Don't Give Up, Tom Drake

Don't Give Up, Tom Drake Part 2

Three

In The Suburbs, 29th April

The warm mid-spring air was being cooled by a southern breeze that Drake welcomed as he entered the leafy cul-de-sac in Petts Wood. His thoughts were fixed upon the girl at the coffee shop, whose spark of light in his dark life seemed to have awoken dormant feelings. The guilt of leaving her without any explanation swept over him in cold waves and it wasn't until he strolled along the path that led up to Darcie's door, that Drake finally put the girl with flowers on her fingernails to the back of his thoughts.

Drake stopped at the white front door, picturing his sister and what she would be doing at that very moment. Darcie, he thought, would be standing by the end of the bed, her brow unintentionally frowning as she painstakingly folded the washing. She would be laying it in piles upon the duvet cover and listening to Lacey, her (almost) two year old daughter, talking to her soft toys in the playpen in the corner of the room. She would be looking at the piles of washing; eighty-five percent Lacey's, ten percent Rick's and five percent her own, and marvelling at just how much clothing a baby could get through in a day and wondering if the time would ever come when the stench of a full nappy would not consume the house. This, and many other of the mundane chores in her life, Darcie would spell out to her brother whenever he bothered to pay her a visit.

Darcie was indeed, at that moment, looking at the remainder of washing sitting in the basket that needed folding. She wanted to cry, and Drake knew that she often felt inadequate and weak. Some of her friends, Sophie for instance, had three sprogs under the age of five and yet she managed to whizz through the day, happy in the knowledge that her house was clean, bright and fresh smelling. And Sophie always looked like she'd just stepped out of an Elle magazine photo-shoot, just to rub things in.

Drake rang the doorbell.

He knew that Darcie would ignore the bell and he would have to keep ringing until she would answer. Once, the two of them had attempted to devise a personal ring sequence so she would know that it was him, but even when Drake had tried it out, many weeks later, Darcie had forgotten all about it.

Through the misted glass of the door, Drake could already see Darcie approaching with Lacey on her hip. As she opened the door and saw her brother waiting there, Darcie couldn't help but say, 'I haven't got any.'

It wasn't the welcome he expected. 'Haven't got any what?' he questioned.

'Money, Drake. Money,' said Darcie, whilst Lacey wriggled.

'When have I ever asked you, or anyone for that matter, for money?' Drake was offended but seeing the beautiful Lacey poking her tongue out at him doused the hurt and diffused the situation immediately.

'Never,' came Darcie's response, her shoulders sagging. 'But you're like one of those black sheep in the family who only show their faces once in a blue bloody - ' she paused, 'blooming moon,' she corrected herself. 'Scrounging for money. Only you don't scrounge for money. Lunch, yes.'

'So what's the problem?' Drake poked his tongue out at Lacey, who scrunched her nose up.

'Nothing!' Darcie retaliated. 'Come in!' she ordered, stepping aside, allowing her younger brother to enter. 'Just visit more often, you moron!' she concluded, before quickly saying, 'Mormon, Mormon. Mormon, Lacey!'

'Moron,' Lacey repeated, as Drake pecked a kiss to Darcie's cheek and went through to the living room. Darcie closed the door with an emphatic sigh.

With Cbeebies on low volume at the far end of the room holding Lacey's attention, Darcie and her brother sat at the freshly polished dining table. Drake's nose tingled at the smell of disinfectant and poo, as Darcie smelt nothing but the coffee she was drinking. 'She's grown,' Drake glanced at his niece.