This Is England » Freddie Highmore

42.

I LIED AWAKE that night, staring up at the ceiling with Amelia resting her sleepy head on my chest.

I sat up from my lain position, gently placing Amelia on the pillow adjacent to mine. I quietly got up from my bed, then made my way to the living room as I sat on the couch; taking a cigarette and lighting its end with a match.

I found myself looking over at the fireplace that stood adjacent to the front door. Above it were pictures of my friends and of my younger brother, Bertie.

I got up from sitting down and walked over to the wall of photos. I placed my free hand on one of my favorite photos where Bertie and I are together; smiling at the camera.

Blowing the smoke tendrils down at the photograph, a memory began to surface through my brain; flashback taking course.

~

It was Christmas Eve, my mother had fallen ill once again. We didn't have any money for presents, we barely had enough to get us by.

I was walking through the quiet hallways. My left arm was currently covered in blood. I had gotten into a brawl with someone down the street, and the aftermath resulted with a gunshot to the head.

As I neared closer to my room, I stop dead in my tracks; hearing faint sniffles in the other room.

I crept closer to Bertie's room, seeing his light-brown hair reflect off from the moonlight. I walked closer, stopping once I saw his face cowered in his knees as he holds them close with his arms.

"Bertie," I say, crouching down to his level, sitting adjacent to him in the same manner. I looked at him, studying his feeble actions. "What's wrong?" I nudge him.

He looks up at me, his eyes reddened from crying so much. He scans at my hand, then meets my gaze.

"What happened to your hand?"
I shake my head, dismissing his question.

"That doesn't matter--What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Bertie says nothing. His legs are now on the floor.

He sighs.

"Mum is going to die," he says. "She hasn't eaten today, and Dad hasn't been home since ye left this morning."

I wrap my arm around him, pulling him close. Despite my injury, I pat him on the shoulder.

"Mum isn't going to die. You want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm here." I say. "D'you honestly think Dad is the one who handles the finances?" I scoff.

"He's nothing but a junkie."

I give my younger brother a squeeze, then dig into my pockets for the gift I had gotten him.

"Hey, check this out."

Bertie looks up and his eyes light up like the poor excuse of a Christmas tree that sat in the living room.

"You got me an autograph baseball card of Richard Parkens?!" he nearly exclaims.

I chuckle. "Yeah."

"How did you eve--"

"I know people, Bert."

"Thank you, Freddie!" Bertie exclaims, "This is amazing! I can't wait to put it with the rest of the baseball cards."

I laugh. "Merry Christmas."

Just then the door slams shut. I grow tense, as does Bertie.

"Dad's home." I state in an emotionless manner. "Pretend to be asleep."

Bertie nods, then climbs into his bed and closes his eyes.

~

"Freddie, are you okay?"

It took me a moment to realize Amelia was up leaning against the doorframe.

I look up. "Yeah," I say, crushing the cigarette butt onto the countertop. "Go back to sleep, love. I'll be there in a minute."

She looks at me skeptically then nods, turning on her heel as she goes back to my room.

I place the photograph back and sigh.

"One day, Bertie."

One day. . .

...