My throat tightened.
Big Guy was talking about us.
"I would expect nothing less from the family's crazy lady." Miles smiled proudly at our sister. "What did you do to him?"
"Nothing too drastic." Mary downplayed inherited craziness and adhered to the unwritten rules of white lies. "I spilt chardonnay all over the man's designer trousers. He was furious."
Yes, but the designer trousers were the least of his worries. He was more concerned with the potential dog excrement on his face.
"However, due to unforeseen circumstances, I was forced to tolerate her for a very long period of time." He omitted the bad decisions that precipitated unpaid hours of community service in the same alley as the cafe where I worked and resided. "Stockholm Syndrome, anyone?"
A chorus of hearty laughter followed.
"It was love at first sight, and you know it." Mary rubbed Brad's thigh under the table. "How is pregnancy treating you, Quinn?"
A slight smile played on my friend's mouth. "Overrated."
"Pregnancy is a gift from God." Hamish's stern voice echoed in my mind. "It's nice to see that loan parenthood is not an issue." He took a dig at me. "Perhaps you would both like to visit once the baby is born."
I was hurt deeply by my father's comment. He has never made an effort to see my son, to pick up the phone and call him or even send him a birthday card. He hasn't even acknowledged his disappearance.
"Respectfully, no," Benjamin declined Hamish's offer to visit with a glare of sheer disrespect. "No offence, old man, but you do not have a good track record with grandkids. You might wake up one day and decide to disown my kid for merely existing."
"I'm not sure I understand." Hamish's eyes, cold with contempt, bounced from me to my twin. "I don't have any other grandchildren to compare."
Tears pricked my eyes.
"Who wants more orange juice?" Martin, awkward and gawkish when under pressure, shot out of the seat like a bolt of lightning, fussing with jugs, mugs and anything else he could get his hands on. "There is never a dull moment with a dose of Vitamin C. Here you go, Emma." He splashed orange liquid into my glass with flinty-eyed clumsiness. "Hey, how is that university course looking?"
"University." My mother's lips twitched into a half-smile. "What is the purpose of this study?"
"Communication and media studies," I said, furtively wiping a tear from under my eye. "It's not set in stone yet. I was just playing with ideas."
"Emma has the attributes of a great photographer," Benjamin explained, and everyone trapped me in their sights as if my cheeks could not get any hotter. He studied me for a beat longer, beaming with pride. "A picture paints a thousand words, right?"
My soft gaze thanked him for the intercedence. A diversion from the topic is all it took for tears to subside. Getting through the rest of brunch without crying in my father's presence will be a miracle.
A team of waiters cleared the table, replacing dinnerware with flutes of non-alcoholic champagne and miniature iced cakes with edible flowers.
I was in the middle of knifing through an ombré layered cupcake when Big Guy's hand found my knee underneath the table. Then, slowly, almost tortuously, his ring-laden fingers coasted the mere skin of my inner thigh.
My breath abandoned me.
Peacefulness amongst the Hughes family lulled me into a false sense of security. I allowed his crafty behaviour to go unnoticed because the shiver of happiness I felt outweighed the state of being sensible.
My frozen stare lowered to my lap, where Big Guy's large hand rested on my thigh. The onyx bead bracelet is clasped to his wrist, and I wondered if he'd worn it every day since the night I gave it to him or if he'd only recently decided to match it with his attire.
"I hate your father," he said too quietly for anyone else to overhear. "His truculent asperity is ruffling the wrong feathers." His finger tapped my thigh rapidly to ease feelings of irritation. "I am not as patient as the others."
I had to quell the morass of disputes before the family brunch was marked by violent controversy. "Ignore him," I whispered, and he tsked in disapproval. "Martin is already walking on eggshells, trying to keep the peace."
Mary chuckled in the background.
"I will not be the reason for my brother's despondency." With a quick sip of faux champers, I nibbled on a piece of richly flavoured cake. "You understand."
"No, I do not understand, actually," he argued logically rather than emotionally. "You know, I have many questions about this weekend, but the one that sticks out the most is your father's attendance. I find it completely unfathomable that anyone would invite him to family gatherings."
How could I argue with facts?
"He does not deserve to be here." His eyes toggled between amatory and mischievous. "Just say the word, Sweetheart."
