Kicked Out My Little Sister

A sharp, grating hiss slices the silence in the flat as my brother Tom cracks open yet another tin of baked beans the third can hes already opened today. Emily presses her forehead against the cold window pane, watching a snowstorm outside devour the faint outlines of the world preparing for evening. It isnt just a flurry; its a wall of white, relentless and unforgiving, and Emily feels that stepping into it would erase her forever. Perhaps that would be a mercy.

Mum, could you send someone else to Aunt Lindas? Emilys voice sounds hollow, as if it comes from another dimension.

Mum, feverishly stuffing clothes into a travel bag, sighs in irritation, her fingers fiddling with straps and zippers.

Do you even understand what youre asking? Shes become my mother now. I cant just leave her alone in this mess. You wont be on your own, you have Tom.

Exactly. Tom, Emily says without turning, not wanting Mum to see the betrayal flashing in her eyes.

So Im stuck with him for the whole holiday? Two whole weeks?

Good heavens, what has he ever done to you? Hes older, so hell be smarter. Youre no longer a child, yet youre scared of him like a frightened mouse!

Mum jerks the bags zip closed. A chill runs down Emilys spine. Being alone with a brother who despises her while Mum pretends not to notice feels like a nightmare. She steals a glance at the bookshelf, at a thick volume in a faded leather cover. Between the pages about distant voyages lies a ticket to another life or at least it seems that way.

Mum rushes to the window where Emily sits and thrusts a handful of notes into her hand.

The main cash is in the little wooden box in the bookcase. Tom knows about it. This is for you the emergency stash. Youre sensible, arent you?

Emily nods, still staring at the book, fingers clutching the notes. Suddenly Mum reaches for the same volume. Emily tries to speak, leans forward, but before she can finish, Mum already has an envelope hidden between the pages.

Where did you get this? That letter is a century old! Mums tone cracks with alarm.

Emilys cheeks flare.

Mum, could I just go to my father while youre away? she breathes, but the look on Mums face erases any naive hope.

Mum scoffs, slips the envelope back into the book and says, Which father? Do you really think hell be waiting with open arms? Maybe his trail has gone cold at that address. She slings the bag over her shoulder and heads toward the hallway. Listen, Im in a rush. Ill be back later; well talk then. Aunt Lindas number is in the diary only call in an emergency.

The door slams shut, leaving a hollow echo in the hallway. Almost immediately Tom appears in his room, reeking of stale beer and something acrid.

Well, sister, Mums off. Now youre under my wing, he yawns lazily, a flicker of spite in his eyes. By the way, how much pocket money did she slip you?

Moneys in the box, Emily growls, trying to slip into her room, but Tom blocks the doorway.

Im talking about the emergency cash. Think I didnt hear you? Dont try to cheat me.

Youll never see it!

Ah, you little

Emily darts under his arm and bolts into her room, shutting the door behind her.

That evening, loud music thunders through the flat, his friends laughter grates on the ears, and the air thickens with cheap perfume and alcohol. Locked in her room, Emily feels around and packs a rucksack. The plan is wild at first light tomorrow she will head for the address written on the faded envelope, anywhere but here.

She drifts off to a light doze when the door bursts open. Tom stands there with a girl he hasnt introduced.

Clear the room, we need to talk to Emily, he says, his eyes cold as glass.

In a flash, his iron grip, a shove, and the slam of the door slam her onto the cold concrete of the stairwell, backpack hugging her chest. Toms drunken laugh echoes, Get lost, you little mouse!

Tears stream down her cheeks. Its night, and she sits on the steps, pulling up her bare feet into her winter boots, when a voice calls out, Why are you shivering on the floor?

A man in a bulky coat stands before her. His face looks familiar; after wiping away tears, Emily recognizes him theyve lived on the same block for years, though he disappears for months at a time.

Brother drove me out, she sniffs, and Mum?

Gone.

For how long?

Two weeks, give or take.

