chest.
Leslie smiles affectionately at Marisa before she turns her twinkling green eyes on me. “Thank you, Hayden.”
I head downstairs thinking about how lucky my brother is to have a woman like Leslie. I’ll be proud to call her my official sister after their wedding. Resuming my place on the couch, I allow the slow, rhythmic breaths of Marisa to calm my nerves over what I’m about to do this evening.
The truth is I’ve wanted to hold Marisa all day. She is my moment in reality that reminds me there are bigger struggles happening in this world than my own. And that there are people who need me, even if they are only thirteen pounds. This perfect, fussy baby has become my safety net. My anchor. Holding her against my heart reminds me exactly why I need to always keep it beating.
EASY FAVOUR
“Vilma, I need you!” Leslie’s voice peels loudly through the phone line.
“What? What is it?” My voice rises at the end and I shoot up out of my wheelie office chair, clutching the phone tightly to my ear. “Is something wrong with the baby?”
“Oh no, no. Marisa is fine. I mean, colicky as always and killing me with the no sleep thing, but healthy as a fussy baby horse.”
My face scrunches in confusion. “A what?”
“Healthy as a horse? Do the Brits not have that reference? Never mind. I have something serious to ask you, Vilma.”
I sigh, “Leslie, why do you insist on calling me by my full name? You’re seriously the only one. You haven’t been in the office for a couple of months and I rather got used to being called just Vi again.”
“I love Vilma…It reminds me of Scooby Doo,” she giggles and I realise how much I’ve missed that sound around here.
I drop back down on my chair and begin spinning around in slow circles. “I still have no idea what you’re going on about,” I reply. I never watched telly much growing up and Leslie can’t seem to wrap her brain around that.
“Scooby Doo and the gang! You seriously need to catch up on your American cartoons. I know they play them in England…Hey! Did you get my happy birthday text yesterday? You never replied.”
“Oh shite, yes. I did. Sorry…My brothers showed up, so I got distracted.”
“Sexy soccer brothers?” she asks with a provocative purr to her speech.
Groaning in disgust, I answer, “It’s football over here, mate. You’ve been in London long enough now to use the proper term. Now, did you call for a reason, or just to distract me from my very serious work to educate me on animated American telly and tell me I have hot brothers?”
“Uptight British—” Leslie grumbles, but I cut her off.
“Oi darling, don’t you have a go at me! You’ve left me stranded here at the office because you had to go and have a cute, perfect baby with that sinfully sexy fiancé of yours. I’m not to be trifled with right now. I’ve had to deal with Benji, Hector, and Roger all on my own. Plus two trips to China since you left.�
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“Fine, fine…Viiiiii,” she drawls out the I in an exaggerated, smug British accent.
Leslie and I have been working side by side for several years now. She was in charge of working directly with the Chinese factories that make our camera bag designs until her recent maternity leave. I’ve had to pick up the slack ever since. Leslie, Hector, and I are the three designers. We work on various satchels, wallets, clutches, and totes that are all technology and photography friendly. There are a handful of other clerical people we work alongside, as well as with our boss, Roger.
“Thank you for taking care of the fort while I am away. You know I love you.” She makes obnoxious kissy noises into the receiver. “Okay, stop distracting me. I don’t want to talk about work…I have a very serious question. Are you ready?”
“Ready,” I answer.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure.”
“Are you prepared?”
“Primed and poised,” I quip.
“Do you have a formal evening gown?” she rushes out in one breath.
My brow furrows at this query. Leslie excels at random, but this still surprises me. “This seems like an incredibly peculiar question.”
“Well, do you?”
Sighing heavily, I recall the white floor-length evening gown I bought last year for New Year’s Eve. Normally I despise wearing white with my blonde hair because I feel washed out. But this dress is a diamond white that has just enough glimmer to make my alabaster skin look positively luminous.
“I do happen to have a dress,” I reply sadly at the fact that I still have never worn it anywhere. It’s tragic, really. Pierce was a DJ who worked at a posh nightclub in Chigwell and they were hosting a huge formal party. Then the cheating rumours began and the whole Gareth blowout happened the day before New Year’s Eve. Leslie tried to strong arm me into going just to spite him. But instead, I had a cosy night in with my main man, Bruce.