I felt a wave of queasiness. "What do you propose?"
"I can wipe him off the face of the earth," he said darkly, and I regarded him with a gasp of horror. "I am not joking, Emma."
"I know." Hence the blow of ominousness threw me off balance. "No, I do not want the unspeakable on my conscience." At least, I think that's the correct answer. It would be morally discreditable and downright unforgivable to tell everyone how I really felt. "Let's save threats for the malefactors of the world, shall we?"
Big Guy shot me a double-take. "You are too nice for your own good."
"By sparing someone's life?"
"By letting people trample all over you."
God, he is impossible. Not everyone is born to be a hitman with psychotic tendencies. I would probably never sleep again if the syndicate carried out my father's murder.
"I would never!" Mary is embroiled in light-hearted banter with Benjamin. "You only know what you think you know, brother. Tell him, Patty."
"Enough." Hamish's mug slammed on the table dissonantly, spilling hot tea over his rigid fingers. "You continue to make a mockery out of this family." He pointed a contumelious finger at my sister. "I never stood for it then. I will not stand for it now."
Everyone sat around the table in stunned silence. I, on the other hand, predicted this problem long before it rose to the surface because it would be uncharacteristic for this unbearable man to sit with his so-called children and not lose his cool.
Mary glared at our father like she wanted to peel the skin off his bones. "Are you talking to me?" she queried frostily, and I knew the second his hand on the table curled into a tight fist, family brunch would turn into a bloodbath. "Only, I do not remember asking for your opinion on how I should hold myself in public. You lost the right of a parental advisor when you denied me the love of a father."
Martin's elbows leaned onto the table, his mouth concealed behind clasped hands. "Can we not do this today?" His eyes homed in on our sister. "Please, Mary. I can only tolerate so much."
"I am not to blame for his belligerence." Mary gesticulated frantically toward our father. "Do not come at me, Martin. I have been on my best behaviour. It's him that needs to hear the riot act."
My mother, with a worried wrinkle between her brows, is ramrod-straight in the chair. I could see that she wanted to intervene before the argument escalated, but the fear of what her husband might say or do if she stepped out of line had her by the tongue.
"Do you consider me foolish?" Hamish's deep baritone voice thundered into every stained-glass alcove. "I recognise the eyes of a sinner." Then, with an expression of haughty disdain, the accusatory finger-pointing diverted to Patricia. "You are the one that led my daughter astray."
"Sir, I don't know what you are talking about." Patty is in a state of paralysing surprise. "Mary is my friend. I only met her last year—"
"Horse shit." Hamish is unapologetic about Patty's exposure to public humiliation. "Mary did a moonlight flit when I got to the bottom of her mental impairment. She was unwell. She needed help," he strictly stated, short and precise. "A Serpent's hiss of temptation convinced her that homosexuality is an innate dimension of personality instead. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" He gave Patty a reproachful glare, so much blame in his hard eyes, then steered his attention to my sister. "Your body is nothing but a conduit for the demonic. You are possessed by the Devil."
Mary swallowed audibly.
"You bring this filth to my son's wedding. You would do this to your own brother." Hamish eyed three people: Brad, Mary and Patty. "Is this a polyamorous relationship? Edify us."
My sister adopted courage, her chin lifting with pride. "I do not have to explain myself to you."
My father's face was puce with anger. "Polyamory is a sin."
"Open relationships with multiple partners is a matter of preference." Brad defended my sister's right to live a carefree life. "And it is socially acceptable."
"It's a sin," Hamish repeated savagely as if each punctuated syllable would drive the message home. "Your behaviour is contrary to God's Will."
"And a marriage of convenience is not?" Brad unhesitatingly broke the confidentiality agreement, letting the entire table know we were privy to the skeletons in their closets. "Question: is monogamy the standard doctrine for Latter-day Saints and the Practice of Plural marriage? And, for argument's sake, let's say Mormons are found guilty of committing adultery. Are they, as a result, admonished to repent, or do they face immediate disfellowshipment?"
I sucked in a breath of dread.
Hamish is perfectly composed. "Did I hear an accusation?"
