NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY |

12: a new pathetic crying man enters the villa

            My eyes remain dull on the credits of How Stella Got Her Groove Back playing on the laptop. They're sore from crying the past few hours and the mellow soul of Your Home Is In My Heart isn't helping at all.

When he realises I'm not moving, Caleb shuts the laptop and rolls over to place it on the floor beside the bed. I keep staring at the space where it used to be until Caleb grabs my hand from over the duvet and I drag my attention to him.

He watches me sympathetically from the eye holes of his moisturising Korean face mask. 'I know you miss them. But you'll blink and it'll be half term and he'll visit again. Time goes so fast these days. It were just 2016 and now it's 2017 and it's almost 2018. Then it'll be 2019. What's next? 2020? That's not even a real year! 2021? Now we're making up numbers. Last time I were happy were 1992.'

'We were born in '93.'

He nods so vigorously that the face mask slides down his face. 'Since the day I were born,' he starts, pulling it back in place, 'time has just kept going. It's always going on and on. Can't it go sideways for a change? Anyway,' Caleb squeezes my hand, 'Cece will be back soon.'

'I just miss him.'

'I know you do, Nikki.' Caleb falls on top of me as he pulls me into a hug. His warmth needs mere seconds to melt the stitches I've held the fault line shut with and it breaks back into a ravine, infinitely deep.

'Why am I not good at it? I try so hard. Bobbi is so much better at it but he's my brother.'

Caleb pulls back from the hug to stare at me. 'Course Bobbi is better at it: she's got thirty years of experience and training. You're not even twenty-four with a degree in computer science.'

He disappears behind my tears. 'But I'm their brother.'

It's a rare occasion for Caleb to not have owt to say but this must be one of them. He strokes my hand, planting a kiss on my hairline. 'They love you so much.'

I know they do, even if they've only said it once in the past five years. My gaze finds the botanical poster they gave me yesterday. He would only let me frame it if I promised I'd keep it in my room. I'll get to see it every time I wake up.

Was it a pipe dream to think Cece could ever consider this home and not just another placement? Especially this house that's barely got furniture. It's not exactly got a "homely" feel, has it?

I've filled as much space as I can with plants, most of which I've propagated from leaves I've nicked from a shop or grown from fruit pits. I am exactly the person who has five avocado seeds growing roots on the windowsill at all times. The pictorial rug in the living room that I got for a ridiculous bargain before I even had a sofa brings in some much-needed colours to the otherwise drab carpeting and wallpapers. I love the mismatched cluster of weird mugs I've collected, many that I've got as gifts. Like the World's Greatest Dad one Caleb bought me when Cece moved in or the Mr Worry one Allan got from one of his granddad's fishing mates on Isle of Man.

But no matter how many plants I amass, it won't change the fact that the house is literally falling apart. The windows might as well be wide open with how well they're insulated. There are entire walls where the plaster has crumbled to show the brick beneath. Don't even get me started on any of the plumbing. I'm probably going to die trying to fix one of the five hundred electrical issues because I'm convinced a YouTube tutorial certifies me as a professional.

They deserve a nicer home than this. The only way for me to afford the rent on a place that has room for Cece is that it's a shit council house, but they deserve a nicer home than this.