Five siblings at 23, p.1
Five Siblings at 23, page 1
FIVE SIBLINGS AT 23
Paul Ilett
Five Siblings At 23
Copyright © Paul Ilett, 2024
All Rights Reserved
This book is subject to the condition that no part of this book is to be reproduced, transmitted in any form or means, electronic or mechanical, stored in a retrieval system, photocopied, recorded, scanned, or otherwise. Any of these actions require the proper written permission of the author.
For
Jan, Lynsey, Megan and Luke
with love x x x x
CHAPTER 1
11 March 2000
Charlie Fletcher stood outside the small Victorian manor, smartly dressed in his best navy suit and clutching a small bouquet of pink tulips. It was raining softly, a cold March breeze whistling across the grounds, but he barely noticed the weather. From the moment he’d arrived at the entrance, he had found himself unable to go inside, as if the longer he stayed in that moment, stood quietly in the rain, he could somehow hold time in its place. It was his birthday, his twenty-third, the last birthday he would ever share with his mother, and he did not want the day to end.
There was so much he wanted to talk to her about, so much that he wanted to share, things he’d never told her. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life believing his own mother had never truly known him. But the days had passed at such a cruel pace, and Charlie had never found the right moment to share with her the quiet truths about himself. Now she was receiving end-of-life care in a local hospice, and all he could do was stand in the rain and wish time would stop still so nothing bad could happen to his mum.
‘Would you like to come in, my dear?’
It took a moment before Charlie registered that someone had spoken; he glanced to the entrance and saw a woman smiling at him, her hand held out in his direction. She was in her sixties, wearing a dark grey trouser suit and had the air of someone who had been through this process many times before. Charlie was not sure whether to take comfort in her demeanour or feel sad that his mother would soon become just another poor soul who would see out her life under that roof with so much time left unlived.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I just lost myself for a moment.’
‘That’s quite alright, dear. But do please come inside.’
Suddenly in motion, Charlie found himself walking next to her through the doors and into the quiet reception area.
‘Susan Fletcher,’ he said. ‘She’s my mother.’
The woman gestured for him to take a seat. ‘I will go and check she’s awake for you,’ she replied. And once Charlie had sat down, she walked behind the reception desk, picked up the phone and proceeded to have a quiet conversation.
Charlie looked directly across the room and realised he could see himself reflected in the mirrored back of an empty display cabinet. Droplets of rain glistened in his dark hair, and he noticed his eyes – the same deep brown he had inherited from his mum – were glistening as well. He knew she would not want that. She would want him to be brave and to enjoy his birthday.
His younger sister and brother, Vicki and Billy, had wanted the same, to make the day as happy and as normal as possible, although he suspected that was as much for themselves as for him. There had been a homemade cake at breakfast, with a cheerful chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to You’, followed by cards and presents.
Billy had bought him a t-shirt with the slogan ‘I Survived Y2K’, and Vicki gave him a couple of CDs and a bottle of cava. His father had put in a brief appearance, but Charlie had noticed his dad’s thick blonde hair was unbrushed, and his clothes were creased as though he had slept in them, which was unusual for a man who always took great pride in his appearance. He stayed just long enough to hand Charlie a £20 note and wish him a happy birthday before making his excuses and returning to his bedroom.
His mum’s best friend, Carol, had popped in with birthday gifts she had bought on behalf of his mother. Her son Tyler was with her, just eight years old, but a thoughtful young boy who’d made Charlie a batch of chocolate brownies for his birthday and presented them proudly with a homemade card. Carol had spent a few moments upstairs, speaking with Charlie’s dad. Charlie couldn’t quite make out what they were discussing, but at one point, their voices had been raised, and after about five minutes, Carol returned to collect Tyler, and then they had left. No one mentioned the argument. Instead, they simply tidied the kitchen, after which Billy left for school, and Vicki made her way to the local bus stop to get to work.
Charlie had showered and dressed and driven himself to Southend Hospital to spend some time with his new baby sister Elizabeth; the family had already decided to call her Lizzie. The staff in the neonatal unit understood the very difficult circumstances into which Lizzie had been born, and so had been able to provide Charlie with some private time during his visit.
He picked up some flowers for his mum at a little florist shop before making the difficult journey to the hospice, where she had agreed to be transferred less than a day after giving birth. The previous few months had been unforgivably cruel to his mother. At first, she had been offered the joy of an unplanned pregnancy at the age of forty-six. But too soon after, there had been that awful day when something unexpected had shown up during her first prenatal appointment.
And then there had been all the terrible, dark days that had followed, where every glimmer of hope had been extinguished with brutal speed. Amidst all the anger and fear and loss, Charlie could only watch helplessly as his beloved mum tried to steer focus away from herself and make sure everyone remained excited at the imminent arrival of a little baby girl.
‘Your mum’s ready for you,’ the woman said. ‘It’s Charles, isn’t it?’
He stood. ‘Everyone calls me Charlie,’ he replied politely, following the woman from the reception area into a long corridor that contained half a dozen doors leading to private rooms, each of them with a sign naming the occupant.
