“I’ll think of something.” My words were muttered. There was a big team behind the kitchen and the other work that went on here. Local churches supported with donations and drivers for food; there was a grant from the National Lottery Fund every so often and some government funding too, but none of it was reliable. There had been a three-month patch when wages couldn’t be paid, so everyone had mucked in to try to support Casey and the two part-time staff. One of the local nurses had volunteered a few hours a week, which was good as it was about that time when my brother had pneumonia. She’d recognised it and managed to get him treated, including a stay in hospital where he’d pretty much needed sedating, his anxieties fucking over his brain once more.
I managed to make up three thick stews and two casseroles in a couple of hours, making a note that we were running out of a couple of herbs and spices that were pretty much crucial in trying to add flavour. Some kind soul had donated a dozen cans of fruit, which meant I could put a crumble together, basic stodge that these people needed. A night on the streets could be cold, although the temperature was often the least of their problems, and the extra fats and sugars could give a lift of energy.
Help someone to survive.
“Robert’s here.” Casey breezed passed me. “He’s got a black eye.”
“Shit.” I put the can opener down. “Fighting.”
“Looks like it. He’s sat with Miguel and John-Paul. Go see him.” She elbowed me in the back.
“He won’t speak to me.”
“I didn’t say speak to him. Just go show your face.”
I pulled off the apron, so different to my chef whites.
He was exactly where Casey had said he was, only Lauren was there with him and he was smiling at her.
“Daddy!” Her good mood was infectious. All three of the men were smiling. “Rob looks like he’s borrowed my eye make-up!”
“He does.” It was pretty bad. His eye was half-shut, although I had seen him in worse states. “You had that seen to?”
My brother looked at me with the same blank expression that he’d worn since he’d returned home from Afghanistan. The only time it changed was when he saw Lauren and even then it was fleeting before it all became too much and he walked away.
He’d be inside the centre for no more than twenty-five minutes unless he had a shower and then he could be an hour. Four walls distressed him and we could only imagine why. He’d never told us, never said. What had happened to him out there had been locked in a vault deep inside his head, wounds so deep that no one could see.
He was the reason we did this. This was my penance for not being with him out there, not being able to save him. Not being able to swap our lives afterwards.
“Lucy did it.”
“Lucy’s on today? I haven’t seen her.” Lucy was the nurse. And a saint.
“She’s on. I’ll live.” He didn’t add the word unfortunately to the end. He didn’t need to. “Will you be here later?”
I shook my head. “Lolly’s got another show this evening. You want me to video some?”
He nodded and stood up, picking up the cardboard cup of coffee. “Yeah. She told me about this boy. Let me know if you need his legs broken.”
I didn’t laugh. The chances were he wasn’t joking.
“He’s a kid in her class. Decent. Fucking terrified of me.” Which was all true. I’d done enough for him to even call me ‘sir’ and shake my hand. His parents had been good as well when I’d dropped him off after Fosse. I’d no doubt what he had in his mind about my daughter – I had a very good insight into how the minds of fifteen-year-old boys worked – but I also knew he valued his limbs. To be honest, I was more concerned about Lauren’s intentions and asking Rebecca to talk to her about it wasn’t the answer. I’d have to do it myself.
Time to be a father.
Time to do a better job than I had of being a brother.
“Just let me know.” He looked over at Lauren who was now talking to two girls who had been coming to the centre for the last couple of weeks.
I didn’t know their story, just that they needed food and a shower, clean clothes. And somewhere to stay.
“She’s a credit to you. Later.” With that he went, no backpack, nothing. I had no idea if I would see him next Sunday, or if I would at all. There had been times when he’d been missing for months on end and we had no idea if he was alive.
“We’ll keep an eye on him, Jack.” John-Paul who was in his forties but looked sixty said. “And he got that black eye stopping a girl getting attacked. Not from street fighting.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, picking up their now empty plates. “He takes care of everyone but himself.”
“Then you can tell you’re his brother. Any more bacon left?”
