My brother Darren

Darren had managed to get a little fire going on the beach by
burning some driftwood and bits of rubbish left behind by
holiday-makers. He rested on his elbows and watched the September sun
suddenly disappear with surprising speed into the ocean. Behind him,
the moon was already in the sky.

The heat of the fire was insufficient to warm him thoroughly but he
liked the smell of it, reminding him of log fires at home and bonfire
night. Memories of happier times in his life, he liked to think. He
felt somewhat mysterious as though he might have a story to tell,
should anyone be interested to hear it. He could be absolutely anyone
he wanted. He had noticed passers-by throw curious glances at him - the
lone figure sprawled out on the sand, staring into the sea
(broodingly), fire crackling and spitting. He held his hands out to it
as if to prove a point. It gave off such feeble heat and he was still
cold.

The beach had emptied as the tide began frothing inwards, inching
towards his little fire. He wished he had built it further up the
beach, perhaps in a more sheltered spot. He watched a woman and her dog
running along the shore, she nodded and smiled a hello as she jogged
past. He raised a casual hand in response still feeling mysterious, but
then she was gone and he was alone again apart from the sea-gulls who
waited slyly hoping to steal a morsel when he wasn't looking. He threw
sand at them.

"Too bad," he muttered as they hurried away, looking offended by his
actions, "I'm bloody starving myself. You'll find nothing here."

His stomach rumbled at the thought of food and it reminded him to empty
his pockets. He stared at the pile of coins before him, pleased to see
at least 4 pound coins, a few 50 pences, plenty of 10s and 20s and, of
course, the usual coppers, given reluctantly by those who disapproved
and certainly did not sympathise.

The Manager of Woolworths was one such person. He had come outside
today and asked Darren to move along or he'd call the Police. Darren
had enjoyed the moment. Some pensioners were clearly pleased he had
been sent on his way in no uncertain terms, but Darren had seen some
people tutting, throwing disapproving looks at the Manager.

"Leave him alone" one woman had said. She had pressed a pound coin into
Darren's hand.

He had looked suitably depressed as he shuffled next door to Upper
Crust Family Bakers, who had given him an egg mayonnaise baguette, no
doubt in an attempt to win favour with sympathisers of the
homeless.

"Why have you ended up on the streets love?" one woman had asked him,
not really waiting to hear the answer as she hurried home, no doubt to
cook tea for her husband and young children.

"Get a job like the rest of us," a man had hissed, lip curled.

Those sort of people frightened Darren. He had bit into his baguette
and pretended not to hear. Instead, he imagined a little crowd
gathering round him, listening to his story. The tale of how he ended
up this way. They would listen, fascinated, perhaps leaving five or ten
pound notes to make things easier. The man who had been horrible to him
would feel such remorse, he would ask Darren to forgive him. The
Manager of Woolworths would probably offer Darren a job to make amends.
Anyway, Darren would have the last laugh. Woolworths had the best
doorway in the whole street and Darren slept there most nights. The
Manager would have a fit if he saw. It made Darren chuckle.

The tide lapped against the soles of his shoes bringing him back to the
moment. Time to leave. He shuffled backwards on his behind and watched
until the tide rushed up and eventually extinguished his little camp
fire. He covered its hissing remains carefully with sand.

Tonight there was enough spare change for a cup of tea steaming in a
foam cup from the caf? on the sea-front. Once the cup was empty he
stuck his finger-nails into it, making patterns, before tossing it into
a nearby bin. He ate fish and chips leaning against the wall outside
the Amusement Arcade, eyes peeled in case anyone dropped some change or
a good dog-end. He found a couple of worthwhile ones and popped them in
his pocket for later.

I knew where he would be later on.

"Go and get him love" mum had sighed, as usual, not looking up from her
crossword as it came and went 10 o'clock.

I saw his face change when he saw me as though a shadow had clouded his
expression. He was sitting hunched up in Woolworths doorway. He was
smoking.

I knelt down beside him, "Hello Darren love. You alright?"

"My name is Joe, not Darren," he said sulkily.

"Ok Joe. What you been doing today then?"

He took a drag of his dog-end and stared out across the street in that
detached way of his. "I was travelling," he said, "for a bit. I got
some money." He fumbled in his pocket and then remembered he had spent
it. There was only a few pence left. "I had crab for tea. Crab and
chips."

"Sounds lovely Joe," I touched his arm, "I know a lovely B&;B got a
bed going for the night."

"I built a fire" he continued "to watch the sun go down. It drowned.
Out in the ocean." He pointed, but the sea was only a thin blue line in
the distance.

"The B&;B...?" I let him think about it. Everything always had to be
on Darren's own terms. No-one elses.

It was still busy, even at this time of night but now the streets were
alive with young people, milling around, laughing, drunk. They were all
about Darren's age. A youth began to urinate in the opposite corner of
the doorway, Darren seemed not to notice but I felt revolted and
frightened. Frightened for him, of him.

"Yes," he said suddenly, "I need a bed for the night, a place to rest
my head.

Together we shuffled home, where mum was waiting.