The Prodigal

The Prodigal

My brother has come home after an absence of seven years.  His tall, thin frame hovers in the doorway, an unlit cigarette dangling between his tobacco-stained fingers, as his eyes flick about the room and focus on nothing particular.  I can’t help but wonder if he’s noticed the absence of ceremony that accompanies his return.  There are no colourful balloons strung from the balustrade, no welcome-home banner brushes the top of Christian’s head as he enters our living room.  Instead his return is met with anxious glances, and too-bright smiles.  My voice is an octave too loud and betrays that this is not the kind of reunion that I desire.

    Christian’s been clutching that cigarette since he got into the car.  Reason tells me that he’s dying to light it, but that he’s too polite or preoccupied to ask.  As he enters the room, I find myself babbling about the new decking that we got earlier in the summer.  I swing open the back door, forgetting about Jess, our five-month old collie, who flies at the newcomer before he’s even got through the door.  Christian puts the cigarette in his mouth and stoops to fondle the dog’s ears, relieved perhaps by the first genuine greeting he’s received all day.  And I remember that my brother has always loved dogs, and that each dog we’ve ever had has sworn its allegiance to him.  I look at Jess now feeling slightly betrayed, and question her judgement of character.

    ‘I don’t suppose you’ve a light?’  The cigarette jigs up and down as Christian speaks.

    ‘Matter of fact I do,’ I say.  ‘Barry’s a chain-smoker.’

    I return to the kitchen and stand on the first rung of a stool to retrieve a lighter from the top shelf of the cupboard where we keep it out of Emily’s reach.  I’ve learned over the years what not to leave around a small child.  When I get down from the stool, I linger in the kitchen and watch as my brother picks up a stone and with a deft movement of the wrist sends it hurtling down the garden.  Jess barks and bounds after it, skidding to a halt by the gazebo.  She looks back and pants happily at her new friend, her mouth open in what looks like a wide grin.

    I toss Christian the lighter and tell him that I’ll show him his room when he’s ready.  I stand behind my brother for a few minutes, but he doesn’t say anything and I go back inside to start the evening meal, leaving him leaning over the decking puffing on his cigarette with the dog prostrate at his feet. 

    The light has faded by the time Christian comes in.  I’m at the sink peeling and chopping vegetables, and I don’t hear him come up behind me.  When I turn to see him standing close by, I give a start, and then laugh to try to conceal my all-too-real anxiety. 

    ‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ I say.

    Christian ignores my uneasiness and asks if he can help with something.

    I wipe my hands on the tea towel, smile broadly and tell him that everything’s under control.

    He stands close to me and I get the faint smell of perspiration rising from beneath his thin cotton shirt. 

    ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you’re sleeping,’ I tell him.  I give him a wide berth as I pass and he follows me like the collie to the bottom of the stairs.

    In Emily’s room, I reach for the light.  Christian looks around, I see him take in the doll’s house, the army of stuffed toys, button eyes glowing in the harsh electric light, and Emily’s Hanna Montana posters pinned to the wall.  He puts his bag at the end of the bed, and runs a hand over the soft pink quilt.

    ‘I hope you don’t mind sleeping in Emily’s room,’ I say.  ‘We’d nowhere else to put you.’

    Christian shakes his head.  ‘And what about Emily?’ he asks.

    ‘She’ll sleep in with us.  God knows, she does it most nights anyway.’

    I tell him about my daughter’s fear of the dark, and he says that she must take after her mother, reminding me that I was always afraid of the monsters that lurked beneath the bed.  He pats the bed, sits unmoving, and waits for me to leave.  I tell him that I’ll leave him to settle in, but in the doorway I pause and turn.

    ‘Christian, I am sorry about Helen,’ I say.

    He nods, and his eyes look glassy.

    Christian is still upstairs when Barry and Emily come home.  I hear the front door opening and the sound of Emily’s black patent shoes running on the wooden floor.  Too late, I discover that Emily has gone straight upstairs to her room where the guest is.  I call after her, but she doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore me.  She knows that her Uncle Christian has come to stay.

    Barry kisses me in the hallway.

    ‘How’s it going?’ he says, and brushes the hair away from my face.

    I shrug.  ‘Okay, I guess.  The dog likes him.’

    We listen for sounds from upstairs.  I hear Emily squeal with laughter, and I exchange a look with Barry before hurrying up the stairs.  The scene when I push open Emily’s bedroom door catapults me back to the past and leaves me reeling.

    Emily has been introducing Christian to her family of bears, and Christian crouched on the floor is putting on a show.  He puts on a deep bear voice, and Emily sitting on the floor before him squeals with delight and claps her hands.  He looks up and smiles when he sees me and I try to smile back, but I feel as though my face has been botoxed into position and what’s supposed to be a smile passes off as a grimace as I recall the nights that Christian put on these shows for me, my beloved big brother. 