"Yes." Big Guy is uncompromisingly forthright. "Alcohol is prohibited. Yet, I can smell last night's whiskey on your breath from here. You are not allowed to engage in women outside of your marriage." He paused for ominous suspense. "But you have spent more time with whores than you have your wife." His folded arms leaned onto the table so he was at eye level with my father. "Practice what you preach, you fucking hypocrite."
"Brad!" Miles scolded, not that anything could pout a chink in Big Guy's armour. "Know your place, or I will—"
"You will, what?" Mary argued with our brother. "Do not threaten someone for telling the truth!"
Martin's hand slammed down on the table. "Lashing out will only make the situation worse!" He and Miles shared a commonality in terms of struggling with the issues of Brad and Mary. "I think you should leave the table to cool off. We can talk later."
"Oh, so I have to distance myself from the family because that vile piece of shit is allowed to get away with fucking murder!" My sister is becoming angrier with each passing second. "I will not be villainised!"
The explosive argument escalated significantly, with an onslaught of madness and lunacy. Emotional turmoil completely snapped the frayed bonds that once held our family together, and it was utterly devastating. I wanted to take my siblings to a safe place and get them away from our toxic father once and for all.
"Absolution will never belong to you!" Hamish spat, the vicious storm in his eyes reserved for his eldest daughter. "Not as long as I am alive."
"And what about you?" Mary screamed at him from across the table, her throat thick and raspy. "You are no closer to absolution than I am!" She fought valiantly until the bitter end. "You disavowed the duties as a father. That, in itself, is unforgivable!"
My father lunged out of his seat, the chair crashing on the floor on impact. He was going to kill my sister. I could see it in his eyes. But the strong, unyielding grip of my mother's hand on his wrist thwarted the attempt of an attack.
"Hamish, please." Martha peered up at him in glassy-eyed desperation. "Mary is still my little girl, and I will..." Her body and lips quivered as she mustered the strength to give him a piece of her mind. "I will not stand back and watch her suffer anymore. You have done enough."
Hamish glared down his nose at our mother. His hand curled into a fist. I know the signs of domestic violence because I grew up in a household where cries of pain whispered through the halls alongside the unforgettable lash of a belt to flesh. He was going to hurt her. Punish her for disobedience, for speaking without permission and, in his eyes, for embarrassing him in front of other people.
I pushed to my feet. "No."
His sharp, angry eyes landed on me.
"If you lay one finger on my mother," I warned him, knowing I could never take him, but that would not stop me. "If you put one more bruise on her face, I will have you sent to eternal damnation."
He stared right through me.
"Nought lies beyond your grave but a gulph of devouring flames," I quoted Matthew Gregory Lewis. It's one of my father's many favourites. "Open your eyes, Dad." With that, he looked around the table to see all of his children--no longer small and timid--stood tall, with their heads held high, together, in a united front. "We are not afraid of you anymore."
"Of course, it would be you to speak out of turn." Hamish ripped his arm out of Martha's clutches, and she recoiled in the chair, preparing herself for a backhander. "Your actions have always aligned with your words, Emma."
Martin's hands raised warily to demonstrate to our father that he meant no harm. "Can we take a moment to calm down?"
"Silence," Hamish berated, and my older brother's lips smacked together. Luckily, Judith, the wife of convenience, is here to rub his back comfortingly. "You were thrown into the gutter for a reason."
My shoulders squared.
"Yet, here she is." Hamish's eyes swept over me in disapproval. "An unwanted presence in tawdry clothes." He was hyper-aggressive and prepared to take me by the jugular. "And thus the augury was true."
I felt something warm and wet slide down my cheek.
"You are yet to be married." Hamish stood there, smug and superior, hands in his trouser pockets. "And where is that child of yours? Oh, I remember." A vein throbbed in his neck. "You lost the pitiful bastard to a band of fucking paedophiles!"
Benjamin lunged across the table, knocking over everything and everyone in sight to get to our father. It all happened so quickly. I went from standing to lying in a bed of shattered glass within a matter of seconds. Men shouted. Women cried. Furniture capsized and dispersed across the floor.
Swept up in the tragedy of our tears, I forced myself onto all fours, shards of glass nicking the palms of my hands, when Terrence, the supererogatory hero slash devoted bodyguard, took charge and encouraged me to stand. He was gone just as quickly, throwing himself into the violent brawl.
