Family Matters.

A new thought entered his head, so he went back to the kitchen to
write it down. Like him, the wallpaper and paint had seen much better
days, and sometimes, Albert had to wipe mouse droppings from the table
with his sleeve, but that had never bothered Albert - his work was his
only real concern.

As usual, his new idea went straight into his notebook - it was nearly
full now and shortly to be filed away with all of the others - for
future reference he still told himself.

He then noticed a rat had gnawed at the loaf of bread that he'd left on
the table, so he simply ate the other half of the loaf spread with
jam.

He could share with rats as well as mice, but he couldn't share with
the pig asleep on the sofa. He could share with vermin but not with a
pig. Vermin leave telltale signs, but they made up for that by
disappearing when he came into the room. But the pig was always in his
face, always invading his space. If it wasn't at the pub or asleep,
grunting and snoring on the kitchen sofa, then it was mocking him,
complaining about him or moaning about others - it stopped him
concentrating on his work.

Albert put the kettle on to boil - a cup of tea would wash down his
bread, jam and rat-slaver snack, and perhaps give him courage for what
he had to do.

When Bertram awoke, hungover and belching, at the sound of the spoon on
the side of the teapot, he sat up, cursing, on the sofa. He looked like
one of those model pigs you see sitting on its hind legs in butchers'
shop windows advertising their wares, complete with tweed waistcoat and
beige trousers. His fingers, sausage like and pink in colour, brushed
back his dishevelled hair then straightened his tie before searching
through his waistcoat pockets, desperately trying to find the cigar
stub he'd saved.

'I'm sure you do that on purpose,' he moaned, 'Hope you're making one
for me? Three sugars, a little milk.'

'Pour your own! Doing what on purpose?' growled Albert.

'You know what - making a racket with that spoon.'

'I work in here. How can I work with you laid there snoring your fat
drunken head off?'

'Work? You don't call that work? Sitting at that table scribbling away
- that's all you do, scribble on bits of paper.'

'I don't scribble - I'm a writer. Got it? A writer!'

'Oh, you call yourself a writer, but you've never had anything
published - have you? Oh no, scribbling away for years but never earned
a penny, how can that be work?'

'I'll never earn as long as you're here, how can I? All you do is get
drunk, sleep it off, and disrupt my life. How can I write - with you
here?'

'Come off it, I haven't been here all the time. Ten years you've been
writing, and all you've succeeded in doing is building a paper bank.
Look at it, stuffed everywhere - pile upon pile of it. What is it, your
own recycling company?'

'I wish I could recycle you! You drunken pig. One day, somebody's going
to show some interest in it, you'll see.'

Bertram couldn't contain his laughter; 'The only ones to show any
interest are your verminous friends - but only as nesting material.
There's no wonder you've got so many lodgers - the word's out, get down
to number forty-seven, he leaves food out and there's plenty of nesting
material.'

'And there's a big fat drunken pig asleep on the sofa - no wonder your
wife kicked you out - again. How long are you planning to stay this
time?'

'That's it,' said Bertram, 'Hit a man below the belt, kick him when
he's down. You know she's only thrown me out five times. To hear you
talk anybody would think I'm here all the time.'

'Every time she's kicked you out you've stayed for longer and longer.
The first time was only two weeks, but the last time it was nine whole
months before she'd take you back. I think you'll find she'll never
have you back this time.'

'Look who's talking? Your wife ran off nine years ago and you've never
seen her since. I know how she felt - I think I'll join her.'

'Ho-ho, a result - you're going to follow her are you? Can I have that
in writing? Said Albert, while grabbing pen and paper, 'You'd deserve
each other.'

'No you can't - you're the so-called bloody writer, not me. She ran off
with a double-glazing salesman - she'd rather have a double-glazing
salesman than a bloody writer. Can you blame her? Who the hell wants to
live with somebody who packs in their job just to become a bloody
writer? All you did was write, you never showed her a good time, even
though you could afford to - no wonder she ran off.'

'You hypocritical drunken slob. You packed in your job the same time as
me, and what have you done since? Nothing! Except throw away all your
money. Oh yes, I know you're broke - I talked to Emily when you first
showed up last week. She's adamant - she won't have you back this
time.'

