18
“Have you heard from Brian?” Sandra asked me one day.
The expression on her face was almost the mirror image of how I felt: guilt and loss. It was suppressed of course, but obviously there, just below the surface, if you knew to look for it, as I did. She would have seen those feelings in me, had she taken any notice of my demeanour, but she was far too pre-occupied with her own feelings ever to do a thing like that.
“Brian who?” I asked with as much conviction as I could muster.
“You know, your brother Brian.”
“I never hear from him. We don’t get on, remember?” I snapped, with genuine annoyance.
That will stand me in good stead, I thought. I came across as very convincing there.
“But I thought - ”
“You thought what?”
“That Brian and you - ”
“That Brian and me what?”
“Nothing
