ROBERT

There was something about the way that Tom was looking at me. Something that I hadn’t seen before. Something I can only describe as grown up. He had been little more than a boy when I left but there was a man standing in front of me that night. He’d taken a step to the side so that he was literally standing in front of the car like we were playing chicken or something. I felt like he was daring me to run him over. Obviously, I wasn’t going to do that so I got out of the car.

The flippant part of me wants to tell you that it was like a scene from a cowboy film. Two gunslingers standing in the street facing each other, waiting to see who would draw first.

Sorry, I shouldn’t make light of it because it was clear that he was angry with me and he had every right to be. He’d probably got earache off everyone for months after I left.

We had a brief conversation that was basically a series of monosyllabic grunts that got us nowhere and then I saw him: Dad. He came out of the gate and started to walk towards us. I can’t tell you how relieved I was that Dad hadn’t died while I was away. I honestly don’t think I could have lived with myself if what I had feared had been true.

Anyway, Dad being Dad, he told us both to get in the house and I immediately felt like a child again. He just said it, turned away and expected us to follow. Tom started to say something but he was soon put in his place.

Mum was waiting in the doorstep and, honest to God, I thought I was going to burst into tears when I saw her. As I saw her rest her hand on Tom’s arm I realised for the first time what an impossible position I had put her in. Tom hadn’t hidden the fact that he didn’t want me there and I had a feeling Dad would be on his side. But what about Mum? I realised that I was forcing her to make a choice and I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself more than I did right then.

Dad and Tom had disappeared into the house and I stood on the doorstep with my mother. She lifted her hands to my face and rested them on my cheeks.

‘Oh, Robert,’ she said before throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me in close. I buried my face into her neck and hugged her. I took a deep breath to get the smell of her into my lungs.

Neither of us wanted to be the first to let go, but when we eventually did release each other she took my hand and tried to pull me towards the living room. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

‘You’ve done the hard bit, son,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t worry about Tom and your dad. They’ll come around.’

I wished I shared her optimism but she was right; I had done the hard bit and if I wasn’t going to see it through, what had been the point in me coming?

Dad and Tom were sitting either side of the fireplace. I flopped down onto the sofa and Mum sat next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that she was dying to touch me and I prayed she wouldn’t. I didn’t see any way that it would help the situation.

I’d tried asking my dad how he was when we were outside and he’d said something like, ‘Why do you care,’ but I did care; I’d feared he was dead for God’s sake, so of course I cared. I asked him again and this time he said he was all right, but Tom pitched in and said that he had been ill. Mum tried to dismiss it as nothing but I saw Tom’s face and I wasn’t so sure. It crossed my mind that maybe I had come back just in time. Some invisible tie between us had pulled me back. It sounds daft now, but I wasn’t really thinking straight.

I got a shock when Tom said he hadn’t finished Art College. I’d imagined him scraping a living doing something arty like making jewellery, so when Mum told me he’d taken a job at Lodge’s I was genuinely surprised. If I’m honest I’ve never known exactly what they do, but they had flash offices in the centre of town and I knew they paid well. He told me he wasn’t there anymore but wherever he was now he must have fallen on his feet because he looked well, he dressed well and, when I got a closer look at his car, I saw it was less than two years old, which made it a damn sight younger than mine.

When Mum asked me what I did, I tried to play it down a bit but she was still impressed. She went all ‘Ooh, a pub landlord’ on us.

I made a point of looking around. Anything to stop Mum banging on about the pub. The last thing I wanted to do was make it look like I was boasting. The room was almost exactly the way that it had looked the last time I was there. The walls were a slightly different shade of magnolia and I was almost certain it was the same three-piece but with new covers. However, above the mantelpiece was something that told me just how far my little brother really had come.

Three boys smiled down on us from a three-foot by two-foot canvas, and each of them looked like Tom. I’d noticed that he wore a wedding ring but I hadn’t mentioned it until then. I said he and his wife must be proud of them and he said they were. I’d already asked him how old his sons were and his answer set alarm bells ringing. When I asked him about his wife and when he told me her name was Michelle I realised that maybe the eldest boy might not look like my brother after all.