The Really Complicated Family Ch. 01

He swallowed,

"Yes?"

"I think you'll find it's all up there."

"But I'm not allowed up there."

"Tim, you're twenty one this year, of course you can go up there."

I could see the years of repression leaching out for release.

"Mum said..." he struggled, "She said Dad didn't..."

"Go up and look one day, by the look of the number of parcels you probably have the whole set."

"Look," he said, "Just how do you intend moving all of this gear of yours, you can't leave it in the hallway and front room all weekend you know."

"I don't intend to, I rented a van," I said.

"A van?"

"Yeah, you didn't think I was going to carry it all to London did you?"

"I didn't know you..."

"Tim," I said, "Come with me, I've got room at my flat, you can stay with me..."

"No!" he snapped, "what about mum?"

"Yeah, what about me?" said Mum walking out of Tim's room, "you trying to take him away from me are you, you slut."

"What did you call me?"

"You heard; I bet that's how you managed to get some bloke to drive you here, by sleeping with him no doubt. Ah well, like Father like daughter."

"What!"

"You heard you thieving bitch, your dad slept around that's why I kicked him out. There," she said, "now you know the truth, get your shitty furniture down my staircase. Tim, back in your room, leave this whore and her latest fuck to move it, unless she thinks she can shift it on her own." She flounced away.

Mum had forgotten that since I had moved six or seven times I knew very well how my dressing table came apart and I stripped it, carrying each piece downstairs and walking around the corner to my innocent looking van and loading them onto blankets. Both Mum and Tim were totally absent, I suppose it meant they wouldn't have to help me.

After a couple of hours I'd thrown the last of my stuff into black plastic sacks. At a few minutes after midnight I was lifting the floor board under my bed and pulling out an almost forgotten treasury. There were notes, a few pictures, toys, figures and a lock of my hair I'd cut with a promise to send it to Nanny Barnes. That all went into my hand bag. I was surprised to find three pairs of knickers in my drawer though. That was strange, after seeing them under Tim's pillow, I'd taken them all away with me. I didn't want to think too much about where they might have been.

I looked up at Tim's bedroom window and promised myself I'd be back for him one day. There was something really wrong there. I started the van and drove away from their house not realising I'd not see them for a few years.

There was a passing shot from her, and I was a bit scared when I saw blue flashing lights behind me and was pulled over by the police on the M1 as I headed south to begin my life again. The policeman asked to see my license and I showed him.

"Strange," he said, "we had a report that this van was being driven without a license and insurance."

"Tell Mrs Barnes or Ms Foster or whatever my Mum called herself that I passed my driving test seven months ago, and if she paid me some attention rather than my brother she might have remembered me telling her."

The officer chuckled, wished me well and got back in his car. I drove to the next service station and grabbed a hot drink and a snack and lay down on a mixed pile of soft toys, bin bags of clothes, a pile of sheets and blankets covered with my old quilt and slept my first sleep as a free woman.

The months passed, and my first class was great. Miss Barnes' first class had a great time, they were in their second year of lessons, and watching children suddenly find out about reading and writing and what a fantastic place the world could be was a delight and I felt honoured to be involved in it.

My personal life was OK, I went out with some mates from college, went on the pill, and I had some short term relationships, those days were pre-AIDS of course. I did enjoy sex, casual or not, and my when my trusty old 'non-doctor' vibrator finally stopped working I bravely to the nearest tube station and travelled into London and bought another one so my nights wouldn't be so boring.

I sat around on my long nights alone and thinking of about a long term relationship for which I seemed unable to maintain. Uncle Dan was always asking how my love life was and he met a few of my male friends, and in our quiet moments Trish would ask if it 'was all OK'. I'd smile and regale her with the latest break-up I'd been through. After many failed romances I finally found out from one retreating boyfriend who was by that stage a qualified therapist, that I was "hard to reach, needy, unforgiving and expected perfection from everyone but myself," which probably explained everything – Mum it seemed had finally had her revenge on me and Dad.

I told myself that I would wait my turn, someone would turn up no doubt. After a few years of no more than phone calls and letters I finally got a call from Tim; Mum had been taking ill, so I took the next day, a Friday, off and jumped in my XR2 and what had previously taken four or five hours now took me about three.

