Fifty-nine

“He was my brother too, you know?” Joshua continues in a whisper. Sweat breaks out on my forehead despite the cold, so I remove my jacket. “And no matter what he did, he was still my brother.” I swallow that painful truth with a deep sigh. “When I was in boarding school, he would always call. Even when they never did.” They. Our parents. I never called either. “One morning, he’s there being his usual arrogant self. The next morning, he’s not there. How in God’s name was I expected to deal with that?”

His words wash over me. Long buried guilt and resentment rouses. Shame sinks its claws into my skin as I stare at his hunched frame. At his feet. At the tiles that are wet with his tears. My eyes are too dry, I can’t bring myself to share in his sorrow. The guilt has drowned other emotions. I can only watch him. 

“I was trying to find closure and somehow I found myself in your room.” We all lived together in Salford. It was a rule then, one we followed because we ha