Bright Fame, Dark Life: Chapter 2

As we wandered down another town's high street the next day, a picture glared out from the front of the newspapers on display. It was our house, surrounded by police and yellow tape. Dan read the article quietly. Mark didn't even look at it.
"They're asking for the guy who phoned them. They want witnesses. Dan spoke quietly.
"They can look for him then. We're not going back. Mark was decided. Without a word spoken, we all understood that our father could never be mentioned again. We knew by then why we weren't going back. The police would send us to live with our guardian, Dad's widowed sister, Aunt Rachel. We hated her and she hated us, but we had no other relatives. We knew she would place some of us, if not all, in care, splitting us up. We couldn't go back.
For months, we lived as well as we could, sheltering in abandoned houses, stealing food and money. At nights, we huddled together for warmth and, in the day, we roamed the streets, gazing through restaurant windows hungrily, slipping away from supermarkets, food stashed under our jackets. It couldn't go on.
I woke one night, not long after it all began. I didn't wonder why I had woken; one side was freezing. I looked around the small dark room of the deserted house. An orange street lamp gleamed outside faintly. I could see a dark outline of my brother by the window. I quietly crawled over.
"Mark? I whispered.
He glanced down at me. I was shocked to see tears glisten on his cheeks. "Go back to bed, little 'un. He spoke softly.
"I was cold. I murmured.
He touched my hand. "You're freezing! He hoisted me into his arms and held me close.
"Is it Mum? I asked quietly.
He nodded.
I knew no comforting words that wouldn't sound hollow. I said nothing.
I don't know how long he stood there with me in his arms, staring out toward our old home. I fell asleep.
Another time, I woke to my older brothers talking in low tones. I lay still, faking sleep. They lay either side of Jas and I, talking softly of what to do.
"I don't know. Mark said. Despair echoed through his voice.
"We need jobs¦
"And a place to stay. We can't go on like this. The kids will freeze and Christmas is coming.
We celebrated Christmas by wandering the streets of an unfamiliar town, staring through windows at families opening presents, eating turkey, laughing and chattering. There wasn't much laughter for us that Christmas.
Our nomadic life came to an end in a small town far from our old home. Mark, tall and strong, looked older than his years and had got some kind of job, disappearing at nights with never a word of where he was going or when he'd be back. He returned late one morning with the news that we had a new home. Somehow he had amassed enough money to pay rent on a small, cheap flat. Its walls were stained, its carpets ragged, but to us it was heaven. It only had one bedroom, so Mark and Dan slept on the sofas in the main room.
We settled in quickly. Dan got a job in the local McDonalds, being paid by cash. Mark too tried to get a job there, but he had always struggled with maths and so was hopeless with the till. His teachers had thought him lazy, until one suggested he could be suffering from severe dyslexia. Our dad had never allowed him to be assessed for it though, insisting he was simply lazy.
Instead, Mark continued with his secret job. Jas questioned him once about it, whining and whinging for ages. Mark's only answer was, "It's nothing I want you to know about.
Jas and I couldn't go to school for fear of being identified by the police and winding up in foster care, or worse, with Aunt Rachel. As a result, our brothers tried to teach us the basics. It worked out well, with Dan being out most of the day and Mark most of the night.
We never knew if our new home was a temporary measure or permanent. We were just grateful to have a home. Other young children lived in the flats, so Jas and I had plenty of playmates. The months passed happily enough until one day.
Mark arrived home in the early morning as usual. Rather than collapsing on the sofa and sinking into sleep like he normally did, he went straight to the bathroom. I woke to the sound of running taps. Guessing that meant Mark was home, I crawled out of bed and tip-toed from the room, trying not to wake my twin. As I peeped round the bathroom door, I was startled. Mark had been in fights before, but this time his injuries were the worst I had ever seen. He saw my shocked face in the mirror and smiled carefully, wincing as his lip bled again.
"Come in, he muttered, pushing the door closed behind me.
"What happened? I asked, as he crouched on the floor and allowed me to gently wipe away the fresh blood.
"Some guys decided they didn't like me. He grinned ruefully.
