Certain Danger by F. R. Jameson

Author:F. R. Jameson [Jameson, F. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-19T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Her head spinning, she nearly yelled that she didn’t have a brother.

But in an instant there they were – all those memories and thoughts that she must have buried deep inside her. In a tumult of colours, smells and feelings, every one of them surfaced, came pouring back.

Still collapsed on the floor – the horribly blown-up photograph of her dead mother ripping up a seam of many awful emotions; so much so that even though she couldn’t open her eyes to glance at the picture now – the other crucial part of her childhood returned to her.

She’d had a brother.

His name was Paul.

He’d been younger than her – ten whole minutes – and she had never, ever let him forget it. Alice was the big sister. It didn’t matter if Paul was actually physically bigger than her, she was older and therefore better.

In a rush it all came back. He had been a sturdy, chubby little boy (who she could imagine would have grown up into a fat and chunky adult) and despite everything, she had loved him. Despite the frequency with which he punched her or pinched her or pulled her hair, she had adored him.

Often he made it hard for her, as really nothing gave him greater pleasure than causing his sister pain; but – no matter how many times he provoked her and she told him that she hated him and she hoped he died – the truth was that she cared for him very much and relied on him and made sure he knew she was there for him. Despite the fights and the arguments, they had each other and – given what their mother was like – that was what they needed.

Mostly when she had found herself thinking about Mummy, she pictured her on the day Alice found her dead. (Her mind having expertly blocked out anything immediately before). There were no recollections of being tucked into bed, or nursery rhymes, or playing chase in the park, or even cuddles. She suspected there must have been occasions when Mummy did cuddle her, yet for most of her life she’d struggled to recall a single instance.

Now she could picture Mummy all dolled up in a bright red blouse and wearing even brighter red lipstick, yelling at the two of them. Paul sat beside Alice on the battered brown old sofa with worn arms. There was a cigarette still dangling from Mummy’s lips even as she exclaimed: “I don’t care how much you say you hate each other, you’re brother and sister and you’ve got to get along. Who else are you bloody going to have after all?”

Then, having given that life lesson, she’d gone out in the town and left tiny Alice and tiny Paul alone in the poky flat they called home.

But there hadn’t been hate, not really. They’d argued a lot and yelled out things they didn’t mean – and Mummy would spend her days getting more and more annoyed by the noise – but there had been intense sibling love.

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