The House of Memories by Monica McInerney Read Free Book Online Page B

my breath.
    It was a photographic shrine to Felix.
    Every photo I’d sent Lucas was here on the wall, framed. Me with Felix, minutes after he was born. Aidan with Felix. The three of us together. Felix in his Babygro. Laughing Felix. Crying Felix. Sleeping Felix. Crawling Felix. Aidan and I laughing together at him, making him wave at the camera, wave to Great-uncle Lucas in London. Everywhere I looked, there was my Felix’s face, that beautiful face staring out at me, his blue-green eyes, his big, beautiful smile—the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t bear to look, but I couldn’t look away. Felix in the bath. Felix on a swing. Felix with Mum, with Walter. With Jess. There was a framed trio of photos of Felix with Charlie, the two of them laughing in one shot, yawning in another and, finally, both sleeping. Felix had loved sleeping on Charlie’s belly. “It’s a hammock built for kids,” Charlie had said, patting it proudly. There was photo after photo of Aidan and Felix together, all taken by me. Aidan and Felix nose to nose. Aidan and Felix gazing up at the camera, the likeness astonishing, the same-shaped face, steady gaze, same-colored eyes. Felix on Aidan’s shoulders. Felix reading
Great Expectations
, Aidan’s hands clearly in shot, holding the book in place. Felix in a green jumpsuit on Aidan’s lap, in honor of St. Patrick’s Day. Felix and Aidan both wearing Santa hats, for Felix’s first Christmas.
    The punch came then. The hurt. He’d had only two Christmases.
    Stop.
    Quick.
    Keep busy.
    I swept up the spilled ash, with my back turned to the photos, wishing I hadn’t seen them, wishing they weren’t there.
    Think of something else.
    Charlie. Think of Charlie. Get out of this room and think about Charlie instead. I made it up the stairs, breathing deeply, thankful I had the house to myself.
    Think of Charlie, not Felix.
    Breathe.
    Breathe.
    I sat on my bed and I breathed, and I clenched my fists and breathed some more, forcing my thoughts in another direction. Toward Charlie.
    Quickly.
    Charlie was my safe haven. In the early months, when there seemed only to be sounds of terror in my mind, sounds of anguish—or even worse, silence, bleakness, like a whiteout in my mind—thinking of Charlie would give me some respite, even just for a moment.
    Quickly.
    Fill your head with Charlie, I told myself. Go back to when you met him. Think of him. Not Felix. Not Felix, or Aidan. Or Jess. Only Charlie. Go back to the start. Right back.
    Quickly.

FIVE
    I think if I’d been told before we met that Charlie, my about-to-be stepbrother, would become my best friend, I wouldn’t have believed it. My mother had kept the details of her new boyfriend’s son sketchy.
    “He’s a year or two older than you, and he’s very bright, I believe. Walter is very proud of him.”
    They didn’t introduce us to each other until they were sure it was serious between them. Mum told me later that was best practice in terms of blended-family harmony. Walter was textbook like that. The German in him, Mum told me with a laugh. All she seemed to have done since she’d met Walter was laugh.
    Charlie and I met for the first time over dinner. I was nine; he was eleven. It wasn’t at his home or our home but on neutral ground. A family restaurant in Hawthorn. Mum and I had trouble finding a parking spot, so by the time we arrived, Walter and his son were already there. They both stood up as we entered.
    My first thought when I saw Charlie wasn’t complimentary. There’s no way around this. Charlie was a really fat kid. I now know there are other words—plump or overweight or kilo-challenged—but back then all I saw was a fat boy with short dark hair. I was a skinny kid with long, dark hair. Somehow, straightaway, his size made him easier to talk to. I was reading a lot of Enid Blyton at the time, courtesy of Lucas’s book parcels, the Five Find-Outers books especially. Charlie immediately reminded me of Fatty, the