From the Outside

by Clare Johnston

  I told Jimmy right there and then that I would get him his first acting job within a month – and I did. I called a friend who was the director of a theatre company in Dundee and begged him to give Jimmy a part in a show he was casting. He must have been a good friend because two weeks later he cast Jimmy as an out-of-control drug addict and he went on to steal the show with his incredible performance. Six years on and he’s now a star across the pond as well as in Britain, playing a lawless Chicago cop in a major US TV show.

  The game changer for the centre came three years ago when Jimmy told the world, literally, through a series of TV and newspaper interviews, about how we had helped him get his first break. Interest in the story was huge and, as a result, there was a rush of journalists clamoring to write features on the work of the centre and what we were doing to help turn young lives around. As the profile of the Melville Centre grew so did its budget and it became THE fashionable project to fund and be associated with among local businesses and philanthropists. From there, it felt like we went from strength to strength.

  In the days before my brother was due to start work at the centre, my pride in it and all we had achieved was turning to fear as I watched him struggle to pick up the mantle and run – or even crawl. Ben was clearly looking for the exit as he tried to come up with the perfect excuse as to why it was no longer possible for him to take on the job of running the foundation. But I felt just the smallest cause for hope when Danny told him about the young people at the centre. Because, while I had been able to talk to teenagers about success and what it was like to achieve, Ben understood all too well what it was like to fail. He wouldn’t just float in and out like some untouchable being; he was real, he had made mistakes, he was someone they could relate to. Although he couldn’t see it yet, this was the perfect job for him. I just hoped he would tough it out for these first few weeks and that this new challenge would be enough to force him out of the hopeless rut he’d dug himself into. It seemed a long shot, I know, but I learned long ago that there’s more to my brother than meets the eye. He does, in fact, possess an inner grit that has been as much his undoing as it could be his making.

  When we were boys I believed it was my life’s purpose to torment Ben in whatever way I could. Usually it would involve throwing cold water over him when he was in the bath – once actually peeing on him in the same situation (I had to improvise when I couldn’t find a bowl for the water). I guess I never stopped to think how that might affect him, because, in the moment that I was tormenting him, I would enjoy the power. My ‘pranks’ always hit the mark, and sent Ben storming into his room where he would barricade himself in while I rolled around laughing at just how predictable his response was.

  But in reality, I was angry with him – and confused by his hold over Mum. Ben was slighter than me, would never fight back if provoked and shunned any form of physical exercise except walking, yet he was the mightiest by far because my mother simply adored him. She’d share little jokes with him, draw with him, read to him – and shelter him from his big bullying brother. So instead of being smart about it and trying to win her affections by staying out of trouble, I persecuted Ben all the more, and when she wasn’t looking I would think nothing of shoving him into the wall, tripping him up or throwing the nearest available object at him. He always just walked away, and he never told. He was loyal like that.

  One day though, he got his revenge. Dad had dropped us at school in the morning and from the moment I entered the gates everyone who walked behind me burst out laughing. After assembly I ran straight to the bathroom to try and work out what the hell was going on. Standing in the toilet cubicle I quickly removed my blazer but found nothing unusual with it. Then I took my trousers down to check if I had some kind of stain on them, and instead found two large holes where the pockets used to be. So, I’d been walking around with my bright green underpants on show. I didn’t know how Ben had cut the holes without my noticing – but my routine of getting dressed quickly without opening the curtains had clearly worked in his favour. I didn’t live it down for years. And through my fury in that cubicle, one thought pervaded: So he’s got guts after all. Because he was surely aware he would pay for a stunt like that.

  Sarah heard the doorbell but there was no way she was going to answer it. Instead, she sat and nursed her cup of coffee. She’d had a shower that morning and had eaten some cornflakes so it was the closest thing she’d had to a healthy start in a few weeks. Still the rage burned inside of her and although no amount of alcohol would douse the flames, she could at least keep the fire from consuming her while she drank.

  Suddenly she noticed someone at the window, banging on the glass. Ben.

  ‘Oh God,’ she thought. ‘This is all I need.’ He’d definitely seen her so there was no avoiding him. Reluctantly, she got to her feet and headed for the door.

  He could barely disguise his shock as he stepped inside. He didn’t even say hello. Just walked in quietly and took a seat in the kitchen.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Sarah said coldly.

  Ben looked around at the dirty cups and plates covering every surface and felt a rush of panic in his chest. The mess was overwhelming and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit in it for very long.

  ‘No,’ he said politely. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, although it was pretty obvious to him from the way she looked that she wasn’t doing too well.

  ‘Just great, Ben,’ she almost hissed. ‘High on life and all that it has to offer.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, guessing this wasn’t the right moment to tell her he’d changed his mind about running the centre. It had taken him two hours to pluck up the courage to come over, and now he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth.

  He studied the deep, dark circles under her eyes and felt a pang of pity for the wretched creature now sitting at the table in front of him.

