The good die and the bad live on

When I woke up on Saturday morning I was hung-over and fully clothed. My brother stood in the doorway wearing a decidedly unimpressed look on his face. “Alright?” “Shit, sorry, alarm didn’t go off,” I offered by way of explanation. I knew I wasn’t likely to be excused any time soon. Donny was the best possible company on the right day but he wasn’t without his mood swings and I had a knack of inadvertently bringing them on. I knew if I walked on eggshells for a little while and showed my contrition he’d get over it. I looked at the alarm clock; it was eleven forty five. He was forty five minutes late yet I still hadn’t been awake. I could have kicked myself, I’d been looking forward to spending the day with Donny in a way I wouldn’t have with anyone else. “I’ll make some tea. Do you need to have a shower?” “Yeah, I’ll get in there now,” I replied meekly. I showered quickly and dressed in record time before I practically burst into the kitchen. Dave was in there wearing just a red dressing gown, standing and eating his cornflakes talking to Donny. Dave was as down to earth as anyone I knew and extremely friendly with it, two qualities guaranteed to get up my brother’s nose. He had a golden rule where my friends are concerned – they were never good enough (for him, not me.) He was the same with my girlfriends when I was at school. Two weeks after any break up he’d give his crushingly succinct verdict – square shoulders, shovel chin, Moonface, blob nose, full of herself etc. The really unfortunate ones might have found themselves on the wrong end of more than one of the aforementioned. It was only a problem when I was the one who’d been dumped or if we got back together two weeks later. “Leg’s better then?” Donny asked. “Ummm, yeah, improving. I think it’s coming on,” I answered noncommittally. I didn’t think he’d really ever grasped the seriousness of my injury so I never bored him with details. “You seem a lot better than dad made out, you’re off your crutches already.” I realised I’d not used my crutches since I’d woken up, and mornings were usually the time when I was at my most wobbly. A couple of weeks ago, I’d been nervous as a kitten even with my crutches, now I seemed to be recovering faster than Clark Kent. I froze again but this time it passed in a couple of seconds and rather than going to get my crutches I walked over and sat at the table and pulled my mug of tea towards me. “Yeah, like I say I seem to be progressing quite quickly. How was the journey up?” “Really quick, about two hours from mum and dad’s. I stayed there last night to save time.” “And so you didn’t have to cook,” I said, laughing. “Actually, I bought them a Chinese,” Donny, on the defensive, hardly seeing the funny side. “So you didn’t cook!” I knew I had to get off the subject quickly or he’d get annoyed. “What d’you wanna do, go shopping?” I asked. “If you’re up to it.” “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I need to take one of my crutches though. I’ve forgotten to use them a couple of times that’s all, but I’m still supposed to be on them. I’m seeing the surgeon in a couple of weeks for a check up and I should be able to get to the gym after that.” Donny was happy not hearing too much detail about people’s lives; if he takes away a general impression you’re happy that’s enough for him. He kind of glazes over when you start talking about stuff he doesn’t want to hear, something he refuses to acknowledge as a trait and is even more distraught if it’s suggested that he gets it from our dad. They are, of course, two peas in a pod, and as such see themselves as chalk and cheese. All of which explains why they have next to no capacity for communicating or being civil with each other. People often think we’re quite similar to one another; I guess it’s inevitable if you have an older brother you look up to that you end up consciously and unconsciously trying to emulate him. Donny’s always had such a natural ability to put people at ease and engage them in conversation (ironic considering he’s hardly ever interested in what they’re saying) and any success I have managed in this area has been entirely down to watching, noting and copying. Temperamentally we’d always been very different. With me, all my feelings come out whereas Donny has a seemingly limitless ability to bottle things up and pass it off as his not being affected by them. On the way into town, travelling at the speed of light, Donny told me about some poor girl at work who had a crush on him; she was beautiful of course or he wouldn’t have even registered it. It was hopeless having a crush on Donny as he had no interest in girls unless they were exes who were now safely and happily married and thus unattainable. This, more than anything else for me, underlined the chief difference between my brother and me. Since I was eleven I’d been on an unstinting quest to find true and everlasting love and been pretty successful a number of times, interspersing my search with a few opportunistic sallies into the world of the casual sexual acquaintance. When these opportunities had arisen I confess I hadn’t consistently taken the view that I shouldn’t already be involved in another everlasting love match. Donny, on the other hand, had had no more than two or three girlfriends serious enough to meet any of the family. These, without fail, had been treated abysmally; by Donny not the family I should point out, and all eventually had got the message that they weren’t part of his long-term plans.