Page 98 of Spiralling Skywards
He took in a few breaths and then reached up and wiped each of his eyes on the sleeves of his hoodie. I wrapped my arms tighter around his waist, rested my chin against his chest and looked up at him as I swayed us both from side to side.
“But the next day, it all went to shit again. She went out and left us on our own. It was a Sunday and she was gone from lunchtime until late that night, and I don’t think she got out of bed at all for about a week after that.”
I watched as he licked his lips and swallowed.
“You had a bad week that week, too. It was like you knew things weren’t right with her, you sensed it. I felt bad, Sarah. I hated leaving you with her during the day, but I had to go to school. I’d watched a show or a film a few months before and the mum was a junkie and the little girl was trying to look after everyone and stopped going to school. The welfare people finally got involved, and the kids all got separated and put into different foster homes. I was terrified that would happen to us. That they’d take us away, split us up.”
I turned my head and rested the side of my face back against his chest. I couldn’t watch him talk anymore. Hearing the words was painful enough, watching Luke’s face as he retold the story of our early life was shattering my soul. Not for me, not for what I went through. I was a baby, I remembered none of it. It was shattering for him, the little boy who struggled to keep his family together who lived inside the strong confident man. The man who carried the tortuous memories inside him every day.
How had my brother survived all of that and grown up to be the amazing person that he was, how?
I watched on the news almost daily, stories about kids from broken homes going out and getting into trouble, using the fact that they’d never known their dad as an excuse. Luke had never brought the police to my grandparent’s door, never. Yeah, he and his mates had a reputation for being able to handle themselves in a fight, but they never got into trouble for it.
“That week, I fell asleep twice in class. My teacher, Mrs Benson kept me in one playtime and asked me if everything was okay. I lied and just told her that the new baby was noisy and was keeping me awake. Luckily, I had nice clean clothes on and didn’t look in any way neglected, so she believed me. I decided then, though, that I couldn’t do it all.
“I would look after you the best I could. I used to make up your bottles for the day and leave them next to mum’s bed so all she had to do was feed you when you cried. I left her with your changing bag filled with nappies and wipes and cream and powder, everything that she could possibly need. One afternoon I got home and you were screaming the place down. We were so lucky that nobody had called the police.
“When I got up to the bedroom, she had an empty bottle of vodka in the bed with her and her Valium were tipped out over the bedside table. I didn’t care if she was dead, I hoped she was. What I did care about was the fact that she hadn’t fed or changed you the entire day. You were eight weeks old, and you’d skipped two bottles and was lying in a nappy soaked through with your own shit and piss.”
I felt his chest and belly move as he took in more deep breaths.
“I shoved a bottle in your mouth while sitting in the bath with you. Once you were clean, dressed, and fed, I put you in my bed and you slept right through till your next feed. In the meantime, she’d come to, and I told her that I’d come home from school and you were dead. She was hysterical, running around the house and looking for you. When she found you in my bed and realised I was lying, she smacked me around the face, I smacked her back and told her what a bad mum she was.”
I felt like I should say something, but what? I didn’t know if he had ever confided in anyone with all of this. He’d never told me before, and I had no clue if my nan and grandad knew.
“She got a little better after that, staying coherent enough during the day to feed and change you at least. Then she’d just clear off all night. Sometimes she’d come home with a bloke, sometimes on her own.”
He was quiet for a few moments, so I braved a look up at him just as he looked down at me.
“I need a drink. Want one?”
I nodded.
We moved over to the kitchen table, where Luke opened another bottle of red and poured us both a glass.
The only illumination in the room was coming from the glow of the fire and the lights on the Christmas tree. It set a mood of calmness and serenity, which was a stark contrast to the story that Luke was retelling.
“When she died and we moved in with Nan and Grandad, I finally felt like I could breathe. It was still hard. We both had nightmares, obviously at just three years old it was so much harder for you to vocalise everything that you’d experienced in that car accident. We both saw counsellors, and it helped me massively, not just to deal with the accident but to also deal with everything that went on before it. You used to wake up screaming and refusing to sleep on your own.”
I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine, he slid it out and covered mine with both of his. Always the protective big brother.
“Anyway, you grew out of that, and I think that despite everything, we both ended up pretty decent adults.”
We clinked our glasses together.
“Here’s to us,” he said.
“Here’s to amazing big brothers that let me paint their nails, sleep in their bed, and sing and dance along to NKOTB with me when no one else is around.”
“Yeah, no need to go public with that last one.”
“Why, you made a great Joey McIntyre.”
He shook his head.
“Anyway, all of that is the reason that I wanted to travel. You turned eighteen and were going off to college, so I thought a bit of separation would be good for both of us. I figured that if I were ever going to travel, that would be the best time. To be honest, I was already over Mel before I found out she was fucking her boss. When Ididfind out what she’d been up to, it freed me a little bit more.”
We both sipped on our wine, the house was so quiet that I jumped when the fire crackled and spat.