Mum was in her bed and her room, and looked awful. She'd had a stroke and the whole right side of her body had slipped down. She struggled to talk to me, and I just put a hand on hers to let her know not to strain herself. She whispered to me and I dropped my ear to her face.

"Look... after... your... brother..." she hissed and slumped back onto the bed.

She recovered extremely slowly but struggled to continue to look after Tim. So I visited once a month to make sure they were OK. Mum continually complained that I should move back but I had by now bought my own house in Surrey, was assistant headmaster at my primary and a lived in a bit of a social whirl.

She continued to badger me to 'look after Tim', and on my weekend visits I slept on the sofa; on my first visit I found that my room had now been turned into a vast model train layout, while his room, and the rest of the house in fact had been turned into a kind of art gallery to his own work. He had qualified with a degree in fine arts from Manchester Polytechnic, although once he had it, it seemed that he had no idea what he could do with it.

He tried to sell his work, he was good but not brilliant, and Mum told me the location of each of the nine works he'd sold professionally. He ended up working in the Polytechnic's central library, as Mum put it, waiting for his work to take off. In the meantime he'd carry on with his train set, painting something now again and latterly looking after our ever ageing and ailing Mum.

On the first Saturday morning I woke to a rattle of crockery in the kitchen, Tim was obviously up and about and I could see from the shadow under the still badly fitted kitchen door he was stood just the other side of it – something we'd both learned to do as teenagers when we reckoned Mum was listening to us talking. He was waiting for something, I was about to shout out my usual insult to him of 'Perv' but instead just rustled some clothing but stayed sitting. I stood, he must have counted to five and burst in, to find me folding my sleeping bag dressed in a T-shirt and track trousers I'd silently slipped on over my nightdress.

He looked disappointed but recovered quickly enough and handed me a mug of tea and plate of toast.

"I'm just about to take Mum some," he said, leaving the plate on an occasional table that formed part of my childhood like much of everything else in the place. I thanked him and sipped my tea.

I heard the hum of the stair lift an hour later and was impressed with how spritely she appeared since my last visit.

She came in the room with a small basket of laundry tucked under the arm not holding her walking stick.

"Do you have any washing that needs doing Elaine?" she said to me with a rare smile that looked almost genuine. I had my blouse, skirt, tights and knickers from the previous day, and they were laying across a small chair I had used as part bedside table. "Give those here," she said brightly, "that'll be enough to make up one load in the machine."

Not thinking anything worse I handed them over and she tucked the few pieces under her arm and walked off towards the kitchen and lean-to utility room with the washing machine and drier.

I helped Tim with some sorting out, even finding a few more possessions in the loft. When I asked him about his train set Mum had admitted that the set was there and while Dad had purchased bits of it she had added to it over the years herself. He hinted that he hadn't quite believed her as she didn't seem to recognise anything or know any of the names of the engines or track. Once he had gone up into the loft he took the labels and realised that they were all from Dad, Nanny and various Aunts and Uncles. Now set up in my old room, it was something to see – he had even painted a mural around the wall to look like scenery.

We had tea on Saturday night and it was quite sweet, something it had never been in my youth. Both Mum and Tim were chatty and nice, asking after my career, my school and my house. I showed them a few photos of my place, and once Mum had headed off up the chair lift, I asked Tim if he'd thought about getting a place.

He said that he didn't have my kind of income, and he and Mum were still paying rent after all these years.

"Tim," I said, "Uncle Dan has your share of Dad's money. Last time I looked there was the best of ninety thousand pounds in there."

"What?" he said incredulously; I didn't know if he was going to cry, get angry or cheer.

"Dad's wish was that once we were both old enough and mature enough to know what to do with it he should hand it over. I've bought my place of course, and I'm not a great expert financially, but I reckon you could probably by this place outright, get a car and have enough to redecorate. You could have a couple of holidays with the change."

"Oh," he said, with the look of a young man that has suddenly realised he can pretty much take the rest of his career off.

"Come south for a week Tim, come meet the rest of the family, have a holiday."

