The Name I Call Myself Read Online Free PDF Page A

toasted a done deal over their empty wrappers, while Perry rummaged through his dresser looking for a pack of cards. Starr and Fleur giggled as they googled wedding paraphernalia on their phones, swapping stories of the best and worst ever in various different categories: bridesmaid dresses, best man’s speech, first dance.
    Amongst all this merriment, I sat back and gave myself a mental pat on the back. If this was how posh married people’s dinner parties went, I could handle it. I could even look forward to it. Perhaps next time I’d think up a fast-food menu – do a home-made pizza with chintzy paper napkins and a tablecloth you could colour in while you waited.
    The doorbell rang. Feeling quite the hostess with the mostess, I wandered through to answer it.
    And there, standing in the porch, soaking wet, reeking and dishevelled, was the reason I had finally given in and said yes to Peregrine Upperton.

    I quickly pulled Sam into the kitchen, searching his face for the telltale signs of drugs or alcohol. Flicking on the coffee machine, I pushed him into a chair. “Don’t move.”
    I threw the cheesecakes onto a tray and carried them into the living room. Perry stood handing out pens and pieces of paper. “Who was it?”
    I hesitated, causing the guests to look up at me, suddenly interested.
    â€œIt’s Sam.”
    â€œAh.” Perry had only met Sam once, the day he left the treatment centre. As Perry had paid for it, I figured the least I could do was introduce them. What I had chosen not to mention was that the centre didn’t only treat mental health issues – which had crippled Sam for years. It also provided rehabilitation for those suffering fromaddictions. And my poor, lost, smashed-up brother ticked that box too. In the three months since then, Sam had moved back into his flat half a mile from me in Houghton, kept up his medication, and willingly attended his support group once a week. He had even talked about painting again – his rickety means of earning a living. But I had been waiting for the crash. Expecting it. I had been through this too many times before to hope the cycle was broken. I knew the symptoms of my brother’s plunge into the black whirlpool of mental illness all too well. The shadows in and under his eyes. The self-obsession, the increasing fixation on trivial matters like a dripping tap or the pigeons on the neighbour’s roof. The inability to sit still or keep the thread of a conversation, the escalating chaos both external and within.
    And then, inevitably, the crash.
    â€œIs everything okay?” Perry stood to take the tray from me. “Sam is Faith’s brother. He lives the other side of the village.”
    â€œOh, how lovely!” Starr looked up from her phone. “Bring him in so we can meet him.”
    â€œWell, I would, but he’s not feeling great. I’ll just be a couple of minutes. Please start without me.”
    Perry met my eyes, his unanswered question hanging in the space above the tray. I gave an infinitesimal nod, and left them to their world, rejoining mine in the kitchen.
    Sam slumped onto the breakfast bar, his arms over his head. I poured him a coffee and brought it over. “Drink this.”
    He ignored the cup, and me.
    â€œSam.”
    Pulling his head up from under his arms, he looked at me with utter bleakness, eyes swimming in despair. “He’s coming out, Faith.”
    â€œWhat?” An invisible, icy hand clamped itself around my neck and began to squeeze.
    â€œIn two weeks. They’re letting Kane out.”
    The last things I heard were the smash of the coffee mug into a thousand shards on the Italian tiled floor, and, a split second later, me crashing down with it.

Chapter Three
    Sam started drinking almost as soon as the trial finished, eighteen years ago. We were living with our grandmother, back in Brooksby, and still reeling from the hideous shock of our