* The Beginning: Nine years ago *
I suppose I should start at the beginning. Well, it was the beginning even though I didn't know it at the time. I was eleven years old and like any other child that age, terribly upset when mom decided to marry Jonathan. Looking back at it now I think it was really childish of me to be so upset. After all, mom had waited almost 10 years after dad died before she took the step.
I know now that it was because of me that she waited so long but at that time it seemed to me that she was being selfish. She and Jonathan had found love almost as soon as they met but dated for almost five years before mom said yes. And, a few months later I was so happy that she did. An eleven year old has a right to change her mind!
Not that I ever had anything against Jonathan - I should call him Dad now. I remember seeing him often when mom and he were dating. He came home sometimes and was always caring and affectionate. The affection was real and he wasn't just pretending to like me to impress mom. I discovered how much after he married mom. I've grown to love him deeply and he's "Dad" with no reservations or qualifiers. I don't think my real dad would have loved mom and me any more. Which is what makes this whole thing so difficult.
I first met Daniel a few weeks before mom and Jonathan got married. He was 19 but looked older. I remember there was a lot of tension around the table that evening. Jonathan was angry for some reason, mom was apprehensive and Daniel's expression ranged from indifferent to uncomfortable to angry. The dinner ended with him and Jonathan arguing about something and mom trying to mediate. I didn't understand the reason for the fight. It just kind of erupted.
On my part, I liked Daniel. He had this amused smile on his face that made you feel he could look into your soul with his deep green eyes. He was tall, about 6' 2", and with his long brown hair and stubble he looked like a rock star. I remember being fascinated by the tattoos on his arms that disappeared over his shoulder and under his shirt.
Mom said later that he had turned out bad but I found that difficult to believe. Even in the middle of being angry with dad he managed to smile and wink at me. After reconciling to getting a new dad, I already liked the idea of having an older brother, especially one like Daniel.
The next time I saw Daniel again was at the wedding. He had shaved and groomed his hair and looked strikingly handsome. I remembered hoping he would remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves so I could see his tattoos again, but it didn't happen. I had told all my friends about his tattoos, and we all stared at Daniel throughout that day. We were constantly breaking into giggles because he knew and he often looked at us and winked. I saw the older girls look at him with bright flirtatious eyes; I know now what that look really means. At that moment I was just so proud that he was my brother, even if only a step brother.
I didn't see Daniel much even when mom and I moved into Dad's house. He was rarely at home although I saw him hanging around in the parking lot outside Sainsburys with his friends. I had heard enough about him by now, most of it pieced together in snatches of conversation between mom and dad, that I was wary of climbing the flight of stairs to his room at the top level.
He always had a pack of gum or candy to slip into my, his baby sister's, hand. He never ever called me "Sam" like Dad and mom or "Sammie" like my friends, it was always "baby sister" and although I didn't like being referred to as a baby it felt nice, special in some way. Daniel was always nice to mom too but somehow Dad always managed to get him angry. I never understood it then and still don't now. Jonathan is the most loving and caring parent one could have but Daniel resents him with a vehemence that shocks me.
I loved him even more when he came to my defense that awful day. It had been raining and was getting dark when I walked back from school. I was shocked when something wet struck my face. It stung and I looked around to see a used condom lying near my school shoes. I felt something sticky coat my fingers as I rubbed my smarting cheek. I was still shocked by the unexpected violence of being smacked on the face, when I heard the laughter.
Two older boys, who I knew vaguely from school, were standing there and laughing.
"You fucking Paki," yelled one of them.
I began running, as fast as I could. I turned the corner and ran past the Sainsburys parking lot, tears in my eyes, sobbing. I didn't notice Daniel and his friends until he ran after me and caught me.
My body was racked with sobs when he asked me gently, "What happened baby sister?"
I couldn't speak for a few seconds and he hugged me all that time , whispering gently.
"Easy baby girl, easy," he stroked my hair. "Tell me what happened."
I gathered my voice and pointed down the street behind us and mumbled, "Those awful boys .. called me Paki .. threw a condom." I burst into tears.
Daniel just nodded but there was a hard expression on his face that scared me and sent me into another burst of crying. He hugged me close and walked me home. Mom and dad were not home and he helped me wash my face. He made me a cup of hot chocolate while I changed my clothes and sat at the edge of my bed until I fell asleep.
Daniel was arrested a few days after that. Neighbors looked at me and whispered as I walked home after school that day. There were cars with flashing lights outside our home and cops in the living room. Mom rushed me into the kitchen and made me a sandwich and then went out to console dad whose voice was choked.
