Why we reprise

R

Ira

The night it happened Ira was sitting at his desk. Old beaded reading light shining down in its tiring serene way, upon the constituent letters which stacked up before him. Card houses built with bricks of pale note book paper edges Fraid from their tearing free, stuck together with mortar of desperate blue words. Words which wreaked of dizzying ink and the pain of, Mrs Hanle's dying son, and the broken traffic light on Quinn Street beside the monkey puzzle tree, and Mr Brown burning on a revolving spit of debt after his shop was broken in to last spring.
He had been writing a letter of fickle promises and heart felt sympathy when she entered the room. Heals clacking on the hard wood and the smell of chemical lavender shrouding each movement.
He didn't stop writing, his pencil scratching at where the letters fingers poked at a place between his lungs behind his spine itching. But he'd asked "You alright?"
"Yeah yeah," Ceelia had responded, voice tight with something about the edges. "What you doing?"
Sighing Ira had lent back  chair creaking in a long exhale. "Letters, so many letters."
"You're always reading and writing letters," she'd stepped forward then, scooping up a sheaf of paper and shuffling. "Ooooh they still got lighting problems on Marple Way, exciting! And old Miss Mary's thinking the youth are hoodlums against Society and they should be treated as such, penalties, again? Christ you'd think by the amount she writes you she's got a crush on you."
"That's confidential information," Ira had protested reaching to grab back the letters. "Lea I'm serious this isn't the time."
"Confidential information," snorting, Celia stepped back holding up the letters out of reach, carrying on with her reading through appraised eyes the colour of oak bark. "You aren't James bloody Bond."
"Lia," he objected half standing, shoving down the urge to snatch the paper clean from her fingers and kick her out the room. "Please."
"That's a first. Miss Mary also says that you have pretty eyes and her daughter is available Oo Lala, maybe people do think you're James Bond, that's a joke nobody thinks that," she lent back further away, hair plunging down her back in its swishing pony tail.

