The rain turned the October dusk over Camden into a smeared watercolor, and IEmilystood at the window of my flat, watching the droplets blur the streetlights. At thirty, I was the sort of person who no longer expected miracles, yet still remembered how they ought to feel. I worked for a consultancy, earned a respectable salary, and rented a spacious flat in a decent neighbourhood. Life had settled into a predictable, calm rhythm.
A buzz from the old landline split the air. My mothers number flashed on the screen. I lowered the televisions volume, exhaled, and lifted the receiver.
Emily, love, are you at home? My mothers voice trembled with worry.
Yes, Mum, whats wrong?
Were on our way over. We need to talk.
A knot tightened in my stomach. Whenever my parents said they were coming to talk, it always meant new trouble for Tom, my younger brother, who at twentyfive seemed to specialise in collecting mishaps.
Half an hour later they were seated across the kitchen table. My father stared at his hands, my mother fidgeted with the strap of her handbag.
Do you know what Toms up to? she began.
What exactly? I asked, wary of filling in the blanks.
He hes tangled himself in a mess. Remember the money we gave him from the sale of the holiday cottage? He bought a motorcycle
Mum, weve already discussed that. I warned you the cash should have gone into a savings account, not straight into Toms pockets.
He promised, you know! My mothers voice slipped into a childlike note. He was going to rent a flat, marry Lucy
But instead he started blowing cash in pubs, Lucy dumped him, and he bought the bike to heal a broken heart, I continued, halflaughing. Got it?
My father finally looked up.
He crashed into a car in the car park. An expensive Porsche.
No insurance?
No, my mother whispered. You know he always thinks nothing will ever happen to him.
I poured tea, trying not to show irritation. Tom always believed he was untouchable because we always bailed him out.
How much?
Three hundred thousand pounds, she sighed. The owner of the car is willing to let us pay in instalments, but we must hand over half immediately, or hell send bailiffs.
I nodded. Everything made a twisted sort of sense. The real drama was about to begin.
Emily, dear, my mother said, taking my hand, weve decided to sell your car.
My car?
Well, its technically registered to Dad, she added hurriedly. We gave it to you when we sold the cottage. But now Tom is in trouble, and youre still walking everywhere. Youre still young, still healthy.
I gently withdrew my hand.
I dont agree.
Its family, love, my mother raised her voice. Tom is your brother! Hes suffering, cant sleep, has lost weight!
Mum, has he even tried to work? Or at least gone to the job centre?
What job could he find in a week? My mother looked at me, bewildered. He cant just earn that much straight away!
But I could lose my car in a week?
My father finally spoke, his voice low but firm.
Emily, weve already made the decision. Your opinion doesnt matter now. The car is in my name; I can sell it whenever I wish. I dont want to argue with you, but theres no other choice.
I stared at my fatherthe man who taught me to ride a bike, read bedtime stories, and who bragged about my university achievements. Now he calmly declared that my voice meant nothing.
Dad, I said slowly, choosing my words, what will happen next time Tom lands in another mess?
There wont be a next time, my mother snapped back quickly. He promised he wont gamble again, wont
Hes broken that promise five times already.
My dear, how could you! my mother began to weep. Hes your brother! How can you be so cruel?
I rose and moved to the window. The rain grew heavier. I thought of the time half a year earlier when Tom begged me for money for something essential, and I handed him twenty thousand pounds. He spent it on new trainers and a dinner out with friends.
You know what, I turned to my parents, I have news. I transferred the car into my name a month ago.
Silence fell. My mother stopped crying, my father finally lifted his eyes.
How?
It was simple. I had a power of attorney from Dad when we were selling the cottage. I forged a deed of gift and reregistered the car in my name. I knew it would eventually need to be sold for Toms sake.
You you forged documents? my father asked, stunned.
Yes. And you know what? I dont regret it. Im tired of rescuing Tom from the fallout of his choices.
My mother clutched her chest.
Emily, how could you! Were family!
Thats exactly why I did it, I replied, sitting back down. Mum, Dad, you never really help Tom. You turn him into a dependent. At twentyfive he cant solve a single problem on his own because he knows youll always find a way out.
But hell end up in prison! my mother shouted. Theyll lock him up!
He wont go to jail over debts. The worst theyll do is ban him from leaving the country, and he hardly travels anyway. At least hell finally learn that actions have consequences.
My father stared at the table, his silence a heavy weight. I could see him wrestling with himself.
Emily, he finally whispered, please, sell the car. Well buy you a new one later.
When later? When Tom is in another mess?
He wont be, my mother insisted.
He will, Dad. He cant live any other way. And you cant deny him that.
My dear, my mother said, gripping my hands, what are you doing? Hes your brother!
Thats why I wont give him money. Look at himtwentyfive, living at home, unemployed, gambling away the last of his cash. You dont see it, do you?
He just he just hasnt found himself yet, she stammered.
At twentyfive you should be looking, or at least searching.
They left, achieving nothing. I remained alone, sipping cold tea in the kitchen. The phone was silentobviously theyd gone to Tom to deliver more bad news.