Through blurry eyes, I watched Martin drag Benjamin out of the mob of rowdiness, pleading with him to take a breather and calm down. But my twin was too far gone. He wanted blood. Our father's blood. And he would stop at nothing until red stained the floor. If not for me, then for Carter. He, too, felt the unforgivable strike of Hamish's cruelty.
"Mark my fucking words," Big Guy threatened, and I belatedly noticed his dishevelled image. His shirt was ruffled and missing three buttons. His hair was loose, strands irritating his eyes. "I am coming for you."
Hamish picked himself off the floor, dabbing the trickle of blood by the corner of his mouth. He almost replied, with something snarky, I am sure, but I became the focal point of hostility once more. Only this time, when his tongue was unleashed to stamp all over my dignity and tear my soul into pieces, I backed away from the commotion, pushed through the heavy double doors, and dashed down the hallway.
Hopping out of the stilettos, I left them in the foyer somewhere and ran full pelt into the cold, mist-burdened garden. I forgot how much I needed the wind on my face, the air in my lungs and the burn in my calves. It was an escape, the best form of therapy.
It was sunny earlier, but not anymore. The skies heard everyone's cries and wept in sympathy.
Huge, fat droplets sprinkled on my face as I dragged my bare feet through the wet grass.
I stopped and burst into tears when the large duck pond came into view. I hated myself for crying, for letting my father get to me, but the image of my son and paedophiles poisoned my mind so toxically and painfully that I could hear him crying for me to save him. And it hurts. It killed me. It brought back months and months of pain and suffering, the physical discomfort and emotional distress that I fought so hard to overcome.
On the brink of hyperventilating, I kneeled by the pond and clung to the moss-covered bricks as if the wall had the power to prevent collapse.
My tears poured into the still, calm water, creating soft, delicate ripples, starkly contrasting how I truly felt. I was anything but calm. Hysterical is more apt.
"Emma." Mary's hand rubbed my back as she kneeled on the floor next to me. "Are you okay?" My older sister is the strong sibling, the fierce one, inside and out. She is not one to show her emotions, to cry in front of people, or exhibit vulnerability. Yet, I heard the devastation in her husky voice. "That was a stupid question. Of course, you are not okay. Nothing about Hamish's abominable behaviour is okay."
"I hate him," I cried through intervals of tears and hysteria. "I hate him so much. He mentioned my son." My voice broke into a throaty whisper. "My baby boy."
"Shh." Her arms enveloped my body, holding me for a tight hug. "It's okay. We are going to get through this. I promise."
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see my twin in the background. He stayed back for a couple of seconds to let two sisters have alone time, but when our eyes, plagued by desperation and longing, connected, he prowled forward, lifted me into his arms and held me as if he would die without me.
I suppose, in a way, we did not know life without each other. It showed, every time one or the other hurt, how much the smallest token of love could stitch the wounds of our broken hearts.
"Never again," he said angrily, his fingers tousled in my hair, his arm locked tightly around my waist. "You will never have to see that man again."
Martin and Miles slowly walked toward us. I did not need to alert Benjamin of their arrival. He sensed it, the stench of cowardice. He left a kiss on my cheek, tucked me behind him protectively and turned to face them.
"Leave," Benjamin demanded, but our brothers would not buckle easily. "You have proven time and time again that we do not matter. Go back to the lousy fucking scumbag that you call father. We do not need you. We have never needed you."
Mary grabbed my hand, interlacing our fingers.
Our sister picked a side.
With us.
"You are angry." Miles is wary of his younger brother's reaction. "You have every right to be upset..." My older brother grimaced in dismay. "But we are not the bad guys here. You cannot hold us accountable for Hamish's bad temper. Our only crime is trying to mend this broken family."
"Yeah?" Benjamin speared a hand through his dark hair. "Well, you got a funny way of showing it, Miles."
When Martin stepped closer, Benjamin seized up, his body pulled tight, fingers curling and flexing as if to prime himself for another fight.
"Jesus, Ben." Martin stared like he did not recognise us. "I am your brother, for fuck's sake."
"Fuck you. You never cared about us." My twin shook with rage and adrenaline. "Hamish would not be here today if you did."
