Kate Tempest - The Bricks that Built the Houses

‘It’s fine,’ Becky reassures her, looks at her kindly. ‘Don’t worry. We shouldn’t even be talking about it here.’

Sudden heat roars in his torso and limbs. His wrists get fizzy with tension and his chest and neck and jaw grow rigid, like static is pumping through his veins instead of blood. His breath is not breath, it is a picture of breath, an idea of breath, but not air, not breathing. His mouth is gulping and drawing in air but it’s not going into his blood. His head is hard inside. He watches the room, hidden from view, feeling like a stalker or something, some shaky weirdo, peering through the crack in the door, and Harry is close and relieved and smiling, and Becky is breathing fast, her lips are parted, she’s smiling deeply, head inclined, laughing now, the soapy water sparkling in the sunlight, she steps towards it, plunges plates and Harry’s there, saying something, her voice too low to hear, and Becky’s laughing over shoulders, hair drops down, she tucks it back. Blinking. It feels to Pete that Becky hasn’t laughed like that with him for months. She never enjoys the things he has to say. What can Harry have to say that makes her laugh like that? How has Harry managed to get her on her own? He looks at his sister and sees her body carved from alabaster. Knows that Becky sleeps with girls and boys. Maybe Becky wants his sister. He’s sure his sister must want Becky. Nothing is safe when Becky is near him. Every single person in the world is a threat. He would burn the whole world to have her to himself. But even if he did, she’d be more interested in staring at the embers than looking lovingly at him. But still. She doesn’t like him. She doesn’t like what he’s becoming. He doesn’t know how to stop it happening. He stares at them and wants to do something terrible. He breathes into it, the panic rising in his throat, gripping his ears. Everything is loud inside him. He turns from the door and walks in fast awkward stamping guilty steps down the hallway and out of the front door. Slamming it behind him. They can have each other . He holds his heart with a damp hand. Fuck ’em . He holds his throat.

The cold air feels hot and too thick to be air, it feels like he’s breathing porridge. He can’t take a proper breath, it’s like a hand has its thumb over the top of his windpipe. He used to care about things. He wanted to improve things. Challenge things. Understand things. Now it’s too much to hold anything in his head beyond the immediate. He can’t think of why he’s got no money, got no work. All he knows is that he’s got no money, got no work. Got no hope for a fulfilling life. He can’t see anything but Becky in his brain. He struggles, panics that he isn’t taking enough oxygen, he can feel his throat constricting. He walks fast, tries to forget the panic. Tells himself that he’s breathing already. He doesn’t have to think about it. He’s doing it. He’s breathing.

The slamming door brings Harry and Becky out of the kitchen, and Miriam and David out of the dining room. They stand in the hallway looking at each other.

‘What happened?’ Harry asks Miriam.

‘Has he gone?’ Miriam asks Harry. Neither acknowledges the other’s question.

‘Pete?’ Becky calls up the stairs but nothing comes down them.

‘Was that Pete that just went out the door?’ Harry asks no one.

‘Oh David.’ Miriam turns away from him.

‘I’m so sorry, love.’ David turns with her, talking to her back.

‘What happened?’ Becky asks them both.

‘We were talking, and I called him “son”. You know, a turn of phrase. And I think it upset him.’

‘It obviously upset him! Poor Pete.’ Miriam has one hand on her hip, the other holding her forehead.

‘Maybe he just went for a bit of air,’ Becky says. ‘He’ll probably be back in a second.’

They nod. Miriam looks heartbroken. Harry stands listlessly, feeling awkward without her brother there, the buffer between her and her mum.

‘Shall I put the kettle on, Mum?’ Harry asks her. ‘Cup of tea?’

‘Yes.’ Miriam agrees on tea, but doesn’t smile at her daughter. She turns to Becky, ‘I made afters. If anyone still wants?’

‘I, for one, would love a spot of crumble!’ says David, trying to cheer things up between them.

‘Doesn’t feel right though,’ Miriam says, heading to the kitchen to heat up the custard. ‘Him upset, and us eating crumble. Sweet boy.’ David walks after her, head hanging. Becky says nothing, just opens the front door and looks out at the empty cul-de-sac.

Harry wanders slowly into the kitchen behind David. ‘Have you made any plans for his birthday?’ she asks.

‘Oh yes, I’ve got a couple of ideas for gifts, but I’m not sure what he’s doing. Have you spoken to him?’

‘I’ve been thinking it might be nice to throw him a party.’ Harry leans against the worktop, waits for the kettle to boil. Miriam is by the fridge getting the custard. If they don’t look at each other, they can keep a conversation going much longer. ‘But, you know, he hates his birthday.’

‘Course he doesn’t, no one hates their birthday. People just worry no one will make a fuss. That’s all,’ Miriam explains patiently.

‘So you think it’s a nice idea?’ Harry throws a tea bag in the air and catches it. Throws it up again.

‘Yes of course. It’s about time he had a party.’ Miriam glances over her shoulder. ‘Don’t handle the tea bag like that.’

Harry puts the tea bag in a cup. ‘It’s alright, I’ll have that one.’

‘What kind of thing are you thinking?’

‘Well, knowing him.’ Harry pours the water, David makes a big show of fetching her the milk, bringing it over, even unscrewing the cap before passing it. Harry shouts towards the hallway, ‘WANT A TEA, BECKY?’ Waits for a reply but doesn’t hear one. She carries on. ‘It would have to be a surprise thing.’

‘Lovely idea.’

‘Yes.’ David lifts himself over the worktop and sits with his back against the wall, his feet swinging. ‘I LOVE surprise parties. SO much fun! Is it a big one this year?’

‘No, not particularly,’ Miriam tells him. ‘Twenty-seven,’ she says. Harry hands her a cup of tea, Miriam looks at it. ‘It’s a little strong for me actually.’ She turns to David. ‘Can I have a drop more milk, please, David?’

David jumps off the worktop and hurries over to the milk, which is still beside Harry, lifts it up and splashes a little more in Miriam’s cup. They smile at each other.

Harry feels a wave of anger. She breathes into it until it passes. She hands David his tea.

‘Perfect,’ David says. Harry nods her thanks.

Outside the front door Becky looks up and down the street but can’t see him. She calls him again. He doesn’t answer. She tries him one last time but it goes to voicemail. She walks back into the house and leans against the hallway wall. She can hear Miriam clucking about crumble.

Harry comes out of the kitchen. Nods at the phone in Becky’s hand. ‘Did he answer?’

‘No.’ Becky chews the inside of her lip. Looks at her phone.

Harry gets her coat from where it’s hanging over the banister. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘I’m heading home if you wanna go station?’ Harry is standing in her usual awkward stance, her shoulders like two pegs the rest of her hangs from.

‘I’ll just say goodbye to Miriam and David.’ Becky walks past her, touches her arm at the elbow.

In the kitchen Miriam and David are debating custard or ice cream. Miriam has put her apron on and is holding a dish of apple crumble.

‘Thanks for dinner,’ Becky says from the doorway. ‘I’m not gonna stay, actually, for pudding.’

‘Are you getting off then, love?’ Miriam puts the crumble down.