"I don't care how you do it, just try and find out."
So said my mother over the phone.
She had phoned saying she had a delicate matter to discuss, and wanted a favour.
This was the favour:
She was concerned that my little brother, Paul, might be gay, or at least unsure of his sexuality.
She had been concerned at some of the friends he was starting to hang around with, some of the clothes he had started to wear, and some of the things he had started to say.
She was wondering, since Paul and I used to be close - well certainly the closest of her five offspring - whether he could come and stay with me and my husband, Tim, during the February school break. Just for a week, during which time I could perhaps have a chat and find out what is going on in his head. Her words.
Talk, or whatever. Whatever you need to do. However you do it. Her words. I agreed, against my better judgement.
Some background:
I am twenty eight years old. Married to Tim, thirty, for four years. Live about ten miles from my parents and Paul. I have three older sisters. Paul is the youngest, and is ten years my junior. He was the surprise, the unexpected child. We're not sure my parents planned to have anymore after me.
Anyway, as we were nearest in age we got on well as kids. While my sisters were out partying and meeting boys, I learned how to change nappies and bath babies. Again I lost interest by the time I was fourteen.
I work part time as a waitress at the cafe in our town's university. Tim works full time in a bank. I like my job. My co-workers are fun and I have to admit to enjoying looking at some of the fit young students. Although Tim is my one and only, in every sense, I still enjoy looking!
Paul's visit:
Paul arrived by bus on Sunday afternoon. Last saw him at Christmas, he seems well.
We used to be close but I must confess I don't know him that well. We don't talk much and usually when we do it's at family gathering. I suppose I don't get the chance to really talk to him. He always seems a bit quiet, pre occupied. A bit of a peripheral figure.
He settles in, we show him his room, and he quietly finds an armchair to make his base for the week. He reads a lot - something I didn't know.
Sunday passes uneventfully, as does Monday. Tim and I go to work. Paul just hangs around at home. I come back from work about 2pm, and we just watch tv, or read.
Tim thinks all this is quite funny. When I told him mum's request he just raised his eyebrows.
"That's your mum all over," he said wearily.
On Monday night we went to bed, leaving Paul downstairs watching tv.
I awoke about two hours later, just hearing the tv still on. I got up and crept downstairs. The tv was on, football showing, but Paul was asleep on the sofa.
I switched off the tv, shook him awake and led him to his bedroom.
Our house is compact, box shaped, two bedrooms and a small garden.
Downstairs you come in the front door, immediately left is a toilet. Through the small hall to an open plan kitchen, diner, living room and then French windows leading to the garden.
From the hall is a winding stircase up to the landing. A bathroom, a store cupboard and the two bedrooms.
Tuesday followed a similar pattern to Monday. I got home about 2pm. Paul was out, leaving a note saying he had gone for a walk to explore the neighbourhood. I was quite pleased that he wasn't just sitting round all day, but making the effort to get out. I decided I must take him out for lunch one day. I didn't start work till noon on Wednesday or Friday, and was off on Thursday.
I went upstairs to my bedroom. I removed my work uniform and went to have a shower.
Just as I came out the shower the doorbell rang. I wrapped a towel around myself and went downstairs. It was Paul.
"Sorry Becky, I forgot my key," he said.
"Don't worry," I smiled. "It's a good thing I was in though."
I went back upstairs to dress.
When Tim came in we had dinner, then Tim asked Paul if he would like to come along to the pool club with him.
Great idea I thought. It would be good for them to bond a bit. Maybe Tim can get some damn clue to save me having to solve Mum's 'problem'. I have to admit I had almost forgotten the reason Paul was here. Even though he was still quiet I was enjoying him being here. I can't explain it but I think he was enjoying it too. Mum can be quite domineering at times.
I just couldn't see how I was going to tackle THE subject.
That night in bed I asked Tim if he had approached my mum's topic.
"No," he said abruptly. " Poor lad, just needs to be left alone I reckon."
"I do agree, but......".
"I know I know, your mother won't let it rest. What are you gonna do then?" asked Tim.
"I don't know."
"You could ask him outright."
'I'm not sure, that will probably piss him off."
"What then? We both walk around in our underwear and see which one he goes for?" Typical Tim.
"Yeah right."
"Why don't you go into his room naked one night and see if it gets him hard?"
"Thanks Tim! You're not helping," I complained.
" I don't do incest."
"What?" Tim asked sheepily.
At this point I should explain. About a year into my relationship with Tim, when it was becoming serious, he told me had a confession. I was very very worried what it could be. Rapist? Axe murderer?
He told me that he had fucked his sister. A lot. Before he met me. He wanted to tell me as he thought I could be the one, and he loved me. He wanted there to be no secrets. He thought I should know in case I ever found out later and was shocked, disgusted etc etc blah blah blah.....
Well of course I was mortified. Disgusted. But he explained it all and eventually I came to terms with it. Eventually.
I never really look at his sister, Kate, in the same way these days, but it's not an issue.
I do worry a little, tiny bit if they're alone together but he assures me it's all in the past. The mistakes of youth.
Still....... I do have a very very very slight suspicion that they still do it. Occasionally. Very occasionally.
Meanwhile.
