‘Are you nervous?’ I ask.
‘No.’ He shuts the fridge door. ‘A little.’
‘Do you like him?’
‘He is my brother.’
‘Yeah, that’s a given, but do you like him? You don’t have to. There’s no rule. At Langford Hall there were kids who had shitty brothers and sisters.’
‘It’s not about liking him,’ says Cyrus. ‘I’m the closest family he has left.’
‘Whose fault is that?’
Cyrus gives me a look.
‘It’s what my parents would do,’ he says. ‘They’d want me to forgive him and help him make something of his life.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Elias is still young. Not even forty. He could go on to lead a good life. Surely that’s better than having him die in a psychiatric hospital.’
‘That was his punishment.’
‘It was never meant to be that.’ Cyrus leans against the kitchen bench. ‘Schizophrenia is a mental illness.’
‘What causes it?’
‘Nobody knows for certain. Most likely it’s a combination of genetics, environment and altered brain chemistry.’
‘Can you catch it?’
‘No.’
‘You said genetics – does that mean you could get it?’
‘Yes.’
‘How would I know?’
‘My behaviour would change. My thoughts and speech would be disorganised. I’d become isolated and lose touch with people.’
‘You do that now.’
‘Very funny.’
‘What if Elias hasn’t changed?’
‘He has. He’s a lot different.’
‘But people can be born bad, can’t they? Under the wrong sign.’
‘I don’t believe in signs or omens or fate. I stick to the science.’
A horn toots and I watch from the library window as a van pulls up and Cyrus opens the front door and waves. I’ve seen photographs, but I didn’t expect Elias to be so fat. Not obese, but just big all over, with a double chin and blotchy skin and a terrible haircut. He’s wearing baggy jeans and a sweater that stretches over his midriff.
Two hospital orderlies are with him, black guys who are built like bouncers and move like basketball players.
Cyrus and Elias embrace. It’s not the most convincing hug, but I guess they’re out of practice. Soon they’re into the kitchen, talking about the weather and the drive into Nottingham.
‘So many new buildings,’ says Elias. ‘You’ll have to take me on a tour.’
The senior orderly is Roland, and his colleague is Oscar, and they look more like brothers than Elias and Cyrus. Oscar makes me think of Oscar Wilde because I’m reading The Importance of Being Earnest as one of my English texts.
Five people make the kitchen feel small.
‘You don’t have to stay,’ says Cyrus, who is smiling more than usual.
‘That’s not how it works,’ replies Roland. ‘On the first visit we have to remain here.’
‘Of course.’ Cyrus turns to me. ‘Evie, this is Elias. And Elias this is Evie. She lives here.’
I don’t move. Am I supposed to shake his hand? I don’t want to touch him.
‘Is she your girlfriend?’ asks Elias.
‘No,’ we answer in unison.
Cyrus calls me his housemate, hesitating over the word, as if unsure of how I should be labelled. Elias is still staring at me. Maybe he hasn’t seen many women my age.
‘She’s not your girlfriend,’ he says again, as though wanting to be very clear.
‘I’m nobody’s girlfriend,’ I reply.
There is a beat of silence. Cyrus suggests making tea and says that he’s bought a carrot cake because he knows how much Elias loves it. There are comments about the kitchen and the garden. Small talk. Minuscule talk. Blah, blahing.
Elias asks about their grandparents.
‘They’re good,’ says Cyrus. ‘Living in Weymouth. Granddad golfs. Grandma plays bridge.’
‘They never came to visit me,’ says Elias. ‘I got birthday and Christmas cards.’
Cyrus doesn’t respond.
‘And now you’re living here – in their house – I always loved this place.’ Elias has walked to the kitchen window. ‘The beech tree is still there. Remember that summer we built the treehouse? And Mum said, “If you fall out of that tree and break both your legs, don’t come running to me”？’
They both laugh and I think it’s weird they’re talking about a woman that Elias stabbed to death. People often misuse the word surreal, using it when something is unreal rather than bizarre, but this is just fucking weird.
‘You made that ladder out of knotted rope,’ says Cyrus.
‘And you weren’t strong enough to climb it.’
‘I made it eventually.’
‘Only with my help.’
‘You were older.’
‘And you were a weakling.’
There is an edge to the banter. Maybe it’s sibling rivalry, which is something I never really had with Agnesa because I knew she was prettier and cleverer and nicer than me.
‘But look at you now,’ grins Elias. ‘You’ve been pumping iron?’
‘I built a gym in the basement. You’re welcome to use it.’
‘I used to be able to bench-press you.’
Not any more, I think. Now you’re a salad dodger.
I can picture them growing up. Elias being older. Cyrus trying to compete for his attention or affection, but he’s the one in control now and Elias looks like the ugly fat friend who makes people feel more attractive by standing next to them. He begins to walk from room to room, remembering certain stories and anecdotes from their childhoods. Roland and Oscar stay in the kitchen eating carrot cake, while Cyrus gives Elias a tour of the house. I hang back when they go upstairs but I can hear them talking.
‘You can’t go in there,’ says Cyrus. ‘It’s Evie’s room.’
‘How long is she staying?’
‘As long as she wants.’
They’ve reached Mitch’s room. His rucksack is on the bed. I half climb the stairs. Eavesdropping.
‘Someone else is staying for a few days,’ says Cyrus.
‘When I come home, where will I sleep?’
‘You can have this room.’
‘But Evie has the one with the view over the park.’
‘You’ll choose another.’
Elias goes quiet for a while.
‘I could ask Granddad and Grandma.’
‘Ask them what?’
‘About which bedroom is mine.’
‘They gave the house to me,’ says Cyrus. ‘I get to decide.’
There is another long silence. ‘What about Mum and Dad’s money?’ asks Elias.
‘It went into a trust fund.’
‘For you?’
‘It paid for my education and my living expenses. And I sent you money every month – so you could buy things at the Rampton shop.’
‘What’s left?’
‘Nothing.’
Elias doesn’t reply. They’re in Cyrus’s room and I can’t hear them any more, but I wait on the landing, crouched out of sight. When they reappear, Elias is telling Cyrus why they were never allowed in the attic.