When Lenny answered the phone and heard his eldest brother K.T. on the line, he knew what he was going to say.
‘I’m losing the house. I owe five thousand but they’ll hold off if I give them two. I’ll pay you back, I’ll get a job in the summer when the tourists come.’ K.T. lived in a seaside town and the economy had been shot for decades.
Lenny wanted to say, ‘You wouldn’t be broke if you’d worked hard at school. Like I did. If you had gone to college to get a degree. Like I did. If you’d studied night school for a graduate degree. Like I did. If you’d given up your job to research a Ph.D. Like I did. If you’d gotten a decent job and knuckled down and got promotion. Like I did.’
It wasn’t the first time K.T. had called about his mortgage. Lenny had never seen the house, never met K.T.’s latest wife, never seen his nephews or nieces (K.T. hadn’t seen them either in fifteen years).
Lenny didn’t care to remember their childhood; five kids on the top floor of a run-down block of flats. Lenny the youngest: K.T. the eldest, taunting Lenny because he preferred books to running on the streets. Calling him a coward because he wouldn’t fight.
‘Of course,’ K.T. said down the phone, ‘We could come and stay with you til we’re sorted. You’ve enough room.’
‘I’ll send you a cheque,’ Lenny shuddered and put the phone down.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 