"Ceelia," Ira forced his tone to not harshen, bucking out words which would have had his mama dragging out her reinforced tray of soaps from its resting place, curled beside the stash of dark chocolate and their passports. "I've got to work," a chair leg shifted beneath him.
Rolling her eyes Ceelia dropped the papers back down. "You're boring."
"If boring means I get money I'm okay with that," Ira said examining the paper for damage. Their wasn't as much of a slit upon the jagged blue syllables and crinkled corners.
Seeing Celia snorted in outrage. I'm not that much of a bitch."
"Language," ira grumbled tapping the papers into line against the surface of the desk. But I didn't say you were a bitch."
"Your face said it you've got this constipated Celia is being a bitch expression like this," she illustrated by screwing her face up and why dinning her eyes painfully her tongue lolling out.
"Isn't that the face you make when you see that boy? The football one what's his name Ryan, Ronan, Ron?" Ira asked in a monotone. "Yeah that's the face."
Rees, and don't be an arse, if you don't want your papers stolen use a Computer like every single other person." 
"You'd still steal it."
"Probably, you going through this all night?" She withdrew a couple of clattering feet, bracing a small hand against the doorframe.  He cracked his knuckles one by one, indulging in the satisfaction, as Ceelia hissed in displeasure. "Can you not."
"No I can't. where are you going out to?" examining her closer. She'd painted sculpted fashioned herself through fluttering eyelash extensions, deep red lipstick, and a black  top which he assumed there mama didn't know about, into somebody who wasn't quite his Little sister. Somebody older, colder more confident. "You look fancy," he said dryly.
"Out," shrugging she smiled the expression lighting up her face as visibly as if a stage lantern had suddenly found her. Clinging to her crinkling eyes, and upturned lips with the same intrigue as the audience at 1 of her performances. Light and shadow watching the dancer, who through herself through steps so precise, even gravities attention was snagged and held.
"It's a school night," Ira objected pointing at her.
"Are you going to tell Mama," she raised her chin up, preparing for a fight.
"It's not about mama its about you going out on a school night," straightening so he could fully face her, bracing a hand against the back of his seat.
Huffing out a world weary sigh she looked up toward the darkened ceiling. "I'm 17," speaking slowly she blinked, once twice, thrice,; eyebrows scrunched in a careful parody of dignity.
"And I'm Ira , it's nice to meet you," he sketched a bow in an action which had once had her tumbling in to uncontrollable giggles, but now she just rolled her eyes.
Again. Something in his chest hurt.
"You're not funny."
"So I've been told, by you regularly," he  shifted his stance.
"And by everybody on twitter," Ceelia pointed out neutrally. "Im going out." spinning around she stomped off footsteps ricocheting about the hall.
A familiar argument stretching out before him Ira took a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and count down from 10 taking his time.
9. Sun soaked beaches.
8. Ceelia when she wasn't arguing with him.
7. The local election pole.
6. The splash of the waves against the pebble strewn beaches on the south west coast.
5. The latest Lee Child novel resting beside his pillow.
4. The beer in the fridge waiting for Friday night.
3. The sky when it took the colour of childhood marbles, the mustard or cobalt ones.
2. The flat beside the River.
1. To sleep that night.
Forcing another breath in he felt, fantasised that some of the pressure could leak out of his stomach; dripping on to the floor boards in a gentle stream.
Ceelia was young and needed her space, her independence. But he needed her to be safe, flunitrazeeam and to close calls, on nights of panic over the phone after he'd left Home had engraved themselves neatly between his ears behind his eyes.   Reaching up he pinched the bridge of his nose, felt his chest tighten. "Ceelia."
"I'll be back soon," she called over a shoulder.
"Your not going out," he followed her, pushing hands in to the depths of his hoody pockets and pushing away the wait at the back of his scull.
Spinning around to face him Ceelia let free an incredulous laugh "You're not dad, Ira," no light shone through the glass panel in the front door at her back.
"No I'm not," Ira said trying to make eye contact only for his sister to look sharply down at the welcome mat under her heals. "Don't do this again."
"Do what?" she wouldn't look at him.
"You don't need me to spell it out? seriusly Lia you learnt nothing from last time?" mouth twisting to one side he angled his head in an attempt to see her expression better.
"Don't be a pussy," Ceelia crossed her arms tightly across her chest the gesture half way between defence and Comfort. "I can look after myself."
"Can you really, that's not how I remember it," Ira bit down on his tongue as Ceelia's brow creased abruptly arms tightening about herself. "Please," he only half regretted his words. Not when frustration was prickling behind his eyes and the air between them had grown tort.
"You don't have the right," shaking her head Ceelia jolted around the sound of jangling ricocheting through the hall as she twisted the keys and yanked to hard on the handle. "Don't use that."
"Use that against you? How immature is that look at yourself," Ira shook his head back and fourth back and fourth. "You could have died, that's not another detention or stupid broken bone, don't you remember Dad's face?"
She flinched at that but her voice was steady "I'll be perfectly safe." almost to steady.
"You'll be completely safe dressed like that on your own past dark," he snapped.
"Don't shame me," Ceelia hissed, face angling in a way which he wouldn't have been surprised meant, she would soon bare her teeth in a predators smile.
"I'm not shaming you," He responded. "You can dress how ever you like you know that," he stepped forward. "But its not safe, and your education..."
"We've got the guards haven't we?" cutting him off. "Oh no we don't because you're banning   them guess I'll just have to risk it."
"I'm not banning vigilantism," he protested. "But you shouldn't rely on them regardless they're as bad as..."
"They saved Alic," Ceelia's voice was creeping toward  a shout, crawling up decibel by decibel. "He was going to be mugged, they had a knife and they were at the back of college so he was alone, they had just punched him when one of them came down."
"He tell you that?" Ira asked. As he could feel the phantom Pen in his hand, the voting slip before him, apprehension scolding before he'd have to forcibly switch it off. That little button in his brain which he pretended he had full Control over.
