‘Hi, buddy, I wanted to talk to you about something.’
He turned away from his books and looked at me.
Not knowing exactly what to say, I rolled up the sleeve of my top and showed him the purple bruise that wrapped its way around my arm.
‘Dad has never done that to you, has he?’ I said quietly.
I remember the way he looked at my arm and then at me, his eyes wide. He shook his head, his mouth slightly open.
‘You tripped over,’ he said, his eyes fixed to the bruise. ‘That’s what Dad said.’
‘No, I didn’t, Jack.’
But he continued to shake his head.
‘You’re clumsy, you’ve always been clumsy. That’s what he told me.’
I opened my mouth, about to say something else. But then the front door closed downstairs and we both stiffened at the sound of our father’s voice. I rolled down my sleeve and we never spoke about it again. I could deal with the bruises as long as my little brother was OK. I would just plan my escape.
In the doorway now, Jack’s eyes widen at my words.
‘You were a clumsy child,’ he replies quietly. ‘You were always tripping over or falling off your bike.’
But his voice is uncertain now. I can almost see the thoughts flitting behind his eyes, the things my parents told him battling with what I’m saying now, and perhaps with the memory of that day when I tried to talk to him about what had been happening.
It’s my turn to shake my head now.
‘No, I wasn’t. Jack, our parents are dead!’ I can’t help but raise my voice, my sadness and frustration overwhelming me. ‘You don’t have to believe what they told you anymore. Please, just listen to what I’m trying to tell you. Think about what our childhood was really like. I need you to understand, I need you to believe me.’
He opens his mouth and closes it again, his expression still confused.
‘I was still your brother though,’ he says eventually, his voice shaking slightly now. ‘You could have kept in contact with me.’
‘I tried. I wrote to you, but you never wrote back.’
He is silent now, caught out. I never really expected him to reply, but I still looked out in the mail for an envelope with his handwriting.
‘You could have tried harder.’
Maybe I could, but would it really have made a difference?
‘Even if you had replied, Jack, I honestly just didn’t see how it was possible for us to have a relationship,’ I admit.
‘But why?’
I reach my hands out beside me, tears hot on my face.
‘Because of this! Because even now, you don’t believe me. You must at least remember the fire?’
My head is full of it again. The glow of light near the forest, the feeling of the grass beneath my bare feet as I ran towards the flames …
Jack’s forehead creases.
‘They told me you did that.’
Is there a hint of hesitation in his voice? I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes as I remember it all.
‘That’s what they told everyone. But think about it, Jack. Why would I do that?’