'You know that my heart problems have stopped me from working, and
you'd better watch your step - talking to my wife behind my back,
you're as bad as your house guests - sneaking and skulking
about.'

'Your heart problems? Some excuse - two heart attacks, but they haven't
stopped you drinking, gambling and chasing women, have they? I'll be
blowed if I'll put up with your nonsense this time, I'm not putting up
with you any longer, and that's that.'

'You seem to forget, brother dear, that when mother died, apart from
leaving us both enough money to live on, she also left us this house. I
might be broke after ten years of enjoying myself, but there's nothing
you can do about it. I can come and go as I please. This house is as
much mine as yours.'

Albert smiled, 'You're absolutely right - you own half. You can come
and go as you please - but I won't be here, you won't be able to sponge
off me to fund your wretched goings-on.'

'Oh yeah, and where the bloody hell are you going to go? Who's going to
take in a scruffy old sod like you?'

'My Diane, that's who.'

'Your daughter? Don't make me laugh, she ran off just before your wife
did - she couldn't stand you either. Remember?'

'Only too clearly, but she came to see me last month, came to tell me
that her mother had died in London, she thought I had a right to
know.'

'So we're all lovey-dovey now are we?'

'I wouldn't say lovey-dovey exactly,' said Albert, 'But we've reached
an understanding. She's married now, with two kids, and they bought a
house in London - near to her mother. Unfortunately her husband was
injured and they're in trouble financially. I've agreed to buy the
house and put ownership into both our names. In return, she's agreed to
let me move in and she'll look after me for the rest of my days.
Hopefully, we'll build a relationship.'

'How can you afford to buy a house in London? If you think I'll let you
sell this place to raise money - you're dreaming. Unless I can go with
you?'

Albert laughed, 'The last thing my daughter and grandchildren want in
their lives, right now, is a fat drunken pig of an uncle.'

'I'll never consent to selling. Without me, none of these fancy plans
will work. Do you hear, I'll never consent. Never! Unless I'm
included.'

Albert laughed even louder, 'Save your breath, I don't fall for it
anymore. I've realised that like all Bullies, when you're stood up to
you're nothing. You just don't get it, do you? I don't need your
permission you fat fool. I don't need you to do anything.'

'Don't be stupid, of course you need me, otherwise you'll never get the
money for all these fancy plans of yours.'

'Stupid? Me? Unlike you, I've been careful with my share of the money
mother left us. I've been careful with what I've spent and I've made a
few small investments. But you're right, I've had to live for ten years
and there's a shortfall between that money and the amount I need to buy
the house outright, but?.'

'See! You do need me, idiot. Have we got a deal then?'

'If you listened you might find out,' said Albert, 'I now have other
money. I've got the insurance policy on my wife that I kept up after
she'd left - probably the best investment I ever made. Last week I
collected a cheque for over ?150,000, which more than covers the
shortfall. So you see, brother dear, I don't need you.'

'What? You tight fisted sod, you kept that quiet?'

'Why should I tell you? You'd only try to sponge it off me.'

'Watch your mouth, I'm no spon? hold on, I know, I'll raise money
against the house myself. Surely you wouldn't stop me doing that?
That's it - if we sell up, then with my half I could persuade Emily to
take me back. You won't stop me raising money against the house, will
you old chap? We are family after all.'

Albert shook his head, 'Bertram, this house is worth nothing, there are
major structural problems and the council has condemned it as unsafe.
They'll demolish it if we don't come up with ?50,000 to make the
repairs. But you're broke, and I need all of my money to take care of
my family - the house is doomed. Hold on old boy! I've just had a
thought - maybe you'll be able to earn a living - enough to pay for the
repairs? You could use all of this paper and start a recycling business
of your own? I could sign the copyright of my work over to you? Free of
charge, of course, after all, you are family.'

As soon as I get this done I must phone Diane with the good news, a
smiling Albert said to himself as he dialled 999 to summon an ambulance
for his lifeless brother. Thank God I didn't let Bertram's policy
lapse, like I did with the one on my wife.

-

? John Sales 2002.