‘We have your father, Peter Fletcher, as the emergency contact,’ she said. ‘But we only have a home number for him. Is that right?’
‘There’s usually always someone there,’ Charlie replied, ‘so it is the best number to get us on.’
‘And I hear you have a little sister now,’ she said.
Charlie nodded. ‘Little Lizzie. Six pounds and eight ounces. Quite a miracle, really. I have photographs for Mum. We bought one of those instant cameras. You know, like they used to have back in the eighties? So, we don’t have to spend time getting them developed at the local chemist.’
The woman stopped outside one of the doors, which carried a small sign reading ‘Susan Fletcher’. ‘Sounds like your mum was quite a miracle,’ she said.
And then, with a less jovial tone, she added, ‘You know that she’s been through a lot over the past week, and I think labour took the last of her strength. She’s very frail now. She is not in any pain, but I do want to tell you, my dear, that I don’t think we have much more time with her. There is a buzzer next to her bed, so please just press it if you are worried about anything.’ And then, before she left, the woman gently held Charlie’s arm. ‘Are you OK?’
Charlie tried to reply, but a lump in his throat stopped any words coming out of his mouth. Instead, he just nodded. The woman offered him a reassuring smile and then left. Charlie took a moment to prepare himself, and then he opened the door to the room.
He could feel himself weighed down by his secret, wracked with uncertainty as to whether he should unburden himself. Would it be selfish, he wondered, or would his mother be pleased to hear of his happy life away from the family home? But as he stepped inside his mother’s room, he had no idea she had a far greater secret she intended to share with him.
CHAPTER 2
Charlie was pleased he had brought the flowers. They offered him a moment of normality, a distraction from his mother’s condition, as he arranged them in a glass vase, half filled with water, standing on a little table in front of the window. The room was far less clinical than he had expected, more like a small budget-hotel room. There were two comfortable armchairs on each side of the small table and a portable television on a wooden chest of drawers.
His mother’s bed was the only item in the room that looked medical, with raised metal railings on each side and two handles at the foot, which he assumed were to lower or raise the frame.
‘They’re lovely,’ she said, a little breathlessly, as she gazed at the flowers. ‘Now, come and sit with me. Pull over a chair. I want us to talk.’ She beamed him a smile, happy to see her son dressed so smartly, just for her.
She was resting under layers of sheets and blankets, with her arms above the covers and her hands resting on her chest. And for the first time, Charlie could see how thin she was, how frail. He leaned over the railings and kissed her forehead. He could still see her, his mother, but she was pale, and her eyes no longer sparkled. She was worn out and appeared quietly reconciled with whatever was going to happen next.
‘Happy birthday, darling,’ she said. ‘Did Carol bring my gifts? She came to see me yesterday. She did my shopping for me.’
‘Oh yes, yes. This morning, first thing,’ he replied.
‘Thank you.’
Charlie dragged an armchair closer to the bed, and lowered the railing so he could sit holding his mother’s hand. He tried not to focus on how tired she looked, but it was difficult because she was so weak and never seemed to have quite caught her breath. He could not bear the thought of what might happen over the next few days. ‘Vicki and Billy se nd their love,’ he said, grasping at ordinary words and ordinary topics. ‘They’re coming to see you later today. I think Dad’s bringing them.’
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the photographs of Lizzie. Handing them to his mother, she looked silently at each one in turn. A picture of the baby with Charlie, and then one with Billy, and then Vicki. And then a group shot, of all the Fletcher children together, Lizzie wrapped in Vicki’s arms. ‘There are four of us now,’ Charlie said.
‘There was a picture of Peter with Lizzie, and that made Charlie chuckle. ‘One of the nurses thought he was Lizzie’s granddad,’ he said. ‘He was not impressed. But that’s what happens when you become a dad again in your fifties.’
Next was a picture of Carol and her young son Tyler with Lizzie, and for some reason, it was that photograph that his mother looked at for the longest time. And then there was another photograph of Charlie and Lizzie, only this time with his friend, Jason, sitting next to him, both of them smiling at the camera.
‘I thought you might bring Jason with you,’ she said. ‘I would like to see him. Are you both OK?’
‘Yes, of course, he’s fine,’ Charlie replied. ‘I’ll bring him to see you tomorrow.’
Susan looked at the picture again with an obvious fondness. ‘He grew into such a handsome young man,’ she said, ‘that scrawny little boy you brought home for tea after school all those years ago. How old were you both? Ten? Eleven?’
‘About that,’ Charlie replied. ‘First year of senior school.’
‘And then he came for tea the next day and the next. It didn’t take long for your dad and me to work out that he didn’t have a particularly nice home life, bless him.’ She lay the photographs on the bed next to her. ‘I’ll keep them there so I can look at you all.’
Charlie wasn’t sure how the conversation would progress, but he wanted to keep the focus on Jason in case he summoned enough courage to explain everything to his mother. ‘He’s never forgotten, you know. Everything you did for him. All the dinners and packed lunches, letting him stay for sleepovers pretty much all the time.’
Susan gave his hand a little squeeze. ‘You didn’t answer me,’ she said, ‘how are you both?’
