Something You Are by Hanna Jameson Page B

so.’
    I glanced at the door and heard someone vomiting upstairs.
    â€˜Look, I’ve got to go… but take care of yourself. This is a bad scene for kids to get into. Believe me, I know.’
    Another shrug. ‘Only scene there is around here for us. If you’re not doing this you ain’t doing anything. But I get what you mean, thanks.’
    I nodded and turned towards the kitchen door to leave.
    â€˜Hey, I’m sorry about that Emma girl, man. I hope you find the bastard who did it.’
    â€˜Me too,’ I said.

9
    Every time I saw my sister there was less of her. She was evaporating under her clothes. There were two or three inches of roots showing beneath the blond. Before the drugs the only thing that had stopped her short of being beautiful was her teeth: Scottish canines like mine. Now she was only twenty-four but looked twice that age.
    I watched her for a while from my car as she sat down on the steps leading up to the entrance to my building. She looked down at her fingers and said something to herself under her breath, moving her head left and right as if she was whispering a song.
    It took a few minutes to psych myself up for the encounter before I got out and crossed the road. As I got closer I found it hard to hide my distaste.
    â€˜Fucking hell, Harri, how’s Auschwitz?’
    â€˜Did I ask for your opinion?’ She stood up, shivering and hugging herself with stick-like arms. ‘Let me in, it’s freezing.’
    She hadn’t looked at me.
    I unlocked the door and swallowed down the hate and the love and the guilt, the lies, the snide comments, the years of silence and not talking about the past and the drug money, always back to the drug money. It was the only thing left that kept this sick mockery of a relationship functioning.
    The lift was out of order so we climbed the stairwell to the top floor. I dropped my bag by the door, glad that Mark wasn’t home.
    â€˜Three hundred, right?’ I said.
    â€˜Yeah.’ She waited in the doorway and watched as I found my chequebook. ‘I need money for the train too, I used up the last of it getting over here.’
    â€˜Three-thirty then?’
    I crouched and got thirty pounds out of my wallet. It was easier to look down at the bag and the cheque than to look at her. I felt sick to think that she was like this because of me, because I couldn’t say no, because it was all that could make her happy.
    â€˜How are your personal branch of Santander?’ I asked.
    â€˜Oh, fuck you.’ She was watching the cheque. ‘Like you’ve called Mum lately.’
    â€˜Yeah, well…’ There was nothing to say to that. ‘Anything from Tony?’
    â€˜Just a letter, last week.’ She indicated her head at the cheque. ‘Can I have that?’
    â€˜What did he say?’
    â€˜Nothing new. Asking how everyone was, misses everyone, you know, stuff.’
    I kept hold of the cheque.
    She folded her arms. ‘He asked whether you had met a nice girl yet, how work was, um… said he missed you, said to look after Mum and Dad, said that he might be back soon but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, blah blah blah, you can have the bloody thing if you like… Can I have my money now?’
    My
money.
    I still hadn’t looked at her properly, but I doubted she had looked at me either.
    â€˜Still with that dick?’ I asked.
    â€˜If you mean Garry,’ she said, ‘then yeah. Why do you care?’
    â€˜Well, I never used to think you deserved each other but…’
    â€˜No, go on. You clearly have something to say, get it off your chest, why don’t you?’
    â€˜How long is this going to go on, Harri?’
    She looked at me then, with brown eyes identical to our dad’s. ‘What?’
    It hurt to speak to her like this, physically hurt. ‘No, come on. How much longer are you going to do this?’
    â€˜Do