‘Mr Marshall! Are you in there? It’s the police.’
Travis knew he was in the middle of a nightmare but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. The silence suffocated him and the darkness was syrupy thick. He felt he could almost reach out and touch it, if only his arms would work. He was paralysed and yet he had a desperate urge to move, to escape because someone was hammering on the door of his room, trying to get inside to get him.
‘Hamza!’
His shout penetrated the darkness and he opened his eyes to more darkness – this time, real, not nightmarish oblivion. He also realised that he was alone. Hamza wouldn’t answer because his friend had left after dinner the previous evening, driving off into the night, still asking if Travis would be OK and beating himself up about having to leave for the assignment.
So who the hell was that hammering on the door of the cabin?
‘Travis Marshall! Are you in there? It’s the police!’
Shivering in his boxers, still dazed with sleep, Travis switched on the light and went to the door. His night vision was now non-existent and when he peered through the glass, he was barely able to make out the figure under the porch.
As his eyes adjusted, he realised that his nightmare was real in one sense: there was an officer in uniform outside. His stomach lurched. His first thought was it was something to do with his father … something terrible – but why would the cops track him down, not Bree or their mother?
He unlocked the door on a blast of freezing air, dreading what was to come.
‘Travis?’
Rain dripped off the officer’s hat, and he was blinking through round spectacles, but he also looked familiar.
‘Kelvin?’ Travis murmured.
‘Yes, it’s me. Didn’t think you’d recognise me.’ The officer grinned.
‘I’d never forget you,’ Travis said, recalling a geeky lad who was obsessed with fantasy novels and had been secretary of the camera club – the only school group that Travis had ever taken the slightest interest in.
‘You’ve done well for yourself. Always knew you would. Shedloads of talent; your pictures were always miles better than anyone else’s.’
This was all very flattering but Travis was more astonished that Kelvin seemed to have forgotten why he’d banged on the cabin door and dragged him out of bed. ‘Thanks – erm, can I ask what you want?’
Kelvin’s smile evaporated. ‘Oh, yes, sorry. I was a bit star struck there. Very unprofessional. I’m afraid there’s been a bit of an accident …’
‘A bit of an accident?’ Travis’s heart rate soared again.
‘Nothing too serious. It’s your brother, Seb. He was knocked off his bike.’
‘Seb? Jesus!’ Travis’s hand flew to his mouth.
‘Don’t worry! He’s OK. He’s bruised and twisted his ankle … A few cuts and grazes too. He was shaken up but he says he’s feeling OK now.’ Kelvin flashed him another reassuring grin, but Travis was more alarmed than ever.
‘Why the hell was he on his bike in the middle of the night?’
Kelvin frowned. ‘It’s not the middle of the night. It’s half-past seven now.’ He held up his watch as if Travis was stupid. ‘The accident happened around five o’clock when Seb was on his way to the early shift at the mini-market.’
‘Oh God … yes. I understand now. But he hasn’t called me …’
‘He tried but there was no answer and he didn’t want to worry your sister. I was the one called to the scene and as I know him, I said I’d come round and tell you.’
Travis swore. ‘Sorry. Arghh. I forgot to charge my phone last night. So you’re sure he’s going to be OK?’
‘Fortunately, it wasn’t as bad as it looked initially. He was lying on the pavement and there was a lot of blood but don’t worry!’ Kelvin added hastily, probably seeing Travis’s face blanch. ‘The cuts are superficial and he’s going to be fine. He’s messaged me from the urgent care in Kendal half an hour ago. I think they’ll let him come home later. He – er – says he needs a lift.’
Travis rolled his eyes in his head, feeling marginally relieved. ‘A lift? Yeah, that sounds like Seb. Thanks for coming over. I appreciate it.’
‘You’re welcome. He’s a good lad, Seb, if he can stay out of any more trouble.’
‘He will,’ Travis said. ‘I’d better get dressed and head over to the hospital. Thanks again, Kelvin.’
Travis plugged in his phone and it started beeping with messages from Seb. He’d gone back to the gallery to do some more work after Hamza had left, fallen into bed about one a.m. and forgotten to charge his mobile.
He sent a quick reply to say he was on his way, before dragging on some clothes and driving off through the grey dawn. It was a painfully slow journey, the rush-hour traffic travelling like snails in the slush and his wipers making little impact on the thick sleet. Most of the hotels had Christmas lights up but Travis had never felt less festive.
