Page 33 of Pyg
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LITTLE brOTHER
“I never had the heart to break it to him.” George’s eyes glistened with tears as he fixed his gaze on the tree outside, its budding leaves swaying in the light breeze.
“I can’t believe you lived with the burden of that secret for so long. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t keep anything from Maggie. She always sees right through me.”
“I shouldn’t have kept it from him. I let Bernard live in false hope. He believed our mum was out there somewhere, living her best life. And I don’t think he ever gave up on the idea of her coming back one day.”
“Wasn’t he angry with her?… I mean, didn’t he feel like she’d abandoned you both?”
George sniffed and shook his head. “Quite the opposite. Bernard worshipped Mum. I think he saw her great escape as something to live up to. I’d say it’s what gave him the courage to leave home at sixteen. Bernard couldn’t have achieved his full potential in the stifling space we’d grown up in, so he left as soon as he could. Joined the bloody circus, of all things.”
“The circus?”
“Yep. Our grandmother was so apoplectic when she found out, I think she nearly had another stroke.” George chuckled. “My little brother, the clown.”
Alice laughed. “Perhaps it was for the best. You kept the truth from him to protect him. You can’t beat yourself up now. Did Bernard know the priest was your father?”
“He figured that out easily enough. Bernard was the spit of him.”
“And were you too?”
“Bernard, more so. But yeah, me too, a bit. That’s why I grew a beard.”
“Very saintly.”
“You reckon? I was going for rugged wrong’un. The opposite of a priest.”
“Did you ever see him again?”
“No, I was so angry with him. I was afraid of what I’d do. For many years, I blamed him for Mum leaving us, and then for her death.”
“That’s understandable.”
George sighed. “It’s another regret that I’ve lived with. Poor Bernard just followed my lead, so effectively I denied him the chance to grieve for our mother, and the chance to get to know our father.”
Alice reached across and placed a hand on George’s shoulder. “You were trying to protect him. And you were so young yourself, it wasn’t your place to build bridges. He was your father, he should’ve?—”
“Oh, he’d written many times. I found a stack of letters in our Grandmother’s room.”
“She kept them from you?”
George’s hand clenched the paisley material of his pyjama bottoms. “She was a bitter old woman. But it wouldn’t have made a difference, even if she’d passed the letters on I wouldn’t have wanted any contact with him. From what I gathered he never returned from Africa. He was a coward.”
George shook his head. “I don’t know if Higgins ever came clean about us, but if he did, then the church turned a blind eye.”
“Yeah, that seems to be the way, doesn’t it?”
They sat in silence for a thoughtful moment, until George spoke again.
“Thank you, Alice.”
“For what?”
His lips formed a sad smile. “For being so wonderfully curious and letting me get this all off my chest. I can’t make it right with Bernard now, but I feel better having told someone the truth, at least.”
“Do you think maybe you didn’t tell Bernard about your mother’s death because it would’ve made it real?”
“What do you mean?”
“As in, perhaps Bernard’s hope kept a light on for you too? And that light went out when you realised you were losing him last week?”
George frowned as he considered her words.
A small knock came at the door. Alice looked around as Ash pushed into the room, carrying a tea tray.
“Hey, you two,” she said softly. “I made you some tea. And Nurse Reid rustled up some biscuits. She must like you as she’s given you the chocolate ones.”
“Thanks, Ash.” Alice smiled and looked back at George, who was still deep in thought and scratching his beard. “Can I have a word outside?”
Ash nodded and led the way. Alice closed the door behind her, but still spoke in a whisper.
“We were right about the voicemail; it was bad news. George’s brother passed away last week. Heart attack. The same day I found George in the road.”
Ash’s face crumpled in concern. “Oh no, poor George.”
“When do you think he’ll be able to get out of here?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll need to speak to his doctor. I think they’re still waiting for a psych evaluation to make sure?—”
“But you said yourself there’s a waiting list. Can’t he be seen as an outpatient?”
“Alice, I think they need to make sure that he wasn’t trying to hurt himself.”
“He wasn’t.”
“But you don’t know that for sure, do you?”
“I do, Ash. He wasn’t.”
Ash sighed, her kind eyes scanning Alice’s face. “Look, I’ll have a word and see what I can do, but no promises. There are protocols and?—”
“What if I could help?”
Ash tilted her head, her silky black hair falling forward from behind her ear. Alice yearned to tuck it back into place. But they hadn’t finished their chat yet and things between them were fuzzy. Warm and fuzzy, but still fuzzy.
“I could speak to Jeremy.”
“Your old boss? Fran’s husband?”
“Yeah, he specialises in bereavement therapy.”
“Do you really want to be asking favours from someone who?—”
“I think they owe me a favour, don’t you?”
Ash held up her hands. “It’s up to you, but I’m not sure you should put yourself in that situation. Like you said, they’re manipulative and messed up.”
“Well, if it helps George, it’ll be worth it.”
“Just be careful, okay?” Ash rubbed Alice’s arm and a surge of heat ran through her. Ash nodded to the door. “Your tea will be getting cold.”
“Do you mind if I stay with him for a while? I think it’s helping him to talk through things with someone.”
“No, why would I mind?”
“Oh, just because earlier… you said we’d finish our chat.”
Ash blushed. “Oh yeah, that can wait. It wasn’t important.”
Alice’s face must have revealed her disappointment, as Ash quickly picked up the thread.
“Shit, I’m really not good at this. I mean, it is important, but it’ll keep. George needs you now, and I start my shift soon, so… are you free to meet me for lunch tomorrow?”
The smile Alice felt lifting her lips was the opposite of playing it cool, but she couldn’t hide it. “Yeah, I’m free,” she said, in the hope Ash might finally tell her what she’d been trying to say.