Pseudology

TWO: promise

Silence covered the flat like a blanket over a raging fire. Morton appreciated it’s stillness: it gave him a sense of grounding, gave him a sense of calm. It was as though the silence anchored him to this place, with it’s wallpapered walls and thick, old fashioned carpet. The art deco fireplace had several cracks in it’s deep red tiles, but the grate had been scrubbed within an inch of its life, as had the outdated but fully installed kitchen. He wasn’t too sure whether his brother would even like living here, but he had no choice.

His brother stirred but didn’t get up. Morton shifted from his seat and got up, going to the kitchen to flick the kettle on. His arms and shoulders were starting to ache from the lifting and pulling that he’d done to get Ade out of the hell hole he’d been in, and his feet felt dirty. A shower was in order… but not yet, he decided. He needed to make his brother eat something first.

Adrian Reid had always been difficult, Morton remembered. He’d been born in the dreadful year of 1987, when storms hurled themselves across England on a spree of destruction. U.S. President Ronald Reagan underwent prostate surgery, causing speculation about his physical fitness to continue in office, and the King's Cross fire on the London Underground killed thirty one people.  Ade had been a quiet baby, screams almost non-existent. A mop of dark hair appeared quickly, and his wide, pale green eyes watched the movements of everyday life with ease. Morton had been born three years previously, and, much to his family’s delight, had been a screamer, but when Ade was born, Morton’s attention turned to his brother and to his brother only.

 

Ade had bonding problems, as their grandparents had put it, but Morton, by the time he was seven, could see that Adrian wasn’t the only botheration. Turning to drugs, however, when he was fifteen, caused an irreparable rift: their mother was already dead and their father had been ambivalent at best. Grandparents and other family slowly withdrew, and Morton had felt a weight descend on him- he was the controlling factor now. He decided what happened and what did not, just like he was now.

His gaze hovered over his brother through the archway that lead into the living room. He was flinching, arms wrapped around himself in sleep; the water had finished boiling and Morton poured it into a dirty cup, sloshed a tea bag around in it, and dropped a few glugs of milk as well before returning back to the comfortable chair. His eyes lingered on Ade, who was awake now, and he sighed.

“You’ve made tea?” Ade asked sharply, his words angled to sound untrusting and angry. Morton raised his shoulders and nodded.

“I have.”

“Why haven’t you made me any?”

“I can go and make you some.” Morton took a deep, calming breath. “Maybe you could eat something too?”

“No.” was Ade’s answer, but he added “A cup of tea wouldn’t be bad, though.” And Morton went to make another cup.

 

II

 

Her name was Vinna Shaw and she’d been a sergeant in the City of London police force for nearly four years until today.  Well, she hadn’t had her dismissal yet, but she knew it was coming and she was sure it was worse than having a surprise.

Ever since she was young, Vinna had hated surprises. Her mother had been keen on giving her large, expensive presents as a part of a birthday gift, but even the idea of unwrapping a present in front of someone was off putting. When she joined the police, her mother had given her a diamond necklace that she couldn’t actually wear on the beat, but she wore it on special occasions, which now included odd birthdays of colleagues that she didn’t really know: last year, she’d been given a Chanel top that instead of saving for awkward birthdays, she wore every Friday and treated it like every other garment. And today was a Friday.