His relief that Seb was OK-ish was tempered by the contemplation of what might have happened. What’s more, Kelvin’s appearance at the door had brought back bitter memories of another raw December morning that haunted him to this day.
It had been years ago, when he was in the sixth form and hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to ask Freya out – the morning that school was breaking up for the holidays. Except it hadn’t been Christmas for his family.
The police had chosen that morning to raid the house, searching for his dad.
His mum had been on a night shift, cleaning at a local hotel, and Bree had already moved in with Gav, which left only Travis in the house with Seb. He’d never forget the confusion, the fear, the chaos: his father, protesting, swearing his innocence, cursing the police officers, as he was led away in handcuffs … Seb hiding behind Travis’s back … Travis soothing him and saying ‘It’s all right. It’ll be OK …’
His father shouting: ‘You bastards! Breaking in here while my kids were asleep!’
A female officer – barely older than him – had walked back up the path and asked: ‘Do you need someone to come and look after you? I don’t think we should leave a bunch of kids alone.’
‘I’m not a bloody kid. I’m eighteen!’ Travis had lied, terrified that he and Seb might be taken into care. ‘And anyway, Mum’ll be back any minute.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure,’ he’d snarled, shaking but acting the big man. ‘You’ve done enough damage. You’ve taken my dad, now get out of our house.’
She’d been trying to do the right thing but Travis had been too traumatised, too angry and way too young for nuance. His aggression had been born of bravado but he was also angry when he looked around and saw the mess: smashed crockery, a broken chair, chaos, as his father had fought off the officers and failed. His father’s fault – and the cops’ for terrifying the household, coming in heavy when they must have known the young family would be in their beds.
He’d hated them in that moment, even though he knew they were doing their jobs – but did they have to do it so aggressively? They’d gone, and Travis had spent the next half an hour calming Seb down and watching a twelve-year-old boy sob openly.
Their mother had come back to find Seb munching toast while Travis gave him some coins so he could get chips for lunch. She’d ranted and raved and stormed off to the police station, leaving the boys to go to school.
By then word had got round that their father had been taken away. Fingers pointed, sniggers followed him and the drama of the morning had become exaggerated to several vans of armed officers turning up, to helicopters and dogs searching for their father.
The last day of school: the only two kids who didn’t want to finish early for the holidays, who didn’t want to go home for Christmas. Some fecking Christmas …
‘Thank God for that!’ Travis shouted, finally turning into the hospital car park.
His phone had been beeping with texts – presumably from Seb – on the way to the hospital but it was only when he arrived at the hospital that he could reply again. A short time later, he found the emergency care department.
Seb was sitting outside in the waiting area, flicking through his phone.
‘Bloody hell, how did this happen?’ he said. His brother glanced up at him, though he was barely recognisable as the cheeky, good-looking lad Travis loved and despaired of. He had some spectacular bruises, a puffy eye and steri-strips across a badly grazed cheek. ‘You look like you did fifteen rounds with Tyson Fury.’
‘Driver clipped the bike and I wobbled and came off in the ice. I slid along the path and grazed my face and arms … but that’s not the worst of it. You should see my bum.’
Travis grimaced. ‘No thanks. You said nothing’s broken?’
‘Luckily not. I lost some skin off my arse and legs. They did a scan on my head but my brain’s OK.’
‘Was there a brain to find?’ Travis said, perching on a nearby chair.
‘Ha ha. You are so funny.’ Seb laughed sarcastically then winced.
Despite the jokes, Travis could tell his brother had been unnerved and in truth, he was pretty shaken himself. It could have been so much worse.
‘Have you told Bree yet?’
He scoffed. ‘God, no. She doesn’t know. The driver dialled 999. Kelvin turned up at the same time as the ambulance and said he’d let you know as soon as he could. He’s OK for a cop.’
‘Yeah … I had a hell of a shock when he banged on my door before dawn.’
‘I bet. It’s happened before though …’ Seb said, referring to their father. ‘Can you imagine if he’d gone round to Bree’s with the kids in bed? We know how that feels.’
‘Yes. Probably best you called me. Are you allowed to go home?’
