Not My Brother's Keeper

by Colette McCormick

  I’d just decided that was what I would do, when I saw it was too late. Tom’s car was moving up the street and into position outside our childhood home. Sod it, I thought but, in a way, I was pleased. My hand was being forced and maybe that was what I needed. He got out of his car and started to walk slowly towards me.

  He looked good. His hair was shorter and, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, he looked even younger than he had the other day. It popped into my head that I’d bet he still got asked his age in pubs – if I didn’t know him I’d certainly have questioned his age. He’d always hated looking younger than he was. His face was the same but there was something different about him. He walked with purpose now, like a man in control of his life.

  He stopped about six feet away and looked at me. I thought I could see the muscles in his face twitching. He stood with his hands in his pockets waiting for me to make my move.

  TOM

  I stared at him, defying him to make his move. I noticed that his eyes flicked momentarily in the direction of our parents’ house and I wondered if someone had opened the door or maybe even come into the garden. I didn’t check: I didn’t want to give him the chance to drive away.

  His eyes came back to mine.

  Eventually he opened the door and unfolded himself out of the car. He never broke eye contact.

  ‘Tom,’ he said from where he stood behind the open door.

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

  He gave a little fake laugh and said, ‘Whatever happened to “it’s good to see you”?’ He had a smile on his face... well, I’m calling it a smile, but there was nothing real about it. It was so obviously forced.

  ‘It’s not,’ I said. I heard that my voice had risen and I fought to keep it under control. ‘What’s wrong? Is this not the welcome that you were hoping for?’

  Annoyingly, his voice was calm as he said, ‘It’s good to see you, Tom. You look well.’

  I hated the fact that he was able to control himself. I tried to do the same but when I asked, ‘What do you want, Robert?’ I didn’t think that I quite managed it.

  Robert looked over my shoulder and I knew that something was happening behind me. I didn’t turn around to see what. I heard footsteps approaching and I felt my dad by my side.

  For the first time Robert’s smile seemed genuine when he looked at our father and said, ‘Hello, Dad. How have you been?’

  ‘What do you care?’ Dad sounded angrier than I had ever heard him before.

  ‘I care,’ Robert said slowly. He looked at me too and repeated, ‘I care.’

  I’ve heard people talk of times when they could cut the tension with a knife but I’d never thought that it could happen. As I stood there with my dad and my brother, it felt possible.

  ‘Come on,’ Dad said as he turned. He added, ‘Both of you,’ as he started to walk away.

  I started to say something but he was quick to cut me off.

  ‘This isn’t the place, Tom.’ He looked at us in turn, ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Robert locked his car and started to follow Dad. I drew up the rear so that I could keep my eye on him. When we got to the gate, Robert stood with his hand on the wrought iron that had seen better days. I pushed past him and went to the door where my mother was waiting.

  I noticed a glint in her eyes as she looked beyond me to where Robert was. As I came up beside her she forced herself to smile at me and she mouthed something that I couldn’t make out. She put her hand on my arm and I patted it. Then I went into the house, leaving her to welcome back the child that she probably thought she had lost for ever.

  The son in me really despised the fact that my mother was clearly going to welcome Robert back so willingly but, like I’ve said before, the parent in me realised that it was always going to be that way. That didn’t mean I wanted to witness it though, so I left them to it.

  I joined Dad in the living room where he was sitting in a chair to one side of the fireplace. I sat on the chair opposite, leaving the sofa free for Mum and her Number One Son.

  Dad and I looked at each other and after a few seconds he tried to smile at me.

  ‘It’ll be OK, son,’ he said, though I could barely hear the words because his voice was so low.

  I could only nod my head because I didn’t trust myself to say anything. My stomach was flipping over and over and I felt sick. This was the day that I had feared would come and now that it had, well I just wished to God it hadn’t.

  We heard the door close and Mum and Robert murmuring to each other. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I could hear the tension in Robert’s voice which gave me hope that maybe some of his previous cockiness had been knocked out of him over the years. Perhaps the calmness I’d witnessed in the street had been a façade.

  He stood in the doorway but didn’t immediately come into the room. Mum appeared at his shoulder and urged him on. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. I thought she was underestimating the situation.

  Robert had his eyes down as he walked the three or four steps to the sofa and sat down. Mum perched herself on the edge of the seat beside him.

  No one spoke for what felt like hours.

  Mum’s hand seemed to hover over her knee. Occasionally it would twitch towards Robert like she was desperate to touch him but was afraid that if she did she might find out that he wasn’t really there. Her right foot bounced which caused her to rock slightly. She held her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes were fixed on her son.

  Robert flicked his eyes towards her once or twice but looked uncomfortable under her scrutiny. He looked at Dad a couple of times but he didn’t look at me.

  I was sitting forward in the chair, resting my elbows on my knees. My hands were joined together loosely and I moved my thumbs around each other. I wished someone would speak.

  I decided that if my world was about to fall down around my ears I would rather face it head on than wait for it to tap me on the shoulder, so I decided to get on with whatever was coming. I lifted one hand to my face and covered my mouth, pinching my nose hard. I held my breath and my nose for a few seconds before letting them go.

