You have no sense at all, the voice of Margaret floated through the hallway of my mind, echoing off the cracked plaster. Dont you see how badly Matthew is getting on? Hes your brother; you could have helped him. All you ever think about is yourself.
Just days before, Margaret had called, her words hanging in the air like a damp mist, asking me to collect every stray belonging I had left in her threebedroom flat.
Youre barely able to move around here because of your stuff, she said, as if the furniture were growing vines that tangled the walls.
The call came after I had turned down Matthews plea for cash to put down a deposit on a new flat. I wasnt lending; I was refusing to give, because I knew he would never pay it back.
When I said no, Matthew stormed out of my flat, his face a storm cloud, convinced I would simply hand over all my savings on the pretext that he had a family and children while I did not.
I needed to speak this out, for the weight of my familys unfairness pressed down on me, especially as the festive lights began to flicker in the distance.
When I moved to Bristol for my studies, I slipped straight into parttime work. At first I lived in a dormitory, then I shared a little flat with Lucy, refusing to rely on my parents. I wanted to earn my keep and, at the same time, keep Margarets cupboards stocked.
She never accepted money outright; instead she asked me to bring back useful thingsclothes, shoes, household bits. Every time I visited, I arrived with bags brimming with groceries, the scent of fresh bread trailing behind me.
Margaret lives in a modest flat with Matthew. Our father, Arthur, passed away three winters ago. Matthew never cared for school; after school he drifted off to work in Scotland, and the only thing he ever managed to purchase there was an ancient, rustspecked car. Back in England he became a taxi driver.
Later he married Helen, and they moved into Margarets flat. Money was always a phantom for them; they lived daytoday, spending their wages the moment they arrived. Margaret and Helens parents often slipped cash under the door, and Matthew grew comfortable in the belief that a safety net would always be there, never bothering to earn more or change his fortunes.
Now Matthew and Helen have two children, with a third on the way. They decided the flat had become too cramped and began dreaming of buying a place of their own.
I, meanwhile, share a rented flat with my partner Thomas. We plan to marry, though weve postponed the ceremony until the stars align more favorably. Thomas works as a software engineer; I run a handful of online boutiques. We spend wisely, stashing away pennies for a house of our own, a home where we can be independent after the wedding.
Margaret knew of our plans, yet she let slip to Matthew that I could be asked for help.
They want to buy a flat, but they have no cash for the deposit, she told me, her voice thin as a cobweb.
When Matthew came to my door, eyes blazing, and asked outright for money, I said no. He erupted, certain that I owed him something simply because he had children and I did not.
Later Margaret called again, her tone sharper than a winter wind.
You have no conscience at all. Cant you see how hard Matthew is getting on? Hes your brother, you could have helped. You only think of yourself.
She added, Come collect your things from our flat. We cant get around because of your mess. And dont even think of coming for Christmas. Matthews angry with you, and I dont want to see you either.
I didnt argue. I will gather my belongings and find a corner for them in our rented flat. When Thomas and I finally purchase our own house, Ill put them there, as if placing a forgotten toy into a new chest.
I could have lent Matthew money, but I know he would never return it. He never even asked for a loanhe simply expected me to hand over every penny I had, just because he has children.
If you were caught in that strange, humming hallway of obligations, how would you have reacted?
