The Way Back Home Read Online Free PDF Page B

because there’d never been rules back then and there’d been harmony. Whenever Jed arrived, his car was flung as if he simply couldn’t bear to be in it a moment longer. Into his childhood home he’d barge, rolling into his older brother’s life, shedding bags, heading for the purple velvet sofa. Into it he’d collapse and sigh as if Bear Grylls himself would have been hard pressed to make light of such a journey home as Jed’s. Really, it should have irritated Malachy, but instead it always slightly amused him. Jed’s return to Windward was akin to that of an adventurer walking through the front door, having spent years exploring the wilds of somewhere far-flung and dangerous. Namely, Sheffield, forty minutes’ drive away.
    ‘Hey!’ said Jed.
    Malachy was finishing off a paragraph on his laptop. Jed waited until his brother closed the lid on his work.
    ‘The novel?’
    Malachy shrugged. He stretched and smiled. ‘Beer?’
    ‘Music to my ears,’ said Jed. He was now sitting with his arms outstretched as if he had beautiful girls nestling to either side. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said, energized by the thought, springing up from the sofa. He went to the kitchen and took two bottles of beer from the fridge. He noted that apart from beer, there was butter, unopened cheese and a lot of Greek yoghurt in the fridge. And not much else. He looked around. Blackening bananas. Washing-up. The cap was off the Henderson’s Relish.
    ‘What’s up with the cleaner?’
    Malachy took the beer and had a sip. ‘I don’t have a cleaner any more.’
    ‘I can see,’ said Jed. ‘But why not?’ It was one luxury Jed would cut corners elsewhere in his life rather than relinquish.
    Malachy shrugged.
    ‘What can your girlfriend think?’ Jed said, now noticing a general dustiness.
    Malachy shrugged again. ‘I don’t have a girlfriend any more.’ He paused. ‘My girlfriend was my cleaner.’
    Jed feared his beer might come out his nose. ‘You were shagging the cleaner?’
    ‘No,’ Malachy protested. ‘Well – yes. But don’t say it like that – it cheapens it. And she wasn’t “the cleaner” – she was Csilla.’
    ‘Was she a girlfriend who tidied up – or a cleaner who became a girlfriend?’
    ‘The latter,’ said Malachy.
    Jed started chuckling. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just my cleaner is called Betty and she’s a hundred and forty and has whiskers.’
    ‘Csilla was twenty-four,’ said Malachy. ‘Hungarian, with a physics degree and a Lara Croft figure.’
    ‘Fuck,’ Jed murmured, impressed. ‘You’ve certainly shafted yourself – your house is a mess and your unmade bed’s empty.’ He was starting to notice that Malachy was shrugging a lot, not in an acquiescent way, but with apathy. ‘What happened then? Did she no longer tickle your fancy with her feather duster?’
    Malachy watched his brother laughing. He’d humour him, he decided, as he went back to the kitchen to fetch another beer. ‘She stole from me,’ he called through.
    From the silence which ensued, he knew he’d wiped the smile off Jed’s face. He sauntered back, whistling; gave his brother another bottle and then sat himself down in their father’s Eames lounger and put his feet up on the footstool.
    ‘Fuck,’ said Jed. This was awful. ‘What did she take?’
    ‘Nothing in the end – because I intercepted it. I knew something wasn’t quite right but I couldn’t work out what. So I left for the gallery with a kiss on the cheek – then returned an hour later hoping to catch her so we could talk. Actually, that’s a lie. I returned hoping to catch her at it – at
something
– red-handed. Like in a bad film.’ He paused. ‘I laughed at the thought of finding her with some young buck, in flagrante, to justify my hunch. Instead, I found her and some sleazy-looking bastard loading up stuff into packing boxes. Our stuff – Dad’s.’
    ‘Fuck.’
    Malachy looked at him. ‘You’re a bit impoverished when it comes to