Martin's mouth parted to speak, but Miles beat him to it. "Consider our mother," he said, and Benjamin's eyebrows curved inward. "She is the only reason why I visit the family home every week."
"And I still attend church on Sundays." Martin brushed fragments of this morning's breakfast off his white shirt. He was covered in food, flakey pastry and toasted breadcrumbs. "Hell, Martha is the reason for everything."
"And Judith?" I asked, wanting some form of clarity. "You clearly do not love that woman, but you married her to keep Hamish sweet."
"I do a lot of shit to keep that son of a bitch happy." My older brother had tears in his eyes. "You don't get it, do you? Mary ran away. You and Benjamin got out." He glanced at Miles and smiled flatly. "We are all she had left."
"It hasn't been easy for us, either." Miles scuffed a pebble under his shoe. "Hamish is in the driving seat. It's been that way for as long as I can remember. But I am okay with that if it ensures our mother's safety."
Hamish sabotaged our relationships. He is the catalyst of sibling estrangement and animosities. "I am sorry—"
"Do not apologise to them!" Benjamin shot me a murderous glare. "It's him that needs to say sorry. I don't care what the fuck he's been through. You lost a son."
A lump got stuck in my throat.
"Ben is right." Martin nodded, tears threatening to spill from his red-rimmed eyes. "I am your older brother. I am supposed to protect you. All of you. And Carter...." His lips pinched tight. "I let you down."
"We both did." Miles rubbed under his eyes to remove moisture. "I didn't know how bad it was...I should have known." His downcast stare briefly visited the stormy sky. "I should have been there for you."
"You think?" Benjamin, with outstretched arms and long, powerful strides, squared up to them, and I panicked, chasing behind him like a blubbering mess. He will never forgive himself if he gets into a scrap with our brothers. He idolised them. He loved them. He does not want to hurt them. He is just upset. "What, it took public humiliation and the girls being in tears for you both to man the fuck up?" He shoved Miles in the chest, nearly sending him into a garden of flowers. "Fuck you, Miles!"
"I know." Miles might be the older sibling, but he never stood a chance against Benjamin. And he knew it. He knew with every blink, jerk and flinch, that he could not take him. "I won't argue with you, Ben." He trudged across the grass to create space between them. "Not about this."
"Only because you know I am right." Benjamin's jaw muscles flexed. "You know what Hamish is all about. You knew he'd be a problem for us, for Mary and Emma." His fierce eyes zapped between our brothers. "Where is your compassion? Your loyalty? How can you stand by him after everything he's put us through? God, I am just..." His head shook in disappointment. "I thought it would be different."
Martin's head hung in shame.
"I thought..." Benjamin's jaw rocked back and forth as he forced himself to calm down. "I thought you'd speak up for us this time."
Heart in my throat, I looked from one sibling to another. I wish I could wave a magic wand to repair the damage.
And then it hit me like a tsunami.
Magic is not the answer.
We are bound by love.
"Ben, do you remember when you fell out of that old willow tree and landed face-first in the mud?" I mused randomly, and four pairs of eyes fell on me. "You squealed like a stray cat in the night. Miles held your nose for fifteen minutes because you thought you would bleed to death."
My twin is understandably confused. "And?"
"Martin almost got into a fight with a bully at football practice," I said with a sad smile. "He was scared. I saw it. I was scared, too." My stare went to Mary, who studied me closely beneath furrowed eyebrows. "And you were so mad. You threw the candy floss at me, told me to stay behind the fence and marched onto the field. You punched the lad in the face. You broke your wrist."
"Yeah, well, do not mess with my brother." Mary suppressed a morose smile, touching her wrist, remembering the pain as if it had happened yesterday. "I still feel a burning sensation in my hand sometimes."
"Mary punched everyone in sight." Miles laughed airily, and our sister's eyes rolled. "Oh, come on. You were like a Rottweiler. Remember Jasmine?"
"Ugh," Mary huffed under her breath. "Did you have to remind me?"
"I am lost." Martin glanced between them. "Who is Jasmine?"
Miles chewed his thumbnail. "Just some girl I dated back then."
"Who told everyone you cheated on her," Mary pointed out, and Miles' head bobbed in agreement. "Lying bitch. I caught her at some party with her tongue down another guy's throat."
