In The House
by LMJT
Posted: Sunday, July 13, 2014 Word Count: 750 Summary: For this week's 'neighbour' challenge. Sorry I'm late! Edit: I'm also over on the word count! Whoops! |
Content Warning
This piece and/or subsequent comments may contain strong language.
This piece and/or subsequent comments may contain strong language.
‘I’d stay longer if I could,’ Christian said as Sarah wrapped clingfilm around another plate of untouched sandwiches. ‘You know I would. But it’s all I could do to get time off to come here. For this.’
‘For this,’ Sarah echoed. ‘Well, I’m sorry it’s been such an inconvenience for you.’
They were in the kitchen of their now late mother’s house and the last of the mourners had just left; the neighbours and acquaintances of her mother’s that Sarah had rarely met, but were still more familiar than her own sibling.
It had been over a decade since she’d last seen her brother and in those years he’d morphed into a stranger. His skin was tanned from the years spent in California and his teeth had the unnatural whiteness of the movie stars she sometimes saw in Cara’s magazines.
The change wasn’t just physical though. Was she mis-remembering, or had he been more empathetic in his youth? Six years her junior, he’d always seemed kinder, more considerate. Sensitive.
She placed the sandwiches in the fridge and slammed the door shut as Christian leant against the sideboard and slipped his Blackberry out of his suit trousers in what she’d noticed had become a habit. He’d even pulled it out in the church just before the service and she’d wanted to scream.
‘You know that’s not what I mean,’ he said, his eyes downcast at the screen of his phone. ‘I’m just saying I-,’
‘I’m just asking you to help me to clear the house,’ Sarah snapped. She could feel her throat tighten with the threat of tears. ‘That’s all. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask.’
He looked at her with wide eyes and she realised her voice was far louder than she’d intended.
Cara appeared in the doorway, glancing from Sarah to Chris and back again. She was dressed smartly in a knee-length black dress and looked so much older than her 16 years.
‘You alright mum?’
She was frowning with concern and Sarah had a painful flashback to the months before the divorce, when arguments with Richard had reached a heat-breaking low.
Sarah nodded quickly. ‘Fine sweetheart. We’re just having a chat. That’s all.’
Cara held her gaze for a moment. ‘I’m gonna pop out for a bit,’ she said. ‘I need to get some air.’
‘Of course,’ Sarah said softly. ‘See you later.’
When she’d gone, Sarah poured herself another glass of wine, aware of Christian’s watch as she did so. He didn’t drink, of course. She’d learnt yesterday when they’d gone to Waitrose to buy drinks for the wake and she’d had to take charge of yet another element of their mother’s death.
‘I said I’ll stay till Tuesday,’ Christian said. ‘I can help you until then. Just tell me what you need me to do.’
‘Tuesday,’ Sarah scoffed. ‘Well, if you’re here till Tuesday, what am I worrying about?’
The clock above the cooker ticked loudly in the background.
‘I don’t know why you’re being like this, Sarah,’ Christian said. ‘This is a difficult enough time as it is.’
‘Don’t talk to me like that, Chris,’ she retorted. ‘I know what a fucking difficult time this is. And I know what a difficult time it was when Dad died and Mum could barely hold herself together for the funeral. But you don’t know that, do you?’ She was shouting now. ‘You don’t know that because you weren’t fucking here. You’ve never fucking been here.’
She slapped the marble sideboard and her wineglass jumped. Christian looked at her with wide eyes and the tears she’d repressed all day began to stream down her face.
She flinched at his touch on her arm, but let him pull her close, let his arms wrap around her in an embrace she hadn’t known she needed until now.
She stayed in his arms until she heard a knock on the kitchen window and looked up to see Decima Bucnanan, her mother’s immediate neighbour still dressed in black, on the other side of the glass.
‘Is everything alright, Sarah?’ she asked, her face etched with concern.
Sarah wiped her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but no words were forthcoming. The tears came again and she turned away.
As she walked out of the kitchen, she heard Christian say, ‘I’m sorry if we disturbed you, Mrs Buchanan. As you can imagine, this is a very difficult time for us and if you’ll excuse me, my sister needs me.’
‘For this,’ Sarah echoed. ‘Well, I’m sorry it’s been such an inconvenience for you.’
They were in the kitchen of their now late mother’s house and the last of the mourners had just left; the neighbours and acquaintances of her mother’s that Sarah had rarely met, but were still more familiar than her own sibling.
It had been over a decade since she’d last seen her brother and in those years he’d morphed into a stranger. His skin was tanned from the years spent in California and his teeth had the unnatural whiteness of the movie stars she sometimes saw in Cara’s magazines.
The change wasn’t just physical though. Was she mis-remembering, or had he been more empathetic in his youth? Six years her junior, he’d always seemed kinder, more considerate. Sensitive.
She placed the sandwiches in the fridge and slammed the door shut as Christian leant against the sideboard and slipped his Blackberry out of his suit trousers in what she’d noticed had become a habit. He’d even pulled it out in the church just before the service and she’d wanted to scream.
‘You know that’s not what I mean,’ he said, his eyes downcast at the screen of his phone. ‘I’m just saying I-,’
‘I’m just asking you to help me to clear the house,’ Sarah snapped. She could feel her throat tighten with the threat of tears. ‘That’s all. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask.’
He looked at her with wide eyes and she realised her voice was far louder than she’d intended.
Cara appeared in the doorway, glancing from Sarah to Chris and back again. She was dressed smartly in a knee-length black dress and looked so much older than her 16 years.
‘You alright mum?’
She was frowning with concern and Sarah had a painful flashback to the months before the divorce, when arguments with Richard had reached a heat-breaking low.
Sarah nodded quickly. ‘Fine sweetheart. We’re just having a chat. That’s all.’
Cara held her gaze for a moment. ‘I’m gonna pop out for a bit,’ she said. ‘I need to get some air.’
‘Of course,’ Sarah said softly. ‘See you later.’
When she’d gone, Sarah poured herself another glass of wine, aware of Christian’s watch as she did so. He didn’t drink, of course. She’d learnt yesterday when they’d gone to Waitrose to buy drinks for the wake and she’d had to take charge of yet another element of their mother’s death.
‘I said I’ll stay till Tuesday,’ Christian said. ‘I can help you until then. Just tell me what you need me to do.’
‘Tuesday,’ Sarah scoffed. ‘Well, if you’re here till Tuesday, what am I worrying about?’
The clock above the cooker ticked loudly in the background.
‘I don’t know why you’re being like this, Sarah,’ Christian said. ‘This is a difficult enough time as it is.’
‘Don’t talk to me like that, Chris,’ she retorted. ‘I know what a fucking difficult time this is. And I know what a difficult time it was when Dad died and Mum could barely hold herself together for the funeral. But you don’t know that, do you?’ She was shouting now. ‘You don’t know that because you weren’t fucking here. You’ve never fucking been here.’
She slapped the marble sideboard and her wineglass jumped. Christian looked at her with wide eyes and the tears she’d repressed all day began to stream down her face.
She flinched at his touch on her arm, but let him pull her close, let his arms wrap around her in an embrace she hadn’t known she needed until now.
She stayed in his arms until she heard a knock on the kitchen window and looked up to see Decima Bucnanan, her mother’s immediate neighbour still dressed in black, on the other side of the glass.
‘Is everything alright, Sarah?’ she asked, her face etched with concern.
Sarah wiped her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but no words were forthcoming. The tears came again and she turned away.
As she walked out of the kitchen, she heard Christian say, ‘I’m sorry if we disturbed you, Mrs Buchanan. As you can imagine, this is a very difficult time for us and if you’ll excuse me, my sister needs me.’