An hour later Tom called.
Emily, are you out of your mind? his voice cracked with anger. Do you realize what youre doing?
I understand, Tom. For the first time in a long while I understand.
They might lock me up!
They wont. Debts dont land you in prison.
Emily, please! This man is serious! Its the money! Where am I supposed to get it?
Where everyone gets moneyfrom work.
What work? Who would want me?
Tom, you can drive. You can talk to people. You have hands, a brain. Youll find something.
In a week?
Maybe. Or you could negotiate a longer payment plan with the car owner. Grownups often bend when they see genuine effort.
Emily, his voice softened, why are you so harsh? It could happen to anyone.
Not to anyoneonly to someone who never learned to drive properly and didnt even bother to insure the car!
He hung up.
The following months were hard. My parents called rarely. When I visited, the house was thick with unspoken tension. They never spoke of Tom, but his absence haunted every conversation.
From fragments I gathered Tom was indeed looking for work. He tried courier jobs, driving gigs, loading sites, and eventually landed a position at an auto garagewashing cars and passing tools. The pay was meagre, but it was work.
Strangely, the owner of the smashed Lexus proved sympathetic. Learning Tom was actually employed, he agreed to a payment plan. Tom moved into a flat he shared with two other lads. My parents helped with the deposit but refused further cashmy insistence had hardened into a rule.
Mum, if you give him money hell quit straight away, I told them during one of the few visits. Let him learn to rely on himself.
But he barely eats a single serving of rice, my mother complained. Hes so thin, so pale.
Hell find a better job. Or a side hustle.
And indeed, after a few months Tom took a parttime job disassembling old cars for parts. Weekends he helped friends with minor repairs. It turned out he had a knack for mechanicshands that knew how to work, a mind that could understand new systems.
I learned of his progress in snippets, from my parents who were slowly thawing. My mother still called me cruel, but my father sometimes, with a guarded pride, mentioned how Tom had fixed a neighbours car or helped a friend with wiring.
About a year after that kitchen confrontation, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find Tom, gaunt, sunkissed, holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums.
Hello, he said. May I come in?
I stepped aside. He entered, set the flowers on the table, and sat in the same chair where my father had once perched.
Beautiful flowers, I said. Chrysanthemums.
Thank you. He stared at his handsnow workscarred, calloused, stained with grease. Im here to thank you.
For what?
For not giving you the money.
I gestured for him to sit opposite me.
Tell me, I prompted.
I started my own garage. Small, in a garage, but its mine. I fix cars, sell parts, earn a decent living. I even paid off that bloke who owned the Porsche.
Congratulations.
You know, Tom lifted his eyes, I hated you then. I thought you were greedy, cruel. I didnt understand why you wouldnt help your own brother.
And now?
Now I get it. If youd given me cash, Id have stayed home, waiting for you or Mum to solve my problems. Instead I had to grow up.
I nodded.
Was it hard?
You cant imagine, he answered honestly. The first months I thought about quitting every dayworking for pennies, living with strangers, skimping on food. Then I got into it, and I realized I loved working with my hands, fixing things, understanding how they work.
Did your parents ever step back?
Mum now tells everyone my son is an entrepreneur. He smiled. Dad sometimes drops by the garage, helps out, says hes proud.
We sat in silence, eyes meeting. Tom looked older than his twentysix years, but in a good wayconfidence in his posture, calm in his gaze.
Emily, he said finally, I dont deserve forgiveness. Ive been a burden for years
You werent a burden, Tom, I interrupted. You were a spoiled child. Different things.
Maybe. But Im not a child any more.
Not any more.
Tom stood and walked to the window, the same rainsoaked autumn night, only a year later.
Do you know the strangest thing? he said without turning. Im happier now. I earn more, have more responsibilities, but Im happier. When you earn your own money, you spend it differently. When you solve your own problems, they stop feeling insurmountable.
I understand, I replied. When youre the one paying the bills, they feel less like curses.
Yes. And I met someoneKatie. She works at a bank, serious, grownup. Were thinking of moving in together.
Congratulations.
Thanks. Emily, can I still drop by sometimes? Just to talk. I miss you.
Of course.
We embraced, a genuine hug like those from childhood, before cars, debts, and grudges ever existed.
By the way, Tom added, stepping back, Ive got a car nowa battered Toyota I fixed myself. Runs like new.
Good for you.
Its thanks to you, for not letting me stay a child forever.
After he left, I lingered at the kitchen table, staring at the chrysanthemumsbright yellow, fluffy, exuding a sharp autumn scent.
I thought of how love for family can make us hurt those we love, how hard it is to say no when asked for help, and how sometimes a firm no forces someone to say yes to themselves.
Outside, the rain continued, no longer a dreary wash but a cleansing tide, washing away old resentments, old fears, childlike fantasies, making space for something new, grown, real.
I placed the flowers in a vase, turned on the kettle, and prepared tea for tomorrow. Tomorrow would be another day, but tonight I was simply grateful for a brothernow truly an adultwho could fix machines and hand over fresh blooms.
