Page 77 of The Other Brother

It’s crazy to think the part chance plays in everything. It screws with your mind.

Especially when now I want to take the "what ifs" in a different direction.

What would have happened if Mum and Frank had never been married? If somehow Mum had met Dad earlier instead and Frank had met Heather and Cody and I had simply met at some party with none of the family crap between us.

Things would be so much easier.

But then, would Cody and I have gotten together if we hadn’t hung out at the beach together? Would we be the same people if we hadn’t grown up without our sisters, without our families like they are now? It is all so complicated.

Kate’s giving me a weird look. I realize I’ve just zoned out.

“It’s strange what Mum said earlier about what Dad did to her,” Kate says. “I was thinking about that the other day, how Mum or Dad never talk about why they split up.”

“It’s fairly obvious they don’t get along so well,” I say.

“Yeah, but they obviously did at one stage.”

“Do you remember them breaking up?”

“I was like three and a half when they separated. I have vague memories of Mum crying lots.” Kate pulls a face as she grabs an album from the bookshelf and flicks through it. “She might have had postnatal depression. They didn’t diagnose it very well back then. I hope that is something I don’t have to worry about.” She flicks through another few pages of photos, then pushes the album away. “All these photo albums are from when we’re older.”

“I think there’re some boxes in the attic with old photos and stuff,” I say.

Sorting the attic was one of my punishments last year for being a bit too free with my invites to friends on a weekend when Mum and Dad were away. I’m not sure the punishment fit the crime, but I do now have an in-depth knowledge of all the old crap Mum refuses to throw away. And I remember one box in particular where I’d opened the top then closed it again when I saw it contained lots of old photos.

“Cool. I’ll go have a look now.” Kate stands up.

From memory, the boxes were heavy, so I follow Kate up to the attic and show her where the box is stacked behind the old rocking horse.

Kate opens it, disturbing a layer of dust.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she breathes, holding up a picture of Mum. Mum’s got a blonde toddler on her hip, and her stomach is in the same state as Kate’s is now.

“Is that you or Mel?” I ask. I can never tell. Kate and Mel were pretty much indistinguishable blonde blobs for the first few years of their lives.

Kate squints closer. “It looks like Mel, but it must have been me, 'cause Mel would’ve been older when Mum was pregnant with you.” She rummages around to find another similar photo that’s obviously been taken on the same day.

“Do you think Mum would mind if I take the boxes? I’ll just scan everything and bring them back.”

“I’m sure she won’t care.”

Kate continues to study the first photo, her forehead twisted.

“I’ll carry the boxes down for you,” I offer.

Her eyebrows shoot up.

“What? I can be considerate, you know,” I say.

“I guess there’s always a first time for everything,”

Chapter20

On Friday after school, I’m chilling at home when I get a message.

parents going away for the weekend. want to come over??

I reply immediately.