  ‘Are you getting any sleep?’ he ventured.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘Why don’t you go and sit in the living room and let me make you something to eat then?’ Ben suggested this partly out of concern and partly because it meant he could do something about the mess.

  She stared at him blankly for a moment, trying to work out where he was coming from, but the thought of protesting exhausted her so she agreed, figuring it would at least buy her ten minutes more peace and quiet.

  Left in the kitchen alone, Ben opened the fridge door to see what was in there. It didn’t take him long to assess what she had, because she had nothing. There were a handful of broken crackers in a biscuit tin lying out on the counter and there was a pint of milk and a few bruised bananas within eyeshot. The cupboards were largely bare, but he found a tin of tomato soup that he thought would be ideal.

  First though, he’d have to clean a pan to heat it in. The dishwasher was packed with dirty dishes so he threw in a soap tablet and put it on. Next he filled the kitchen sink with hot water, adding some washing liquid, and got started on the pile of pans, mugs and glasses that lay around him. It also didn’t take him long to deduce that she’d been drinking a lot of wine these last few weeks, the empty bottles piled up in the recycling bin at the back door telling their own story. So we do have something in common after all, Ben thought.

  He got stuck into the washing up, then wiped down the main surfaces before heating the soup. He put the bowl on a plate with some broken crackers and took it through to her with a cup of tea. Nudging the sitting room door open with his elbow, Ben found Sarah sitting curled up on the sofa, hugging her knees and staring at the floor, her already tiny frame reduced to little more than a skeleton. Forcing himself to look away, he put the mug of tea down then cleared a space on the coffee table in front of her to lay the bowl on. He could tell she didn’t want to speak and he didn’t know what to say anyway, so he decided to just clear up what he could from the table without disturbing her, then carried the rubbish through to the kitchen.


  He took out some bin bags and started to fill them with the junk mail, tissues, cigarette packs and other assorted garbage that had been scattered over the last few weeks.

  Seeing the place restored to some kind of order brought him the greatest sense of purpose he had felt in a long time.

  He hoped Dad hadn’t seen the mess, but he suspected he had and just hadn’t known what to say. Being an eternal optimist, Dad would have probably thought she was having a blow-out and would come right soon enough, but Ben feared she was on a downward spiral that was already out of control.

  Once he had finished in the kitchen, Ben headed back through to the living room where he was pleasantly surprised to find Sarah had actually finished the soup. When he turned to look at her she was fast asleep, sitting upright with her head lying back against the top of the sofa. Her legs, curled to the side, were almost invisible beneath her flared jeans, she had lost so much weight. The rest of her body was hidden under one of my old sweatshirts.

  Ben reached behind her and gently laid her on her side, resting her head on a cushion before covering her with a throw from one of the armchairs.

  He decided he should probably clear up the rest of the house too. He couldn’t stand the thought of her living in such a mess. If he could get her house back into shape, it might just rub off on her emotional state.

  Upstairs the guest bathroom and bedrooms were relatively untouched, but her own room and en-suite looked as though they had been ransacked. Used tissues covered the bedside tables and there were old photographs of the two of us together lying all around. By the look of them, my brother estimated her bedclothes probably hadn’t been changed since the accident but he didn’t want to overstep the mark so he just straightened the covers and arranged the photos in a neat pile. Once he’d cleared up, he took a heap of used towels from the bathroom downstairs to wash. He hoped she wouldn’t mind him helping like this, it was the only thing he could think to do.

  Sarah opened her eyes to find herself lying on the sofa covered with a blanket. She let out an embarrassed sigh with the realisation that Ben must have moved her, the intimacy an uncomfortable thought. Looking around she saw he’d tidied up too. I’d told her my brother was a bit OCD so she guessed that, for him, walking into her house today must have been like throwing a gambling addict into a casino with a pocket full of chips.

  She was desperately hoping he’d left, but then she heard him unloading the dishwasher next door. She walked into the kitchen to find him putting the last cup into the cupboard – perfectly aligning it with all the others.

  ‘Ben,’ she said, sounding exasperated. ‘There was really no need to do all this tidying. I’d have got around to it eventually – I’m just tired and...’

  ‘I know.’ He looked a little crushed. ‘I was just trying to help.’

  Sarah softened as she realised how dismissive she’d been of him lately. It couldn’t have been easy being the depressed brother of a multi-millionaire entrepreneur. A golden boy if ever there was one. But her sympathy was then replaced with the thought that Ben might be actually enjoying stepping out from beneath my shadow and she felt the anger, now such a familiar friend, come rushing back to the fore.

  ‘You’re holding it together remarkably well considering your twin has just died,’ she snapped, taking even herself by surprise.

  Ben stared blankly back at her, but she could see she’d hurt him and immediately regretted it.

  ‘I’ll go,’ he said finally, moving out to the hallway to collect his jacket.

  Sarah rushed forwards, stopping just short of him.

  ‘Ben, I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I’ve just been feeling so angry lately. I’m not trying to hurt you.’