  ‘So,’ I asked, ‘where did you go?’

  My question seemed to take him by surprise. The way that he turned his head and looked at me, it was as if he had forgotten that I was there.

  ‘The coast,’ he said vaguely before quickly looking away.

  ‘Where?’ I don’t know why that was the question that I wanted answered but it was. I know you’d think that the more pertinent question would be ‘why’ but it wasn’t. ‘Where on the coast?’

  Robert gave a vague shrug of his shoulders, rolling his head to the side at the same time.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Mum asked, looking at me properly for the first time. It was the only time in several minutes that she had taken her eyes off Robert and that in itself felt like a small victory.

  Now that I had her eyes I grabbed them and held them. ‘Not really,’ I said, ‘I’m just curious.’

  Robert gave a nervous cough and, turning his attention to Dad, repeated what he had said outside. ‘How have you been?’

  This time, Dad said, ‘I’m not so bad.’ But his answer was just as vague as Robert’s had been and I wondered if he was playing him at his own game.

  ‘You were though, Dad, weren’t you?’ I thought I’d elaborate on his answer. ‘You were ill.’

  ‘But that’s all over now,’ Mum said quickly. ‘He’s fine now. The doctor says that with a bit of rest he’ll be fine.’

  I wanted to say that an ongoing lung condition wasn’t ‘fine’ but out of the corner of my eye I caught Dad looking at me and his eyes were telling me to keep that thought to myself.

  ‘And you, Mum?’ Robert seemed to have relaxed a bit. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been fine,’ she said softly. ‘You know me, I never ail a thing.’

  ‘That’s good.’ I was watching his face and I saw Robert’s lip twitching. He turn
ed his head slowly in my direction and asked. ‘What about you? How have you been, Tommo?’

  The use of the childhood nickname annoyed the hell out of me. When he’d addressed the note he’d left me in that way I’d seen it as an act of brotherly love, but to hear him speak it then felt like an insult.

  ‘Good,’ I said, as an involuntary smile broke over my lips. ‘I’ve been good, thank you very much.’

  I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard. It was obvious that his mouth was dry and he ran his tongue over his lips. He took a couple of deep breaths. I was looking at him intently, making it clear that I was waiting for his next question.

  ‘What did you do after college?’ he asked.

  He seemed genuinely surprised when I said, ‘I didn’t finish college.’

  ‘Oh,’ he looked a little embarrassed when the noise just popped out.

  ‘I decided it wasn’t for me,’ I said, enjoying how uncomfortable the conversation was making him.

  ‘He went to Lodge’s,’ Mum said in a bright and breezy tone that I think was meant to diffuse the tension that was brewing.

  Robert pursed his lips, nodded his head and feigned

  interest. ‘Good company,’ he said. ‘You still there?’

  ‘No,’ I said, though I didn’t offer him any more than that.

  Mum looked at me and I could see the irritation written all over her face. She inched towards Robert. ‘What about you, Robert?’ she said. ‘What have you been doing? Do you still work in a garage?’

  ‘No,’ he said and his mood seemed to change. ‘Believe it or not I’m a pub landlord.’

  ‘Oh,’ Mum gushed, not even trying to hide the pride from her voice.

  ‘It’s not a big place,’ Robert told her, ‘but it’s doing all right. I started out working behind the bar, then I was made manager, and when the chance came I bought it.’

  Robert visibly relaxed as he told Mum about his pub but once that subject had been exhausted the tension returned. I have to tell you that I enjoyed seeing him at a loss and I was in no mood to make him feel more comfortable. He allowed his eyes to brush over the room. Maybe he was trying to see if it had changed. It hadn’t really, apart from a change of colour on the walls, oh and the artwork of course. His eyes rested on the photograph that had pride of place over the mantelpiece.

  ‘They yours?’ he jutted his chin in its direction.

  I thought it was a bloody stupid question – who else would they belong to. In the interests of being civil I just said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Nice looking boys,’ he said and, to be fair, the compliment sounded genuine. Then he said, ‘They must take after their mother,’ but only Mum laughed at his attempted joke. ‘No seriously, Tom,’ he said, engaging me directly for the first time, ‘they are good looking boys. How old are they?’ My stomach tightened as I knew that the truth would shortly be out.

  ‘Simon’s sixteen, Anthony’s thirteen and Michael’s eleven,’ I told him and left it at that.

  ‘Simon’s waiting for his GCSE results,’ Mum announced and I was irritated that she had singled him out.

  ‘And Michael starts St Charles’ in September,’ Dad said and I was aware that his comment was more a show of support to me than an offer of information.

  Robert hadn’t taken his eyes off the picture. It was like he was weighing something up. ‘What about Anthony?’ he asked. ‘What makes him special?’

  ‘There’s nothing special about any of them,’ I said. ‘They’re just my sons.’

  ‘You must be proud,’ Robert’s tone softened and there was even a hint of a smile on his face as he looked at me: the first real one he’d sent in my direction.

  ‘I am,’ I hoped I didn’t sound as defensive as I felt.

  ‘And your wife?’

  It took all my strength to keep my voice calm, ‘She’s proud too.’

