[beep] Hey Sis, it’s me. I really wish you’d answer the phone sometime. Mum’s worried about you. We all are. Eventually you’ll have to surface for air, you know. Even Christmas... well you were lucky to miss out. Maybe I’m being selfish as I don’t want to take the brunt of it all. Just... take it easy all right? What am I saying. Take care, I mean. See yah. [click] [beep]


Dear Travis,

You complain that you can’t call me but you know I can’t stand the ring of the telephone. I've disabled the bell and it goes straight to the answering machine. But I can’t be hypocritical. So I can’t call you either. Indulge me please, as you know writing is one of the few things I love. If you want to write back you can and then you can also complain to me about how you have been forced to hold a pen - to use your hands for something other than having a wank. I am being harsh. I’m sure Sarah does that for you now. Again, sorry, too harsh.
I wish I had your bravery. I can’t face her – Mum, I mean. Not yet. Maybe in twenty years. I don’t want to absolve myself, but being the eldest wasn’t easy. I was twelve by the time you could read. All her neurosis was electrically conducted into my system. She at least had an idea of what to do with you. Or at least you were robust enough to be rolled around without fear of chipping off the paint. But me, I was like a crystal vase held precarious on one finger. And each time I wobbled she broke a little more inside.
And don’t think I don’t miss Dad. Maybe I miss him too much and couldn’t bear to see his empty chair at the table while we stuffed ourselves with Turkey. And then the talk: “When am I going to have a grandchild to hold in my hands? Life is so short you know, so short. Just look at what happened to your father! You should make life while you have it yourself.” I started counting the number of times she’s spoken to me about having children over the years. It’s been nineteen. And that’s only after I started counting.
I used to push back but her memory is either a...