Secrets - Back to Lancashire (3)

After a cup of tea in Mel's flat, I return for the rest of the luggage, grab the remaining bags from the boot of my car and use the electronic keypad to get back in The Factory. Once inside, I drag my belongings to the lift at the side of the building and ride up to the top storey, watching each floor disappear through the door panel. Mel's flat faces mine across the drop. I don't like heights, though. Never have done. The surrounding valley looks tiny from the drop.

Mel's laughter floats across the top floor of the building. She has a one bedroom apartment with a tiny kitchenette and dining area by the main window with views of the zigzag metal fire escape round the back of the building and the line of hills further on. She recycles everything and uses energy bulbs and low energy dimmers. She's converted most of the lounge into an art and photography studio with photoshoots and canvasses all over, along with digital thumbnails along the white brick walls. Impressive, resembling an avant-garde art display. I don’t know where the three of us will eat, though. Probably, plate on lap.

I find them at the computer in Mel's bedroom, the boy sifting through the DVDs, carefully inspecting the covers. Remember what I said about Robert, Craig? He thrives on order and exactness; otherwise, he becomes unsettled and anxious. Mel's bedroom is large and naturally cold with harsh brickwork and disused industrial pipes under the ceiling, but she's managed to take some of the blandness away with a collection of rugs and scatterings of sea pebbles on the window ledges, along with the sketches on the walls that she has drawn.  

'You're a genius, little sister,' I say, studying a charcoal warning of a storm at sea. 'Very good, nice scary mood. I hope it doesn't thunder and lightning tonight.  You used to be scared of storms, by the way. Remember?'
            
She swats my arm, a cat swipe.

'Ouch,' I say. I suppress a grin.

'Let's get you and Robert sorted.'

I'm about to crack a joke, or attempt to, when I notice a shift in Mel's expression. Subtle, I nearly miss it. 'Sis, have you been crying?'
          
'No.' She looks away. 'It's a bit of hay fever.'

'In September?'
          
'People get hay fever all year round.'    
            
'Fair enough.  So you're okay then?  Happy here?'
            
'Yes, it's fine here.'

'Well, that's good then,' I say, and make a mental note.  So Mel's unsettled by my move up north.  No surprise really. I'd better go easy and not annoy her.
            
We head for my flat with the luggage. 'This is nice,' I say.  

Mel's decorated Robert's room with his favourite wildlife posters, a distraction from the old pipes and unembellished brickwork: a lion in the desert, two tigers, Koala bears, a panda. The boy's fanatical about animals and longs for me to buy him a dog – which, of course, I won't. Dogs need walking and feeding. Plus, cats are nicer and more intelligent and they don't smell as much.
          
'Thanks, Aunty Mel,' Robert mumbles, staring at the floor.  
            
Mel leans down to kiss his cheek.
            
'Thanks for getting us in here,' I say. 'I owe you.'
            
'It's a pleasure.'

Leaving the boy in his room, we go to the main room. My bedroom, sort of, as well as the kitchen/dining area. The flat consists of Robert's room and this one, with a view of the cooling towers and a pylon grid. My heart sinks at the smell of polythene and the sight of wrappings. This is it. The sofa bed, piled high with bed sheets and pillows, spells finality. Single bloke material. On my own again.

Mel touches my arm and excuses herself.  Tactful of her, I think.
            
Once her footsteps fade, I sit on the sofa bed and place the cool bed sheet against my forehead. I should have guessed Lana would leave. Robert's mother. She was pretty damaged, you see, Craig. Athough no one would have guessed that at first. I certainly didn’t. Only Mel picked up on something, but I thought she was being overprotective

The stress back in London after Lana left...well, less said, the better. Btw – Lana was the American girlfriend at the time of Macarthur's crowbar attack.

Robert. The move must have unsettled him. I want to find him, to hold him and feel his small face against my shoulders, to shield him from the cruel jibes, the harshness of life. He's so vulnerable, unable to look after himself physically.  

I get up and tap on his door. 'Hi.'

'Hi,' he mutters, sprawled reading on the bed.
            
'Interesting stuff?'          
            
He holds up a book on science fiction and turns away. He doesn't seem unsettled at all. I shuffle around awkwardly, wondering what to do next, whether to sit on the bed and try to talk about what happened in London, but just then Mel knocks twice and enters. She says, 'I'm going to order a takeaway. Come and choose.'

'We'll be straight with you.' Any thoughts of sitting down to talk with Robert evaporate. The next moment, he joins his aunt, leaving me to stare at an empty bed.

I told you, Craig.