  ‘I’m sure she is,’ he laughed, ‘I meant who is she? Do I know her?’

  ‘She’s called Michelle,’ I said, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Mum’s hand cover her mouth.

  ROBERT

  There was something about the way that Tom was looking at me. Something that I hadn’t seen before. Something I can only describe as grown up. He had been little more than a boy when I left but there was a man standing in front of me that night. He’d taken a step to the side so that he was literally standing in front of the car like we were playing chicken or something. I felt like he was daring me to run him over. Obviously, I wasn’t going to do that so I got out of the car.

  The flippant part of me wants to tell you that it was like a scene from a cowboy film. Two gunslingers standing in the street facing each other, waiting to see who would draw first.

  Sorry, I shouldn’t make light of it because it was clear that he was angry with me and he had every right to be. He’d probably got earache off everyone for months after I left.

  We had a brief conversation that was basically a series of monosyllabic grunts that got us nowhere and then I saw him: Dad. He came out of the gate and started to walk towards us. I can’t tell you how relieved I was that Dad hadn’t died while I was away. I honestly don’t think I could have lived with myself if what I had feared had been true.

  Anyway, Dad being Dad, he told us both to get in the house and I immediately felt like a child again. He just said it, turned away and expected us to follow. Tom started to say something but he was soon put in his place.

  Mum was waiting in the doorstep and, honest to God, I thought I was going to burst into tears when I saw her. As I saw her rest her hand on Tom’s arm I realised for the first time what an impossible position I had put her in. Tom hadn’t hidden the fact that he didn’t want me there and I had a feeling Dad would be on his side. But what about Mum? I realised that I was forcing her to make a choice and I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself more than I did right then.

  Dad and Tom had disappeared into the house and I stood on the doorstep with my mother. She lifted her hands to my face and rested them on my cheeks.

  ‘Oh, Robert,’ she said before throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me in close. I buried my face into her neck and hugged her. I took a deep breath to get the smell of her into my lungs.

  Neither of us wanted to be the first to let go, but when we eventually did release each other she took my hand and tried to pull me towards the living room. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

  ‘You’ve done the hard bit, son,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t worry about Tom and your dad. They’ll come around.’

  I wished I shared her optimism but she was right; I had done the hard bit and if I wasn’t going to see it through, what had been the point in me coming?

  Dad and Tom were sitting either side of the fireplace. I flopped down onto the sofa and Mum sat next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that she was dying to touch me and I prayed she wouldn’t. I didn’t see any way that it would help the situation.

  I’d tried asking my dad how he was when we were outside and he’d said something like, ‘Why do you care,’ but I did care; I’d feared he was dead for God’s sake, so of course I cared. I asked him again and this time he said he was all right, but Tom pitched in and said that he had been ill. Mum tried to dismiss it as nothing but I saw Tom’s face and I wasn’t so sure. It crossed my mind that maybe I had come back just in time. Some invisible tie between us had pulled me back. It sounds daft now, but I wasn’t really thinking straight.

  I got a shock when Tom said he hadn’t finished Art College. I’d imagined him scraping a living doing something arty like making jewellery, so when Mum told me he’d taken a job at Lodge’s I was genuinely surprised. If I’m honest I’ve never known exactly what they do, but they had flash offices in the centre of town and I knew they paid well. He told me he wasn’t there anymore but wherever he was now he must have fallen on his feet because he looked well, he dressed well and, when I got a closer look at his car, I saw it was less than two
years old, which made it a damn sight younger than mine.

  When Mum asked me what I did, I tried to play it down a bit but she was still impressed. She went all ‘Ooh, a pub landlord’ on us.

  I made a point of looking around. Anything to stop Mum banging on about the pub. The last thing I wanted to do was make it look like I was boasting. The room was almost exactly the way that it had looked the last time I was there. The walls were a slightly different shade of magnolia and I was almost certain it was the same three-piece but with new covers. However, above the mantelpiece was something that told me just how far my little brother really had come.

  Three boys smiled down on us from a three-foot by two-foot canvas, and each of them looked like Tom. I’d noticed that he wore a wedding ring but I hadn’t mentioned it until then. I said he and his wife must be proud of them and he said they were. I’d already asked him how old his sons were and his answer set alarm bells ringing. When I asked him about his wife and when he told me her name was Michelle I realised that maybe the eldest boy might not look like my brother after all.

  TOM

  The house was in darkness when I pulled the car onto the driveway. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard and was surprised to see that it was after midnight. I’d no idea that it had got so late. I turned the engine off and sat in the darkness, replaying the last few hours over and over in my head.

  After a couple of minutes my reverie was broken when I caught sight of movement to my left. It was Michelle. She was standing in the doorway with the light from the hall casting a glow around her. She wrapped the dressing gown that she was wearing tightly around her waist and pulled viciously on the belt. I quickly got out of the car and went to her. I put my arms around her and felt that she was shaking. I tightened my grip on her shoulders but it was some minutes before the shaking stopped. Eventually I loosened my grip and managed to manoeuvre her back into the house. I let go of her just long enough to close the door and lock it behind us.