"And our sister decided to rearrange her face." Miles' arm slid over Mary's shoulders. "That poor girl lost a front tooth."
Mary's face was flushed pink. "As I said, do not mess with my brother."
"Dad sent us out of the house," I said, and everyone quietened down to listen. "We got on his nerves again. He wanted some peace and quiet." No, he wanted us to scram so that he could sneak into the neighbour's bed. "It was boiling hot, like a heatwave or something. We had no money. The five of us sat on the pier all day, sunburnt and drooling for water."
"Oh, I remember!" Mary wiped her mascara-streaked cheeks. "You fell over on the boardwalk and grazed your knees!"
I smiled at the memory. "And you stole ice cream from the corner store to make it better."
My sister beamed.
"You were convinced that your legs were broken." Martin gazed into space. "So, I gave you a piggyback ride all the way to the beach. You called me the bestest brother of all time." He glanced down at me, the shortest of the group, and gave me a lazy smirk. "I was your favourite for all of one day."
"You are such a fucking traitor," Benjamin half-joked, then locked an arm across my shoulders. "I should disown you for the cheek."
My lips puckered. "I plead the fifth."
"We lounged on the sand." Martin is lost in the memory of us, the day at the pier, the afternoon at the beach. "We swam in the water until wrinkled. We ate stolen ice lollies and swore God would forgive us."
Memories of us chasing each other through the waves played like a series of flashcards in my head. I remember how much we laughed, how Mary chased Martin across the shore with a dead crab on the end of a stick until he tackled her into the whitecaps and promised to drown her for scaring him within an inch of his life. Miles buried Benjamin in the sand and then threatened to leave him there for the seagulls to pick out his eyes. I struggled to build a sand castle and carry buckets of seawater to the trench. Martin showed me that It was easy.
Gazing at my older brother, I felt a twinge of sadness. "You taught Benjamin how to swim."
"And Benjamin taught me how to check out girls without them noticing," Martin replied, and the pair of them burst out laughing. "Just a pair of sunglasses, right?"
"Fucking Hell." My twin is mortified. "I feel like such a creeper."
"You are a creeper." Mary slapped his shoulder playfully. "It was a nightmare growing up with three brothers. I spent the majority of my childhood warding off girls. I don't know how you did it, or what you promised, but they'd show up, stalking our house for hours, just to get a glimpse of one of you in rugby shorts."
Miles flashed a toothy grin. "Probably because Martin pulled a mooney from his bedroom window whenever they pestered him."
"What?" Mary dissolved into laughter. "Martin, I never knew you had it in you."
"Thanks, Miles." Martin blushed darker shades of embarrassment. "You had to bring that up and humiliate me."
"Wait..." A grim shadow fell across Benjamin's face. "You used to flash your arse to the neighbours. Mate, they were old as fuck."
"It happened one time!" Our older brother, yanking on the collar of his shirt, is hot and bothered. "And it wasn't for the neighbours' benefit. I got it out for the young girls--" Everyone scolded him for the diabolical choice of words. "Oh, for Christ's sake. Could you not make me sound like a pervert? I was young, too!" His cheeks blew out. "Why am I in the shit for something the younger version of myself did? I have grown balls and slept since then."
"Chill." Mary rubbed Martin's back. "We are only winding you up."
Prolonged silence stretched between us. For a moment, when I looked at them, one by one, I could see the innocent faces of four kids and those forgotten emotions I once felt came pouring back. I love them. I never stopped loving them. No matter how much time had passed.
"We didn't need anyone." Hugging myself, I glanced at the floor to hide the tears in my eyes. "Just as long as we had each other."
"It's not too late," Mary whispered, and I inwardly thanked her for stepping in. "We are still here."
"Ben?" Martin's watery eyes beckoned for a smidgen of hope. "Do you want to try, or is hatred too deep for forgiveness?"
"I could never hate you." Benjamin is calmer now, but he looked at the floor when he spoke because it would take more than an afternoon of recollections to erase years of disappointment. "You're my brother."
—————————————————
—Emma?
—Brad?
—Mary?
—Patty?
—Martin?
—Miles?
—Hamish?
—Martha?
—Hugo?
—Benjamin?
—Quinn?
—Terrence?
Any mentions I forgot?
Thank you for reading. ❤️ x
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