Page 161 of The Man Upstairs

I felt my own hurt welling up in a fresh round of shame.

“Iwanted me dead.Ithought I deserved it.”

His eyes were both angry and hurt at the same time under heavy brows.

“Because you’re ill, Julian! You need help! We all know it. Katreya knows it, Grace and Ryan know it. I do. You have serious mental health problems, and you’re an alcoholic. You’ve broken down! We just didn’t know it. It’s been happening for years, right before our eyes, but we didn’t see it. We didn’t fucking know.”

“Yes, it had, and I kept it very well hidden.”

“We found the stash of whisky bottles. Katreya saw the full extent of your perversions.”

“Exactly. So I left. I didn’t expect anyone’s forgiveness. I only had myself to blame.”

“NO!” Michael said. “That’s NOT true. We wouldn’t have blamed you if we’d known you were ill. You’ve done some despicable things, Julian, but you’re not a bad man. We can hate the actions, yes, but we can’t hate you.”

I didn’t know quite what to say to that. At one point, I’d have believed him. I’d have dropped at his feet and given my thanks, overcome by thetruthin his words.

Some of it was correct. I had been an alcoholic and hidden it. I had been fucking college girls behind everyone’s back, and a lot of them. I had buckled under the weight of the truth when it had been discovered.

“Ihadbroken down, yes,” I told him. “When I threw some things into a suitcase I was on the brink, ready to leap off a bridge. I didn’t dare hope there was anything more. But then, slowly, I got back to my feet. I looked inside, and found what I’d been missing.”

He pulled a face at me, as though I was talking nonsense.

“You sound like a wannabe zen master. Is there a wacko New Age club around here when people aren’t crack smoking?”

“Hey, stop it with that!” I said, surprised at the fire in me. “I’m not a wannabe zen master, and this place might seem like a cesspit to you, as it did to me, but that isn’t quite the case. Not all of it.”

He scoffed. “That just confirms it. You really have lost your mind.”

I wanted to shake him and hug him, both at the same time, desperate for my brother to see the truth in my words, as well as my truth in the letter.

“I’d broken down, Michael. I know that.”

“HAVE, Julian. HAVE,” he interrupted. “You’re not any better! That much is clear based on the girl who just left this place. Whisky or not. You’re still ill.” His tone changed. His jaw trembled again. Finally, the core of the emotion rose to the surface. “We would have helped, if we’d known, but we didn’t. Everyone was angry, nobody understood, but we get it now. You’re sick. You have problems. You need professional help. And we’ll be here for you, all of us.”

I put my hand on his arm, wishing I was still the man who’d have curled up and taken on any conditions to get back to my family. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sacrifice the girl downstairs for another pack of lies.

“That’s not what I said in the letter, is it? I didn’t say I have problems. I said I’m sorry. I admit, I’ve done some appalling things, and I’ve hurt people more than deserves forgiveness, but that’s what I’m asking for. Forgiveness.”

“And what we’re offering you is HELP.”

The kettle boiled, but I didn’t make the coffee, just stared at him.

“Help?”

“YES!” he said. “HELP!” He put the letter down on the side, and held out his hands in a gesture of care that choked me up. “Come with me, now. Come with me and leave this shit hole behind, and we’ll get you sorted, or we’ll try. We can put you into therapy and rehab, and Katreya says she’ll have you back, with an awful lot of conditions, albeit, but it’s a start. That shows how much you mean to us, doesn’t it? That shows how much we care.”

Yes, it did. Again, I was choked up. I had to battle to speak.

“I’m very honoured, truly. But I don’t need rehab, or a therapy ward, Michael. And Katreya definitely doesn’twant me back, she never wanted me in the first place.”

“Stop it!” he said. “Stop it and listen to me. You’re ill. You just don’t know it. You’re very, very ill!”

I gestured to the letter on the worktop. “Have you read that? Really?”

“Yes, of course I have. I’ve read every word a hundred times over, but that’s your version of reality, it’s not taking into account illness, or mental health problems, or how they are most likely a hell of a lot more impactful than you wanting to fuck your students. Alcoholism is a great thing to admit to, it really is. We always struggled to get you to see that, but in the other areas, the sexual deviances… you’re still under an illusion. You clearly don’t have the capacity for restraint, but we can help with that. Professionals can help with that.”

My brother was trying to be kind. It was nice to see. His eyes were the same colour as mine and I could read his expressions like my own. He seemed even bigger than me now, in the boxed in space of the kitchen. I was lithe in comparison to the bulk of him, but once upon a time we’d been a couple of boisterous youngsters, battling on the rugby field at high school.