"I don't believe you. I mumbled. "It looks worse than a normal fight.
Mark stood up and spat into the basin. There was a faint ping. Shining white against the bright red, a tooth lay in the blood splattered across the white basin.
My brother wiped his mouth, sat down and leant back against the bath. "It wasn't a fight. They beat me up.
That was a first. "Why? I asked curiously.
My brother tapped my nose, "Keep out, little 'un. This doesn't concern you.
I scowled at him, but before I could retort, he put his hand over my mouth, "Don't bother.
He wasn't going to tell me anymore. Years later, he admitted the truth, but by then I had already guessed. He had been lucky not to end up in hospital. I don't know how much he told Dan, but I know he told Jas nothing. Jas assumed it had been another fight and wasn't interested. As Mark's cuts and bruises faded, so did our memory of it.
A few weeks later, that changed. There was a knock on the door one evening. Mark wasn't working that night, so he and Dan were lounging in the main room, watching TV. None of our friends knocked, just walking straight in. I had been in the bedroom, playing happily on my own, and peered around the door at the knock. Jas was in one of the neighbouring flats with some friends. Dan answered the door.
"Mr Mason? A policeman asked.
"Which one do you want? Dan replied. I noticed tenseness in Mark's body and wasn't surprised when the policeman asked for him.
Mark stood up slowly. "Yeah?
The policeman stepped in, forcing Dan to move back. He addressed my oldest brother, "Mr Mason, you are under arrest.
Dan burst out, "What? Why?
"You are being charged with possession of Class A drugs with intent to supply. You do not have to say anything, but anything¦
As the policeman droned on with the formal warning, Dan gaped.
"What are you on about? Mark snapped. Where's your proof?
As another policeman came in with a sniffer dog, the first policeman said calmly, "We have a search warrant for your flat. We'll have proof soon enough.
Mark sank down onto the sofa. I flinched as the policeman's eyes rested on me. He spoke again to Mark.
"I'd advise you to gather your family in here, while we search. We don't want to scare anyone unnecessarily.
I crawled onto Mark's lap. His face was pale. "Where's Jas? He asked me.
When I told him, Dan offered to fetch him. The policeman insisted on going with him. I curled up quietly in my brother's lap, as the sniffer dog explored the main room. The second policeman watched us carefully.
My other brothers and the policeman arrived back quickly, Jas asking in his piping voice what was going on. Dan told him to shut up and we sat in silence as our lives fell down around us for the second time in six months.
As the sniffer dog neared the bedroom door, Mark stirred. "I'm not going to have put anything in the kids' room. I'm not that thick!
"Where's the stuff then? One policeman asked. Mark retreated into silence and the dog trotted into our bedroom anyway.
It was forever until the dog came out of our bedroom. There was only the bathroom left to search, and inside me there was a flicker of hope that the policemen were wrong, that my brother was innocent. It made sense, I know, it explained Mark's nocturnal wanderings exactly, but I was six then. I didn't see the world like that. I didn't even know what Class A drugs were.
The dog barked excitedly from the bathroom. The flicker of hope blew out. My brother was guilty.
The police handcuffed him and took all of us to the police station to be questioned. While Mark was being questioned, Dan, Jas and I sat in an interview room, watched over by a tall policeman. He didn't look much older than Mark. We sat in silence at first. Jas got bored and began banging his heels against the chair legs. Dan snapped at him to shut up. He did, for a bit. Then he whined about being dragged away from his game with his friends. Dan snapped at him that this was more important. They ended up quarrelling loudly. The policeman had to quiet them, making them both withdraw into a sulky silence. I sat on a hard wooden chair, wondering what was happening and worrying about what was going to happen.
Eventually, a policeman came in, mumbled something to the other one and turned to us with a grin, "You guys have a visitor.
Jas leapt from his seat, smiling. Dan swung round on his chair so quickly he almost fell off. I looked up, eyes shining. Mark was free! It had all been a mistake! We could go home!
The smell of mothballs hit us as a small lady huddled in layers of brown coat and skirt bustled in and looked at us, disgust curling her lip. Jas subsided. Dan's face fell. My heart sank. It was Aunt Rachel.