Patching Things Up

Old hurts are healed in this poignant short story by Glenda Young.

to Alan went unanswered.

She sent birthday cards with handwritten notes inside, saying how sorry she was.

But she never received anything in return.

Their mother pleaded with them both to make up and for her sake, at family gatherings, Susan and Alan were polite to each other.

But once they went their separate ways, they didn’t speak to each other again.

Now, their mother had passed on and Susan was coming face to face with her brother.

****

Susan pulled up outside her mum’s cottage and felt her shoulders droop as she saw the house where she’d grown up.

The memories started to flood back too easily.

Giving herself a shake, she stepped from the car. She knew that if she gave in, then emotion would take her over.

The last week had been a blur. Since Alan’s phone call, Susan hadn’t been able to think straight.

None of it seemed real. Yet here she was, outside the family home that she’d once shared with her mum, Alan and their younger brother, Chris.

Chris lived in Germany now with his wife, Hanna, and their two children.

Susan glanced at her watch. Chris would be on a plane, returning for the funeral.

She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.

Then she reached into the car for her small suitcase and headed to the front door.

When she drew close, the door swung open.

Susan gasped. Alan was standing in the doorway.

She was further taken aback when he reached for her suitcase, and without a word, she let him take it. Then she followed him indoors.

“It’s as if she’s just popped out to the shops, isn’t it?” he said gently once Susan was inside.

She glanced around the tiny living-room.

“It’s hard to believe she brought three of us up in this house. It seems so small.”

“Is Chris coming?”

“His flight gets in at tea time. I said I’d go and pick him up from the airport.”

She ran her hand along the back of a floral sofa and felt her eyes fill with tears.

“Susan, I want to apologise.”

She met her brother’s eyes.

How old he looked, she thought. How grey his hair was now.

He’d put on weight, too. She wondered what he thought of her.

“Don’t,” she said quickly. “You have nothing to apologise for.

“It was my fault. It was me who started our argument that day and . . .” She took a step towards him.

“I’ve been lost in my grief this week. Nothing seems real.”

“It’s hard to make sense of anything,” Alan agreed.

“Look, let me make you some tea. We don’t have to make a start on anything until Chris arrives.

“Maybe we could even leave it all till tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. You never think you’ll have to do this, do you? Clear your mum’s things.”

“The three of us will manage,” Alan said. “I’ve already made a start in the kitchen.”

He reached to a shelf. “I found this.” Susan couldn’t believe her eyes. “The old vase?” “The very same.” Susan sank into the sofa. “Twenty years,” she whispered.

“Life’s too short, Susie,” Alan said.

She smiled. Her brothers were the only people in the world who still called her Susie.

She held the vase in her hand. It was a white porcelain vase decorated with a rose print in pink and red.

A rattling noise inside the vase made Susan empty the contents into her hand.

It was the broken piece, a large chip from the rim of the vase.

“Do you think we could fix it?”

Susan and Alan locked eyes.

“It’s been broken for a very long time,” she said softly.

“But everything’s repairable.”

“Everything?” she asked. Alan walked from the room into their mum’s kitchen.

When he returned a few moments later he was carrying two mugs.

He sat on the other end of the sofa away from

Susan and sipped his tea.

“I never broke it, you know. I know you think I did, but it wasn’t me, I swear.”

“I’m sorry I blamed you. I regret everything I said back then. I tried to apologise.

“I wrote so many times when you didn’t return my texts or calls. But there was nothing, Alan, just silence.”

“You wrote to me?” Alan asked.

“Yes, to your address in York,” Susan said.

Alan closed his eyes. “I moved, Susie. When Jess and I split up, I moved and kept moving.

“Jess never once got in touch. I had no idea there were letters from you.”

“And cards – I always sent cards for your birthday and Christmas,” Susan said.

“In each one there was a note with an apology.”

“Apology? I was the one who needed to say sorry. I was the idiot who escalated our fight that day.

“I knew what I was doing. You’re my sister – I knew what buttons I needed to press to get you to react.

Susan laid the damaged vase on the sofa between her and Alan.

“We’ve wasted the best part of twenty years,” she said.

“It’s taken Mum’s passing to make us realise how stupid we’ve been.”

“I can just see her now.” Alan smiled. “She’d be over the moon to know we’re sitting here on her sofa like this, talking again.”

“She would,” Susan said.

She took a sip of her tea.

“What time is Chris due into the airport?” Alan asked.

“About five,” Susan replied. “Would you like to come?

“I mean, I don’t want to pressure you but we could use the drive time to talk. If you’d like to, of course.”

Alan glanced at the vase lying on the sofa.

“We could leave a little earlier,” he said. “And make a detour on the way.”

Susan looked at her brother.

“What did you have in mind?”

Alan picked up the vase and cradled it in his hands.

“It’s about time we mended old cracks, patched things up,” he said.

Susan smiled at her brother.

He had never been good at expressing his feelings; he’d always bottled things up inside.

“You’re not talking about the vase, are you?”

Alan returned her smile. “Of course I’m talking about the vase,” he teased. “It just needs a bit of glue to stick it back together.”

“I think Mum kept glue in the kitchen drawer; the one where she put string and plastic bags.”

Alan shook his head.

“No. I think we should have it mended professionally.”

“But it’s just an old vase,” Susan said.

“It’s Mum’s old vase,” Alan said. “And as a tribute to Mum, let’s have it repaired, as a reminder that life is too fragile not to treat it with care.

“There’s a shop in town that can do it. We’ll drop it there, then collect Chris.”

“The crack will always be there, you know,” Susan reminded him.

“No matter how well it’s patched up and smoothed over. We’ll both know it happened.”

Alan shrugged.

“It’ll act as a scar, a reminder to us both.”

Susan wiped away a tear that threatened to fall.

“To make sure it never happens again.”

The End.