He shakes his head. Thats rough. Get inside, youll catch a cold. Come in, warm up. Im your neighbour, Ian. Ive known you since you were a tot.

Ians flat is empty, dusty, smelling of loneliness and last nights leftovers. While he boils spaghetti with canned meat, Emily, stunned by the sudden kindness, spills her desperate plan to find her father using the address on the envelope.

Ian raises an eyebrow, plates a serving, and says, Dont catch a fever. Youll survive the night, and tomorrow well see what to do. I had a brother once a real nightmare. I know how that feels.

He sets a couch for her, and that night becomes the border between two lives. Emily drifts into strange dreams, fleeing Toms glassy stare, only to wake in Ians quiet, uneasy but safe apartment opposite.

Thus begins an odd friendship. She visits when the house fills with drunken voices; he listens in silence, occasionally sharing fragments of his own story wandering, loss, a family that vanished like smoke. He becomes her quiet harbour, an anchor in the storm of her life.

The final straw arrives when Tom, unable to locate the hidden cash, subjects her to a frantic interrogation, shouting threats. His hand arcs for a blow, but Emily, heart hammering, jerks away, spins, and darts into the hallway.

Youll never get out, theres no road back! he roars after her.

Mum will come back, and youll regret this! she yells, sprinting toward the familiar door.

Dont ever set foot here again! Toms last words echo behind her.

Ians door opens before she even knocks. He looks at her tearstreaked face, at the tiny rucksack, and without a word lets her in.

I cant go back there, she sighs, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders.

He nods, his gaze steady and understanding.

Then stay until Mum returns. After that well see whats next.

He closes the door, leaving behind the noisy brother and a whole era of fear and solitude. Beyond that door, something new begins, and for the first time in ages Emily feels that this new might not be terrifying at all.

—

Ian awakens from a restless sleep, the ceiling above him a dark canvas before dawn. The sobbing he hears is familiar, bitter as autumn smoke. Is it Emily again?

The past weeks have left him split, the citys old mistakes pressing down. Six months after his last run-in with the law, his exwife vanished, erasing herself from his life. His plan is simple: disappear to an old friends cottage, start fresh. Then this girl appears, like a stray kitten at his doorstep, stirring a reluctant protectiveness. He knows any attention to a strangers child could be twisted against him.

A timid knock comes at his door.

Uncle Ian, I know youre leaving. I saw your suitcase. Take me with you. I need to see my father. Heres the address. She slides a crumpled sheet across the floor. Ian whistles softly, feeling his meticulously laid plans crumble under her gaze.

I cant stay. Toms turned feral, and Mum she only shows up when the kettles on and the flat needs cleaning. Drive me to the station, then Im on my own! she pleads, voice trembling.

Emily, are you sane? What if they blame me for kidnapping you? he protests, but her huge, watery eyes melt his resistance. Fine, I wont abandon you. Does your father know youre coming?

She nods hastily, turning toward the window. A lie hangs heavy between them, unspoken but palpable. She must find him, no matter what.

Thank you, Uncle Ian! she exclaims, hope cracking in her voice.

Call your father, let him know, he says wearily, already knowing the call will never happen.

In the cramped train carriage, the smell of boiled potatoes and sausage mixes with dust, while outside a twilight sky drifts over snowcovered fields. Emily feels warmth and a strange calm; her heart thuds with the thought of finally seeing him. Who will he be? Will he be kind?

Ian, unable to leave her alone, buys a ticket to the town where her father supposedly lives, planning to drop her off and head back. While she sleeps, a crumpled note slips from a shelf and lands on the floor. Ian picks it up, reads:

Dear Claire, happy birthday. Im sorry things turned out so foolishly. Kiss my daughter for me. Love, Dad. He folds it carefully and, when Emily awakens, hands it to her.

Sorry, didnt mean to read it. Is it from him? he asks.

She nods silently.

Tell me honestly, did you call him? Is he waiting?