Charlie paused because no one had asked after Jason before, at least not like that, with a tone so fond and familiar, and he wondered if he was misinterpreting the question or whether his mum just knew.
‘It’s alright,’ she said when Charlie failed to respond to her question. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know that I love you both, and I am happy you have someone.’
This was the very conversation Charlie wished to have with his mother, to share the details of his secret happy life with Jason. But he suddenly found himself completely unprepared for it. Where would he even begin, he wondered, and how much did his mother already know? But as he looked at her face, her smile, he knew he might not have the chance again, and he did not want to spend the rest of his life regretting a missed opportunity.
‘I developed a bit of a crush on him at sixth form,’ he said. ‘It just felt very strange that I had suddenly had feelings for my best friend.’
‘And is that when you started dating?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘No, I never told him. And then he was accepted by Leeds and disappeared for the next four years. We wrote to each other all the time, and his letters were just filled with so much... so much of everything. I was doing work placements with local estate agents, and his life seemed full and exciting. I thought he’d never come back. But then, last summer, he did.’
Charlie couldn’t quite gauge his mother’s reaction. She appeared content to just listen, perhaps pleased to finally hear about a part of her son’s life he had kept hidden for so long. ‘I hadn’t seen him since college,’ Charlie continued. ‘I was sure he just thought of me as an old schoolmate, someone he wanted to catch up with, now he’d moved back to Southend. But after a few glasses of wine, he told me he’d been thinking about me the whole time he’d been away. Four years of wondering if I felt the same way about him. And after a few more glasses of wine, I finally plucked up the courage to tell him that I did. And that was pretty much it.’
Susan chuckled and then said, ‘He’s good for you. He looks after you. And you need that, Charlie. You spend too much time worrying about everything and everyone. I’m glad Jason’s there. Thank you for telling me. I look forward to seeing him tomorrow.’
Feeling emboldened, Charlie continued to share little snippets of his secret life, with just enough detail to create a happy, colourful picture for Susan to enjoy. He spoke about Jason’s flat, which had become his second home, and the holiday they had shared together in Spain. And with every word, with every little detail, Charlie felt he had finally let his mum into his world.
‘And how is work?’ Susan asked.
Jason had returned to Southend with a business degree, whilst Charlie had spent years working in the local real estate market, and with a loan from Charlie’s grandmother, the two had started to renovate and then sell empty, dilapidated houses.
‘Oh, really good,’ Charlie replied. ‘We’re doing two at the moment. A couple of three-bed terrace houses in the town centre. We got one of them for just £30,000 at auction. But property prices are going up very quickly. We could probably make a good profit on both without even renovating.’
‘But you are going to renovate?’ Susan asked.
Charlie nodded, ‘Oh yes, yes. Of course. That’s our business model. Putting more family homes back into the community. We’ve even been able to finally repay Nan the money she lent us to start the business. So, she’s happy too.’
‘Oh, I bet she is,’ his mum replied. And then she took a breath as though she were about to say something, but instead, she tutted and pursed her lips.
‘You OK, mum?’ Charlie asked. ‘Do you want anything?’
Susan closed her eyes and withdrew her hand. ‘No, no,’ she replied. After a beat, she opened her eyes again and looked directly at him. ‘I am guessing your father hasn’t spoken to you.’
Charlie shrugged, ‘What about?’
Susan rested back on her pillow and looked to the ceiling, muttering something under her breath. And then, more clearly, she said, ‘No, of course he hasn’t,’ with a cross tone to her voice.
It was unusual for his mother to openly criticise her husband, even if only lightly. Many people spoke poorly of Charlie’s father, including Charlie himself, but his mother had always been his greatest champion, someone who spoke up for him and defended him, even when he had done something which appeared indefensible.
Charlie had never understood her loyalty to his dad. Indeed, there were many things he did not understand about his parents and their marriage. But it was clear his father had failed to tell him something that his mother thought important, and he wondered what it could possibly be.
CHAPTER 3
Charlie waited for his mother to continue, hoping she might be about to share some of the many secrets he suspected she and Peter had kept from their children. But he also knew that if she did, it had to be her choice. She was drained, tired, and in no condition to be pestered for family gossip.
‘Carol helped me put together a family album,’ Susan said. ‘It’s in the top drawer of the dresser. Could we look through it together?’
It was an unexpected moment because, at the very least, Charlie had expected his mother to explain her oblique comment about Peter. But he did as he was asked and retrieved the album, which seemed new, with a shiny leather cover that was completely unblemished.
He retook his seat and glanced through a few pages, and he realised it was different to the other Fletcher family albums. All the others his mother had compiled over the years had been a snapshot of time, a collection of pictures all taken over a period of weeks or months, usually from the same roll of film. This album seemed more eclectic, with pictures from across the years, although they appeared to have been collated in order, like a story, from start to finish.
He leaned slightly onto the bed so his mother could see the pictures, too, and began to slowly move through the pages. The first images were of Susan and Peter, both so young; his mum pretty and curvaceous, with dark eyes and long dark hair, the same colourings Charlie and his siblings had each inherited from her. His dad tall and brawny, older than Susan, with thick blonde hair and blue eyes.
