The Summer of Brian

THE SUMMER OF BRIAN

A novella by

Kenechi Udogu

Copyright © 2011 Kenechi Udogu

All rights reserved.

2nd edition published 2013.

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locale is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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To my unwitting muse, Nesochi.

Thank you for everything.

CHAPTER ONE

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The alarm clock went off at Charlene’s bedside and she jumped up, throwing back her bedcover in the process. She hadn’t set her alarm last night, even her sleepy state of mind was aware of that. And if for some reason she had unconsciously done so, there was no way she would have set it to go off at six on a Saturday morning. Six am! Who woke up that early on the weekend? Sheep were probably still asleep so why should she have to get up? She sighed and reached across to switch the loud beeping noise off.

Stupid alarm clock. She already knew who the culprit was. Only her mother would be inconsiderate enough to do such a thing. Maybe she had her reasons but right now Charlene didn’t want to know. Instead of getting out of bed she settled back under the covers and shut her eyes again.

‘Not so fast,’ a loud female voice came from her doorway. ‘Don’t you understand the concept of an alarm, Charlie? When it rings, you get up.’

Or hit the snooze button, Charlene thought but decided to pretend she hadn’t heard her mother. The next thing she felt was the cold morning air on her skin as her mother ripped the covers off the bed.

‘Not today, you really need to get up. Something’s come up.’ Charlene heard her mother drop the covers on a chair and then the sound of her curtains being drawn open. This had to be serious; her mother never went this far on a weekend for nothing. No use pretending she was still in la-la land. Yawning widely and stretching before opening her eyes to the brightly lit room, she squinted and sat up. Her mother was standing by her laundry basket, going through her dirty clothes.

‘Mum stop, I’m up.’ She hated it when her mother went through her laundry. Somehow it felt worse than when she had caught her reading her diary two years ago.

‘Are you sure? Because I can find something else to do in here till you really get up.’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sure. Look, feet off the bed and into slippers.’ She scratched her head as she moved and yawned again.

Her mother beamed at her. ‘Good morning.’

‘Morning Mum. Do you realise it’s six and not ten?’

‘I know. But as I said, something’s come up and we don’t have time to lie around doing nothing. Go brush your teeth and I’ll fill you in over breakfast.’

‘Breakfast at six?’ Charlene still wasn’t sure she was hearing properly.

‘Yes, Charlene. Now hurry along and I’ll see you downstairs.’

Brushing her teeth took about three times longer than it would have taken if she was wide awake but Charlene didn’t care. As far as she was concerned there was still no need to hurry and, until she knew otherwise, she wouldn’t bother herself. By the time she got down to the kitchen her mother had made some toast and tea and was in the process of frying up some eggs. Charlene took a sip from her glass of orange juice and sat down.

‘So what’s up?’ she looked around for her father as she spoke. ‘Is Dad not part of this early morning thing you’ve thought up?’

Angela Bowman gave her daughter a disapproving look before speaking. ‘He is but he has his own part to play. I’ll explain.’ She transferred the fried eggs to Charlene’s plate and pulled up a chair beside her daughter.

‘I don’t know if you remember your dad’s friend Vincent Barnes. No? Well you were very young the last time we saw him. He rang last night asking for a favour. His son is interested in publishing and he wanted to see if your dad could get him a placement at the press. We’re talking a month at the most. If you ask me I’d say it is short notice for the boy to come up today but from what I picked up, it’s not just the placement that’s the issue here.’ Angela’s voice dropped as if she didn’t want to carry on. ‘I think Vincent and his wife are not getting on very well these days and your dad has mentioned talks of a divorce. They probably want to send him away for a while so they can try to sort out some of their problems. I shouldn’t really be telling you all this so don’t mention it to your dad.’

Charlene nodded dutifully as she munched away on her toast, signs of an only child used to listening to her mother babbling away. ‘So he is coming today?’

‘Your dad will pick him up from the station at Oldgate. He’s coming from the city and the trains don’t stop here. I already tidied the guest room downstairs and all I need is for you to help me with the rest before he arrives. I wish they had told us a little bit earlier. It doesn’t sound like we were first choice on their list for this role.’

‘Why is he coming so early? Doesn’t he know people lie in on weekends?’ Charlene grumbled, already feeling resentment towards the absent intruder.

‘Oh don’t make a fuss, Charlie, his train doesn’t arrive till past eight. Your dad had other errands to run first, that’s all. Anyway, I don’t expect you’d be spending that much time with him. He’s two or three years older than you and if I remember anything about boys that age, they don’t exactly want little girls tagging along behind them.’

Charlene’s jaw dropped in mock surprise as she stared at her mother. ‘I am not a little girl, I’m fifteen!’

‘Fifteen, five, same thing to me. You’re still my little girl. And you are not fifteen till the end of the month.’ Angela reached forward and touched her daughter’s pimple studded face. ‘Are you using that face wash Aunt Dora sent you last week?’

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Charlene nodded again. ‘Every morning and night. I’m doomed. No one will look at me till I’m thirty and it finally starts to clear up.’

‘Don’t be silly, just keep using it. A week is too short to notice much difference. Are you done eating? I want to start with the kitchen before they arrive.’

For the next three hours mother and daughter went round the small three bedroom terraced house with dust napkins and brooms chattering on as they performed their chores. Charlene didn’t really care about their unexpected visitor; she was used to aunts and uncles dropping by unannounced with bags packed for two weeks. One advantage of living out at Sienage was that it was rural enough to be attractive to city folks and yet urban enough for the residents not to want to run screaming for the hills at the lack of amenities.

They had their own large superstore and a recently completed cinema, but these were all discretely tucked away in the town centre so they didn’t spoil the scenic views that Sienage was so well known for. They also had good links to the city. Most residents commuted to work elsewhere as there weren’t many job opportunities in the town. Charlene’s parents were in that bracket. With her father working as an assistant editor at a publishing house in the neighbouring town and her mother juggling a part time florist job in the city with house duties, Charlene thought herself to be the only true resident of Sienage.

They were just getting to the end of their work when they heard the familiar toot of the family’s Ford Focus as it pulled into the driveway. Angela glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and frowned. ‘They’re early. Your dad obviously forgot to do something on the list I gave him. I’m sure he forgot to pick up the milk again.’ As she spoke she took off her rubber gloves and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel then shook out her thick afro braids from under her head scarf. Charlene did the same and followed her mother to the window.

Craig Bowman’s rusty orange hair could be seen through the windscreen as he chatted to the person in the passenger’s seat. The passenger had his head turned away so they couldn’t see his face.

‘We should probably go help them,’ Charlene said as she left her mother’s side and rushed to the driveway. Although she had tried her best not to dwell on their guest, she couldn’t help being curious as to what he would look like. She wasn’t friends with many boys at school, or anywhere else for that matter, and got her boy gossip from her best friend Orla. Orla would have a fit