My brother reads the Financial Times and books with titles that sound like airport business lounges.
He’s successful in a way that feels inevitable.
Not flashy.
Just one of those people who quietly turns out to be good at things.
At school, teachers used to ask him what he wanted to study.
They asked me whether football was still going well.
Nobody meant anything by it.
Graham certainly didn’t.
If anything, he’s always been annoyingly supportive.
Still.
It does something to your brain growing up next to somebody who succeeds in such a calm and efficient way.
Me
Did someone send it to you?
His reply comes back almost immediately.
Graham
No. Saw it on LinkedIn. Nice work.
I smile.
That one feels good.
Even Graham read it.
I put my phone down and finish wiping around the sink before stepping back.
Better.
Not because I cleaned.
Because I can think again.
I check LinkedIn once more.
Purely for statistical reasons.
Helen Archer still likes the post.
Excellent.
I slide the phone into my pocket and turn back towards the newsroom feeling irritatingly pleased with myself.
Chloe’s standing in the kitchen doorway holding a mug and looking around with visiblesuspicion.
Her eyes move slowly across the room.