She lowers her head. No. I only have the address. Ive never seen him.

Ian exhales sharply. God, Im a fool! Are you sure he still lives there?

No Mum said he might have moved. But I feel hed protect me! she whispers, faith trembling.

Ian shakes his head, watching her tuck the paper away. A sudden thought pierces him: if his life had taken a different turn, perhaps hed have a family now. Maybe his daughter would be like Emily.

They reach the town, spend a day searching. The address leads to an apartment occupied by strangers. A neighbour, having overheard their conversation, feels sorry for the girl and, rummaging through a notebook, finds a clue a village where Ians friend Igor supposedly went for inspiration.

They board a rattling bus to the remote village. An elderly woman, as dry as last years grass, meets them at her dilapidated doorway, suspicious.

No money, Im not giving any! Im fed up with you city folk! she snaps.

Were not after money, Emily says quietly. I Im your granddaughter.

The woman blinks, then lets them in. She feeds them stew and, with a sigh, talks about her son talented yet lost, forever chasing a phantom happiness.

Grandma, where is he now? Emily asks, unable to hold back.

The address was there, but I dont know if its still valid she replies.

Ian leans in, whispering, Why do you want a father youve never met?

Uncle Ian, I feel everything will be alright, Emily answers, her belief steady and naïve.

The new lead takes them to a bland sixstorey block on the outskirts. The clock reads half past five as they reach the right floor. After a long knock, a croaky voice calls out, Whos at the door?

A gaunt man with a rumpled face opens it, smelling of cheap whisky and stale air.

Are you Igor Clarke? Ian asks.

Yes. Interview? We didnt arrange that

Were here on personal business. May we come in? Ian steps forward.

The flat is dim and messy. Igor pushes aside empty cans and gestures to a chair.

Do you know Claire? Emily asks, legs wobbling.

Claire Savchenko? The chef? We met a few times. She said she was pregnant, I wasnt ready, so we split. Not sure who the childs father was He pauses, eyes narrowing at Emily.

And why am I here?

Im your daughter. Daughter of that Claire.

He freezes, a look of disgust crossing his face.

What do you want?

The world collapses in an instant. Emily bolts, running out of the flat without thinking. Ian catches her on the street; she sobs, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

I dont want to live, Uncle Ian! Nobody wants me! I found him and lost him again! she cries.

Hold on, Emily! Dont say that. Life is like a pendulum it swings one way, then the other. Youre still young, you have a whole future ahead. Fate doesnt cheat brave souls. Happiness and love will find you, Ian comforts her.

Please call Mum, she hiccups, head bowed, as if Mum might be back home, on the brink of madness.

Claire arrives on the first available flight. In the airport, she grabs her daughter, holding her tightly, eyes red from sleepless nights. In her arms, the whole universe seems to fit.

Darling, why didnt you call? I was losing my mind! The police were about to, she says, glancing at Ian standing a short distance away.

He he didnt bother you? she asks.

No, Mum. Hes a kind soul, better than my father. Thats why you should have married him, Claire replies, exhaling.

The plane climbs, the setting sun bathing the cabin in amber. Below, Ian watches from the ground, his own path now leading toward work, a new honest life. He promises to keep in touch.

Well get him to the clinic you mentioned. Hes at Aunt Lindas now. Hell never hurt you again. Im sorry I didnt notice, Claires voice trembles.

Itll be fine, Mum. Well get through this. The important thing is were together, Emily whispers, looking out at the clouds drifting below.

Months later, a letter arrives. The envelope is rough, the handwriting shaky yet firm. Emily imagines the writers face lined, eyes perpetually sad yet understanding. He writes that he has a job, a roof over his head, and that happiness doesnt require much. She reads the letter again, presses it to her chest, and walks to the window. Outside, the first autumn leaves swirl, but inside she feels light and calm. The road home has been longer than she imagined, but she finally finds the quiet harbour she always needed. She sits at her desk and begins to write a reply.