  ‘I’m grieving too, Sarah,’ he said, before grabbing his jacket from the stand and folding it over the crook of his left arm. ‘But if I fall apart again, I’ll never get myself back together. I’ve flirted with a break-down for too long.’ He looked away from her and let out a long sigh before finally returning her gaze. ‘Don’t think I didn’t love him, Sarah. In some ways, I idolised Harry. Everything he did, from the way he dressed, the way he filled a room with his presence, the look of pride on my father’s face when he spoke about him – it was all so much more than I could ever achieve so I just didn’t bother.

  ‘I’ve spent the entire afternoon trying to figure out what this all means and I’ve decided I have to start again. I need to get past my fear, otherwise he’ll have died for nothing. I know I have to run that centre for him, but I can’t do it on my own. I waited here to ask you if you’ll help me.’

  Sarah folded her arms in front of her and took a step back.

  ‘Help you, Ben,’ she said, incredulously. ‘I can’t even help myself right now.’

  He nodded his understanding. ‘Okay, then I’ll help you first. I’ll be back tomorrow.’

  And without giving her the chance to reply, he left.

  Sarah stared at the front door slammed shut by my brother just seconds earlier. She knew she couldn’t keep the world at bay for much longer. Ben would be coming over again tomorrow and her friend Rosa had left about twenty messages in the last two weeks, at first begging for her to call her back and now telling her she was worried sick and would be driving through from Glasgow to see her whether she was welcome or not.

  Sarah had also made another important decision. She wasn’t going to return to the legal firm where she had worked part-time. She had emailed her boss earlier to tender her resignation and would take her time before deciding what to do next. Maybe she would move abroad and get away from everything that reminded her of her past. Even the good times caused her pain now – and the bad times struck her like a knife blow. They permeated her dreams, and her waking thoughts.

  She turned towards the fireplace and reached for a picture of the two of us sitting in the open-top jeep at 5am on an African morning three years before, waiting to head off on our dawn safari. Our smiles were wide and open, our love strong although fraught with the jealousies and insecurities that were so often the source of the terrible rows which usually ended in us throwing ourselves into each other’s arms and vowing we’d never leave.

  Sarah clutched the picture tightly in her shaking hands. ‘I’m sorry Harry,’ she cried. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

  I studied her for a while as she stood sobbing wretchedly – her shoulders shuddering and her tears splashing down onto the picture frame. Guilt and grief are a potent mix.

  Ben rang the doorbell at 10am the next morning, but Sarah was ready for him. To his obvious surprise she was up, showered, dressed and, by the looks of the bags lining her kitchen counter, had even been to the supermarket.

  ‘You seem brighter today,’ Ben said with a slight air of suspicion.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I did a bit of thinking after you left yesterday. I realised I need to start trying to live again, even if I don’t feel like it.’ She smiled, unconvincingly, at him and he noticed the dark circles still visible despite the make-up she wore to try to cover them. Still, he thought, this looked like progress.

  He wondered too if she would be able to resist the urge to drown her sorrows, or if, like him, she would wait for the cover of darkness to lock herself away with her self-pity and drink. He knew the blissful numbness that alcohol so reliably delivered was a hard companion to turn your back on.

  He himself hadn’t been able to totally deny himself the comfort offered by his old friend The Bottle, but had in recent days cut back on the time they spent together, only meeting after work, at home and in secrecy.

  ‘Good,’ he said, deciding to play along with Sarah’s apparent togetherness. ‘I won’t hang around long then. I just brought us a couple of croissants.’ He handed them to her in a paper bag. ‘Thought you might be hungry.’

  ‘Snap,’ she replied, laughing as she held up another two croissants she had bought that morning.

  ‘Great minds,’ he smiled.

  They sat down
at the kitchen table together and Sarah poured him a coffee.

  ‘So, why are you so worried about running the centre?’ she asked candidly. Her direct manner had always left him feeling a little uncomfortable. He thought she was very like me in that sense. At times she would appear vulnerable, but there was a steeliness at her core.

  ‘I’ve no idea where to begin.’ He stared into his coffee. ‘I want to do it, but I have no management experience whatsoever. The team I met told me I’d have to go out and persuade businesses to help fund the project, but I couldn’t persuade a cat to catch a mouse. And I..,’ he thought about how much he should say. He was so fed up of being the weak one. ‘I have a fear of meeting people, being out in public, things like that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I’ve been told it’s, em.. an anxiety disorder basically. I’m pretty much anxious about most things.’

  ‘I had no idea. But it makes so much sense now. I wish we’d known that earlier, Ben. I think it could have helped.. you know, with the way you and Harry were.’

  ‘It’s not something I talk about a lot,’ he said, eyes fixed on his plate.

  ‘I know you can do this, Ben. You have to fight the fear – it’s controlled you long enough. And you’ll finally be earning some money. It’s a great opportunity for you to do something with your life.’