"Yes," Ceelia snarled. "They punched them down then told Alic to call the police, waited with him until they came."
"Which one?"
"The leader guy Searcher," she through her hands up. "That's not the point I'll be safe."
"They've robbed people themselves, a man in the city Centre had quite a shock, they're not all perfect or even good, that searcher broke somebodies arm and punching your friends attackers is still assault."
"The police do more then break bones," Ceelia snapped. "Your letting them do more then that."
"I'm not letting anybody do anything I've spoken out against that I'm pushing it forward but I can't change everything immediately that's not how the System works."
"And that's why we have the guards," she swung the door open, "The System doesn't work, I'm going out." stepping past the threshold and slamming the door behind her heals thundering all the way. Furiously he stalked after her, pounding the door open to watch her stomp down the drive, toward the light of a car parked at the end of their drive.
"Ceelia!" he bellowed uncaring how disproportionate his voice was in the quiet suburban street. Uncaring in that moment that old Mrs Ling dropped her rubbish bags down so a battered Old sardine tin bounced vulgarly against the tarmac. Only caring that she didn't look back. "Ceelia come back inside please," anger was throbbing beneath his skin.
tucking a stray curl behind her ear she pulled open the car door; interior lights momentarily catching the silver hoops that swung from her ears. Counterclockwise. "I won't be late," she said dropping down to throw herself on to the Seat. beside her Ira saw a glimpse of a girl he faintly recognised as a school friend of hers. "So dramatic," she said loudly the role of eyes Audible. Laughter engulfed her as the door was pushed shut.
Sealing him out. For an instant he considered throwing himself in to a sprint, yanking the car door open, to drag his sister back home. Dam her resulting hatred, and Mrs Ling's horror, and her friends glee. He could do it.
But he wouldn't, couldn't, the imprint of her face sliced with the shrapnel of her anger had been burnt across his corneas in garishlee coloured welts.
So he stood still on the front step of his families house as the car shifted gears to split off down the street, windows winding down to release a chorus of cackling and blasting pop music. Squeezing his eyes shut he let the sound fade away.
"Are you alright dear?" Mrs Ling asked voice slightly shrill.
Cracking his eyes back open, he blinked, pushed himself in to his dealing with people setting and crossed the drive. He was trembling.  "Yeah fine, teenagers ey," the chuckle that dropped from his throat was gruff.
"Its the hardest age," Mrs Ling shook her head. "I don't envy you, the fights that my Derric used to have with our kids shook the building," the mention of her family seemed to calm her. "Oh what a mess," she murmured leaning over to scoop back up the rubbish bags, stuffing them away in to her Bin.
"Its bin day tomorrow," Ira said stupidly, crouching to pick up a loose can. "I completely forgot."
"We all do that love," Mrs ling smiled. "Thank you dear, how old is your sister now?"
"She's 17," sighing he pushed himself back to his feet. "I'm not an Authority figure to her at all, I'm sorry for the noice."
Shaking her head Mrs Ling's eye brows drew together in a jagged line. "Don't worry about it dear, I heard worse then that when I was a nurse, worse even then that with my own kids, your doing a great job."
"Thanks," Ira shifted, clasping his hands behind his back, fingers interlocking.
Seeming to sennse his discomfort Mrs Ling nodded, balancing out the lid on the Bin. "When are you heading back to Westminster?"
"A couple of days, I have to be their for Wednesday PMQ's and a couple of meetings," the words were familiar rehearsed.
"I don't envy you dear," Mrs ling said primly. "It seems like a mad house in their with all their cat calling, I don't know which would be worse dealing with teen agers or them at the back,"
"Teenagers," he said feeling his shoulders relaxing as his lips twisted up.
"We're all so proud of you dear, just last week I was speaking to Mary, I saw our Ira on T V last week I said, he's so grown up and intelligent, a real help to our Community. Oh yes Mary said, he's sounding just like his dad just as handsome to."
Almost choking on a burst of surprised laughter Ira tried to disguise his glance toward his front door, vaguely aware of his bed calling to him in a muses melody. "Really."
"Of course dear, you have lovely eyes just like your grandmaa you and Ceelia are so lucky. I remember you when you were yay high running around with that dinosaur, wo to be young ey."
"Well thank you, that's very kind of you," Ira grinned. "Hows Derric?"
"marvellous thank you, except that bleeding arthritis its doing hell on his joints so he's finding work difficult," Her face shuttered slightly for an instant. "Makes life hard, but we get on don't we."
"I'm sorry that sounds hard," Ira said gently.
"It can be dear, with the granddaurter baby have you seen Chynna she's such a sweetheart."
"Yeah Ying Yue showed me a picture last time I visited, she's a beautiful baby. If theirs anything you ever need please ask, you know where to find me," Ira met Mrs Ling's angular dark eyes shot through with soft lines. Smiling.
"Your a good lad."
A siren echoed in the distance, cutting through the night, flinching Ira snapped to attention, his blood was ice in his veins freezing solid soon his hart would stop, stop with its frantic nocking out his rib cage, every thump like a bello of "Let me out let me out," and he had to let it out let it be free.
Their were no flashing lights approaching.
No ambulance driven by a figure hooded in black, the wind screen wipers a sive.
It was fine.
"Are you alright Ira dear?" Mrs Ling asked and certainly, taking in his face slowly.
"Yeah yeah, sorry," Ira cringed, blood warming his cheeks. "Jumpy, better get back in now, but its lovely speaking to you as always."
"You were always a Charma," Mrs Ling smirked. "Have a good evening love."
Ira stepped back in to his own drive. "Good night," he carried on footsteps weighing him down slightly. A stone must have got caught up in his shoe.
A lot of stones.

"Have a good one". Mrs Ling disappeared through her own front door.
Between his fingers the handle was cold. He let himself back in, hesitating in the door way, when Ceelia had left like this was he supposed to lock it so she'd ring the bell. He locked it, headed in to the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, looking out the window as it boiled. There was paper work on his desk, letters and a speech to write, but all he could do was wait.
So he waited.