The Visitors(3)

His grief didn’t stop him asking Mother out a week later, though.

‘What I’m trying to say, David…’ Brian pauses for so long, I’m forced to look up from my plate, ‘is that I could probably find you a job on a decent building site, not too far from home.’

Mother blinks.

‘That’s kind of you, Brian, but… well, I’m not entirely sure our David would do well in that kind of environment.’

‘What kind of environment? You mean long hours, fresh air and plenty of good strong builder’s tea? It might even put some hairs on his chest.’ Brian scowls. ‘Have you thought about that?’

I stare at my plate. I watched a television programme only last week about the new breed of modern man. Apparently he plucks his eyebrows, sticks to a skin-care regime and even waxes his chest hairs. But I decide not to mention this to Brian.

‘So.’ Brian pushes away his plate. ‘Are you going to tell him, Pat, or shall I?’

Mother coughs. She seems to be steeling herself to say something. ‘David… Brian and I, we wanted to have a word with you, love.’

I swallow a piece of half-chewed sandwich and watch as her face visibly pales. She looks at Brian, whose own fat cheeks are ruddy with pleasure, and he nods in apparent encouragement.

‘The thing is… Brian, well he’s…’

‘I’m moving in,’ Brian says bluntly.

My mouth starts up its chewing action again. With no actual food in there, it feels odd and only serves to increase the fluttering sensation in my chest.

Mother shifts closer to me.

‘You know that me and Brian have known each other for a long time now; many years, in fact. I mean, it’s not as if we’ve just met.’

‘No need to justify our decision, Pat.’ Brian frowns.

But Mother babbles on. ‘I mean, obviously we both used to be with someone else, but sadly… Well, it’s our time now. And as you know, Brian already spends a lot of time here.’

Too much time.

‘No sense at all in paying two lots of rent and council tax,’ Brian adds. ‘And all the other bills as well.’

If Brian is giving up his one-bedroom rented council flat, then so far as I can tell, he’ll be the one largely benefiting from the savings.

I stand up and my plate slides off my knees onto the floor. The remaining bit of uneaten sandwich flops onto the carpet and the crisps flutter down like dry autumn leaves. I feel sick and I can’t bring myself to pick them up.

‘David? I hope you’re not going to take this badly.’

I don’t answer her and I don’t look at Brian. I just keep walking until I reach the bottom of the stairs.

‘David!’ I hear Mother plead. ‘Can’t you at least be a little bit happy for us?’

‘Leave him be, Pat,’ Brian says as I begin to climb the stairs. ‘It doesn’t matter what he thinks. He’s had it far too easy for far too long, and now I’m here, he’d better look sharp. Things are about to get a bit tougher for Mummy’s boy.’



* * *



Back in my room, I perch on the edge of the bed and rest my head in my hands.

Brian… living here with me and Mother? This is surely all my nightmares rolled into one. I can’t really imagine it. Can’t bear to even think about it.

Yet there is nothing I can do to actually stop it.

I feel a sharp twist inside, as if a thin serrated blade has lodged itself underneath my ribcage. It’s twisting and turning, hollowing out my innards.

I wish I had the courage to leave home and get my own place.

A column of blazing heat tunnels its way up through the middle of my torso. But this time it’s not because Brian is moving in.

I spend a lot of hours lying on this bed, dreaming of a future I’m sure I’ll never touch.

I often imagine myself on some sort of adventure. Walking the Great Wall of China with like-minded people, or perhaps taking photographs of New York from the very top of the Empire State Building. Maybe the odd selfie or two with someone special.

Of course they are just dreams, and afterwards they always seem too adventurous and completely out of my grasp. Yet these are not fantasy worlds; they are places that ordinary people successfully visit all the time. That tells me it can be done.

Other times, I think about getting a different job. Perhaps in a busy office in Nottingham city centre. I enjoy my current part-time job, but this would make more use of my organisational skills and my natural aptitude with numbers.

I’d spend my lunch hour chatting with colleagues or taking a brisk walk around Market Square for the fresh air. Then, at the end of the working day, I’d make my way home on the tram to my nice neat little flat in a leafy suburb. My very own calm oasis, just outside the city.

Lots of people have this kind of life. They’re always complaining about it, too; I’ve heard customers at the shop, people on the bus… nobody seems happy with their lot.

Brian moving in wouldn’t matter if I had my own place.

I know only too well that if I was to seriously formulate any real plans, well, that’s when my heart would start up like a frenzied jackhammer, and before long I’d get that awful feeling… like I’m about to throw up at any second.

I’m a prisoner in my own head. Worse still, on days like today, it feels like nothing will ever change and I’ll be trapped here forever.