‘I think so. I’ll check with the nurses. I know one of them.’ He let out a low whistle. ‘She comes into the shop sometimes. Always makes my day. Trouble is she was the one who cleared the grit out of my cuts and she’s now seen more of me than I have. Not sure I can look her in the eye the next time she wants a loaf and a bottle of milk.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage somehow,’ Travis said. ‘Let’s find out if you’re free to leave and I’ll take you home.’
An hour later, Seb was limping out to the car with Travis supporting him. Travis shivered and not because of the chilly morning air. He was horrified at the thought of his kid brother lying in the road, injured – and hardly dared dwell on the possibility of losing him.
After helping Seb up the stairs to the flat, he made mugs of tea and toast.
‘Thanks. I’m bloody starving.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Travis watched him devour four rounds and polished off a couple himself. It had been one hell of a morning and he still had to go into the gallery and start work. ‘I think we do need to tell Bree,’ he ventured.
‘No! She’ll go mad.’
‘Why?’ Travis was puzzled at the panic in Seb’s voice, while also thinking that his sister had been there for Travis.
‘Because I don’t want you making a fuss about me – or her. She’ll probably go mad and think I was pissed. The pair of you have got to stop nannying me. I don’t need it and I definitely don’t want it.’
‘Tough. She’s going to think you’ve been in a bar brawl when she sees the state of you and as for “nannying you”, I promised Bree I’d help.’
‘I knew it! That’s why you came back, isn’t it?’ He groaned in despair then winced. ‘Ow.’
‘Well, I should have been there for you.’
‘Bro, you haven’t “been there” for me since school and I’ve survived. Why would I drag you back here to Bannerdale now?’
The statement stung like iodine in a cut – because it was so true. ‘OK,’ he said, deflated. ‘She’s worried about you.’
Seb snorted. ‘You mean she’s worried I’ll turn into Dad?’
‘No. I … and there’s no reason why you should. Or any of us should.’
‘Really? There was a time Bree thought you would.’
‘What?’ Travis exclaimed.
‘After you took off to Manchester to be a big shot. She didn’t think you’d make it. Neither did Mum. They thought you’d just bugger around. I believed in you though,’ Seb said. ‘I was young and naïve I suppose – but I was also right.’
Travis was floored by Seb’s brutal honesty. ‘Bree’s never said anything like that to me. She always encouraged me.’
‘Lucky you. She’s always having a go at me.’ He adopted a wheedling high-pitched tone. ‘“Oh, be careful who you trust, Seb, I don’t like some of those guys you hang around with. Are you drinking too much? Don’t lose that steady job, you won’t get another one, you don’t want to end up like Dad.”’
Some of it did sound so uncannily like their sister that Travis almost wanted to laugh, but he wasn’t in the mood to be amused. ‘You don’t have to end up like Dad. He made his own choices. Being a useless father and a criminal isn’t genetic.’
Seb snorted. ‘You said it. Can you hammer it home with Bree too?’
‘She cares about you. You can’t deny we’ve not had the best start. It’s harder for people like us – it’s tough without someone looking out for you.’
‘Then why did you leave? You didn’t stay to look out for me when you could see a better life in the big wide world?’
It was another statement that went straight to the target and stuck like a barb. ‘That’s true. I did leave – but you could do the same.’
Seb sniffed. ‘How?’
‘Pick up your guitar. Get better. Fail. Keep going. Hold down a job while you get some gigs again. Look for a path that makes you smile not despair. Give it your best shot.’
Travis could picture his sister throwing up her hands in horror at the suggestion. He was supposed to be watching over his brother, not encouraging him to leave and go into a precarious trade where temptation – in the form of drink, drugs and hangers-on – would be all around. However, he also knew the danger of feeling you only had a lifetime of grind and barely getting by ahead of you.
Seb listened intently and Travis thought he was finally getting through.
‘Wow,’ he said when Travis stopped speaking. ‘Bro? Will you do something for me?’
‘If I can …’
‘Stop sounding like you swallowed a self-help manual. I prefer you screaming down my ear than turning into a self-important prick. Now, if you really want to look after your poor invalid brother, you can make me another mug of tea.’
That cut the conversation dead. Travis knew there was little more he could do – for now. He could only hope some of his words had got through and he liked to practise what he preached. He hadn’t given up trying to pursue his own dream – he certainly wasn’t going to give up on Seb.