I woke up early the next morning, to read the paper before mom and dad woke up. Daniel and some of his friends, the paper called it a gang, had beaten two school boys to pulp. One of them was in hospital fighting for his life with broken ribs and a collapsed lung. The other had a splintered jaw. I trembled as I read the news story. There was a picture of Daniel in handcuffs and a big bruise on his face. His friends were never identified but Daniel had just kept punching the boys even when the cops arrived.
Daniel never told dad, or anyone else, why he had done it and the secret of my involvement in the episode remained buried deep in both our hearts. I went to see Daniel in prison a few years later. I wanted to say something to him, tell him that unlike dad and mom I hadn't written him off. But no words came out. We sat together in silence for 20 minutes, holding hands. I was crying silently, and he sat there with a stern, slightly embarrassed look on his face. I knew he understood what I had meant to say.
I never went back to see him, partly because he asked me not to but also because it was too painful to see him in those prison clothes surrounded by claustrophobic steel bars. We never wrote or phoned. I wouldn't have known what to say to him.
* Five days ago *
I came back from college for the holidays. I worked out an extended break with my doctoral guide and planned to spend time catching up with mom and dad. I love coming home and I know they like it too. But I wasn't prepared for what happened on Friday night. Daniel called one night from prison to say he was being released early and asked if he could come and stay in his old room for a week while he looked for a job and another flat. Mom and I stared at Dad not sure of who he was talking to and why his face had turned white.
Dad mumbled into the speaker, incoherently, "Yes." He sat frozen for a few seconds after he hung up.
"Danny's coming home," he looked at mom and said in a choked voice.
Mom got up and sat next to dad holding him. I couldn't even begin to describe my own feelings. A crazy mix of excitement, overwhelming guilt and a warm feeling of love. I gave dad a hug, leaving him and mom to gather themselves and went up to my room to be with my own thoughts, glancing up the stairs to the locked door to Daniel's room.
* Yesterday *
I woke up late after a wonderful night out with friends. I had gone to the theatre with Karen and her husband David. They are older but treat me as equals. David is a brilliant city analyst and loves to make fun of my impending doctorate. I'm proud of being one of the youngest ever PhDs but Dr Sam (as David loves to call me) still leaves me flustered. Anyway, we chatted and we drank and David called a taxi to drop me home at some 3 am.
The first thing that entered my mind when I awoke was that Daniel was coming home today. I knew I was going to be alone when he came. Mom had suggested that dad stay home but he gruffly said that it wasn't important enough for him to rework his calendar.
I stretched languidly, thinking of Daniel, his lazy smile and the way he used to call me baby sister. It brought a smile to my lips. But then I thought of how I had seen him last surrounded by guards and bars. I wondered what he looked like now, what 8 years in her majesty's prison had done to him. And whether he held me responsible for the waste of his life.
I shook my head clear and kicked the covers away. Jumping out of bed, I immediately began my 15 minutes of yoga. I slept in the nude and often, like today, chose not to dress up before my yoga. I am not the kind of person who works out vigorously but I like to stay in shape. I am naturally petite, about 5'4 and less than hundred pounds with brown skin typical of my Indian origins. I do have uncharacteristically small breasts, 32b, but I've never been ashamed of them. I cupped them casually, one at a time, as I brushed my teeth and was amused by the aroused hardness of my nipples. I noticed the sparkle in my eyes and realized how excited I was.
I walked down the carpeted stairs quietly, caught up in my own thoughts and came to a sudden halt at the foot of the stairs. Daniel was here! Standing there looking out of the kitchen window with a cup of tea in his hand. He had obviously been at home for a while and had used the gym in the basement. I could see the sweaty sheen on his body. He wore nothing but a pair of denim shorts and his muscles rippled as he raised the cup to his lips, a half burnt cigarette in his other hand. The long hair was gone, in its place a short prison cut. The tattoos that started on his arms covered a large part of his shoulders and back. There was a scar on his side, a dark long mark that gave a dangerous edge to his perfect body. His firm ass filled out those tight shorts in a highly sexual, almost obscene way and my eyes lingered. I was distracted, disturbed by the feelings that rose in my heart. They were sensual, not entirely sisterly. And then he turned, our eyes locked and I stood there frozen, almost guilty, and overwhelmingly shy.
I saw his eyes move and take me in. They made me aware of myself. I had worn a loose T before coming down, hadn't bothered with a bra, my legs were bare but for a pair of very short shorts, barefoot, no make-up except dark painted nails and toes. I felt a turmoil inside me and then he spoke.
"Care for a cuppa baby sister?" he took a step towards the counter and began to pour me a cup.
I walked up slowly, struck by the almost matter-of-fact way he spoke to me, as if this was just another day, as if the last eight years had not happened. He handed me the cup, and he had the same familiar amused smile on his lips. I was standing barely a foot away and I could see that it didn't extend to his eyes. Our fingers touched as I took the cup from him and looked up into his face.