    Briskly, I shove off the memory.

    ‘Emily, don’t be bothering your Uncle Christian,’ I say, as I put my hands on my child’s shoulders and swing her into a standing position.

    ‘She’s no bother,’ Christian says, easily.  ‘We were just getting to know each other a little bit, weren’t we?’

    I don’t know if I’ve imagined it or if his eyes hold some kind of challenge.

    Emily is playing on the living room floor.  She’s scattered her new set of crayons all around her and is busy transforming a ballerina elephant to a shocking shade of pink in the latest bumper colouring book that Barry’s bought her.  She is careful to keep the colour inside the lines.

    ‘I just don’t know if this was such a good idea.’ I say.

     My voice is low.  I’m aware of Christian in the room overhead and of Emily sitting nearby.  I walk round the table, laying cutlery in each place, and putting napkins in the glasses.  Then I take the napkins out again and flatten them.  This is not a celebration.

    ‘Come on.  He’s just lost his wife, Jen.  He needs support…family…I couldn’t imagine losing you like that.’

    ‘Yes, but…it’s been a long time.  We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, you know?’

    ‘Well, no, I don’t really.  You never said much about him.  I just assumed you weren’t close…or maybe that you resented his going away a little.’

    I look at Barry who is so unshakable and I wonder what he would do if I were to tell him the truth. 

    ‘His going away…no, it wasn’t that…it’s true, Helen and I never really got along, but it was nothing to do with the move…it wasn’t that.  It’s more complicated.  It’s Christian himself.  He’s not, he’s not who people think he is.  He’s…’

    Christian clears his throat as he enters the room and I look up, already feeling the surge of blood to my face.  I don’t know how much he’s heard.

    ‘Mmm.  Something smells good,’ he says.  If he’s heard anything, he doesn’t show it. 

    At dinner, Christian sits opposite me, Barry on my right, and Emily to my left.  Barry makes conversation, asks Christian if he likes football, and if he’s been following the league this year.  Christian answers Barry’s questions enthusiastically, cuttings his steak into minute pieces, just as he did when we were children.  As I watch him I wonder what his life has been like for the past seven years.  I wonder if with the distractions of his new life, he managed to forget the old one.  If he managed to he forget about me?

    Suddenly, he looks up as though he’s read my thoughts, and his eyes, gold, like an animal’s hold mine until I am forced to look away.  Christian’s eyes have a way of transfixing his prey.

    ‘Uncle Christian, why do you have that name?  Are you holy?’

    Christian laughs as Emily swings her legs, fork gripped in her right hand, and waits for an answer.

    ‘Well, that’s a question you’d have had to ask your granny,’ he says.  ‘But I don’t think it was anything to do with religion, I guess she just liked the name.  What do you think, Jen, am I a holy Joe?’

    I colour for the second time and this time I force a smile.  ‘I wouldn’t accuse you of that,’ I say.

    ‘Meaning there are things you’d accuse me of?’

    He is teasing me, but I look at him to see what kind of weight his words hold.  I’ve always had a habit of analysing comments and coming up with explanations that occurred to no one but me.

    ‘Uncle Christian, why did you go away?’ Emily asks.

    Christian’s face darkens, he sits back, stretches his long legs under the table.  His foot brushes mine and I withdraw as though my I’ve been struck with a burning coal.

    ‘I met a girl.  We got married and went to Australia.’

    ‘Where is she now?’ Emily asks.

    Christian’s gold eyes cloud over, and I jump to his rescue as I used to do when we were kids.

    ‘That’s enough now Emily.  Let Christian eat his dinner,’ I say.

    My brother shoots me a grateful look, and Barry, ever my saviour, changes the subject.

    Just sitting at the same table as my brother has made swallowing a challenge.  I take a gulp of water to dislodge the food that seems to have stuck halfway down my oesophagus.  Christian may have lost weight in recent years, but it has only served to make him leaner, his jaw more angular, his eyes more striking.  I look at my plate and try to pretend that he isn’t sitting opposite me, but my brother’s presence is not something that I can ignore.

    After dinner, Christian offers to help me with the washing-up.  We stand side by side at the sink, me with my Marigolds on, Christian with a tea towel in his hand meticulously drying each plate.  The silence is palpable, and I try to think of something to say, but everything that comes to mind sounds inane.  I am relieved when Christian, who has saved some of his dissected steak, sets off in search of the dog.  I turn the outside light on, partly so that he can see, and partly so that I can see him.  I stand inside the window and watch as Jess jumps and gambles round my brother’s feet and he crouches down, playacting and lets her knock him to the ground.      In the next room, Barry plays with Emily, he is crawling on all fours with our child around his neck, and she is laughing.  And I realise as I listen to the sound of their laughter that I can never tell them about Christian and me and the things that we have done.