Never Summer Again

Chapter Thirty-Seven - I Want The Whole World To Know

Score: They Don't Know About Us - One Direction

Lydia

The room goes suddenly very quiet. Nobody moves. Nobody says a word. A heartbeat passes, then another, before I can process what Colin just said.

After all, Young women have always had a weak spot for Carter men.

"What does that even mean?" Mark breaks the silence first, stepping forward.

"I suggest you go and ask your father," Colin squints his eyes. John is standing just two feet away from me, looking completely baffled and frozen.

"He's not here, is he?" Mark challenges. "So, I'm asking you."

"I really think you should go ask your dad," Colin says, turning his back to us and walking down the corridor. I can swear he's enjoying this tremendously. I suddenly regain the strength in my legs and run after him.

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"You've always thought I was the only one to blame for what happened to our family," Colin says. "Everyone has secrets, Lydia, your mother included." He looks into my eyes with his bloodshot ones. I am close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath.

"You're drunk!" I spit.

"True." He doesn't even bother to deny it. "That doesn't make it any less true."

"Lydia, let's go. It's pointless, he is drunk and he's not making any sense," Mark says, rushing to my side. "He's probably saying all this just to piss you off."

"Oh, and, by the way, Lydia," Colin ignores Mark, "You're cut off!"

"What?" I snap. "You can't cut me off! I have no money!"

"And, thanks to you, Lydia, soon we're all going to have no money."

"That's ridiculous! Go get a job!"

"Let's go!" Mark says again, gently grabbing my arm. "He's obviously trying to get to you!" Colin doesn't say anything but disappears into his room.

"He's right, Lydia," John says from behind my back. I jump, startled. "I think you'd better go. Ignore him."

"You should go, too, Johnny!" I say. "Just go to Nana and Grandpa, it's not OK for you to stay here!"

"I'll be fine, Lyds!"

I reach out and pull him in my arms. I have been way too harsh with him recently. He's been through the same stuff as I have. Well, maybe without the being traded off to other people for money bit, but everything else - our mum, Celia, living with a drunk for a dad, has been the same. And, only because he has been expressing his anger, frustration, and hurt in a different way than me, doesn't mean that his way is wrong. Self-destructive, maybe, but not wrong.

A rush of guilt befalls me and, suddenly, I want to say so much to him!

"I'll get you out of here, Johnny! I'll think of something! I promise!"

"I'll be OK, sis, I promise."

"I love you," The words feel weird in my mouth, as I try to think of the last time I ever said them to him. He's my brother, but I haven't told him I loved him since we were little kids. In fact, I haven't told anyone from my family I love them. The last couple of years I've only given those three little words to Patrick, and, mostly, out of habit. I think that the only people I have said them to and it felt right recently have been Alex and Gloria.

Now, I regret not having said them to John more often. He's a good lad and I haven't been there for him enough.

He wraps his arms around my body awkwardly, clearly startled by my affection. We stay like that briefly, at first sight, the pure image of awkwardness, but, actually, a sister and a brother in an embrace. I then let him go and walk back to my mum's room to try and rescue as much of my mum's stuff from Celia as possible.