"Well," he said, "Mum wouldn't like it." He said.

"Bring Mum with you," I said, "she still has family down there don't forget." Indeed she had, I was a reasonably regular visitor to my Aunt Veronica or 'Ronnie', Mum's younger sister, who lived in Camden and was more than fifteen years younger in years but at least five hundred in outlook and temperament. She taught at the London School of Economics and Mum stayed in letter, Christmas and birthday card contact with her, talking to us at length about her achievements but forgetting to mention the other TWO women she lived with. When we were kids we had gone and stayed with Aunt Ronnie, but only once mind you!

Once back in London I made contact, and I was invited to visit her for Easter on my first term at Teacher training college. Their fantastic three storey town house was so cool and sophisticated for a girl that had been raised in the small enclosure of life in a northern city that Mum had allowed us. The happy, complicated, entangled trio was Ronnie, Debs and Vivienne.

Viv, the tallest, skinniest and most vivacious was openly gay; we went out for a drink on the evening of Good Friday and we all put some booze away and it became even more obvious, she drank pints of bitter in long glasses and smoked roll-ups, which for a small town girl with a mother like mine was tantamount to a tattoo across the forehead.

Aunt Ronnie was leaning against the bar and Viv was leaning against her.

"Go easy," said Ronnie conscious of my surprised look. Debs was stood next to me laughing at her girlfriends.

"Look Ron," slurred Viv her hands stroking up and down Ronnie's waist, and nuzzling her neck, "she looks surprised," she giggled, "but NOT," Viv squeaked "that upset about it."

She kissed Ronnie's cheek, then they both gave it up and kissed full on, tongues and everything. I think that while I thought myself a sophisticated student, seeing my Aunt swapping spit like a mad woman was a bit shocking!

Then there was Debs; short, curvy, sexy Scottish redhead – girlishly pretty with a slight tomboyishness at the edges. They all lectured either at the LSE or UCL, and still to this day I don't understand who does what to whom, where and with what and how often. Through lying awake quite a few time in the house I do know that pot was smoked, bedroom doors never closed, all three had very distinctively different giggles and gasps, and three sometimes isn't a crowd.

When we walked back to the house on that warm spring evening, slightly unsteadily, I heard Ronnie and Viv trying to whisper to each other, and I heard the words, "leave her alone Viv, she's not one of us...", "yeah but we could make her one!" They both collapsed in giggles and, stopping only at a chip shop, we eventually made it to our own beds. Whether two or three of them climbed into bed together I don't know but by the time I got up the next morning, Ronnie and Debs were sat in short T-shirt nightdresses at the huge communal kitchen table looking as bleary eyed as I felt.

"I hope we didn't embarrass you last night Darling," said Aunt Ronnie, "We're all a little set in our ways and a bit too wild sometimes."

"You didn't embarrass me at all Ron," I said smiling, but at once noticing Debs had tucked her left foot on her seat stretching her T-shirt with her thighs, thereby exposing her neatly trimmed puss to me in a 'not exposing it' kind of way that made it look almost accidental. As Ronnie walked across the kitchen to get me a mug and lifted the pot to pour tea, Debs leant back and gave me a long silent look that pretty much said, 'much as I want to be your friend and you're my friend/girlfriend/occasional lover's much loved niece, if you see anything you want, you can help yourself'.

At that time I was a bit scared but was a bit tempted, and in the occasional sexy dream I relived that moment and reached out and to touch that ginger bush as Debs flashed me her sexy beaming grin while I strummed through that wiry brush to the moistness beneath.

Seeing as I'm in confession mode anyway, it wasn't for another year and a mad drunken summer barbeque that I actually did. We ended up in the long grass behind a potting shed both tearing at the ridiculously short and revealing denim shorts and T-shirts we all wore at the time, which she told me later gave her the clue – straight girls don't wear sexy stuff to a 'dyke do'. I was extremely pissed but then if I hadn't been I'm not sure I would have done what I did.

We lay in the cool grass and snogged and it was very nice, different from the stubbly faced blokes and red chins I'd had before. Debs was very patient with me and stroked and strummed as we stripped each other, and I tried drunkenly to reciprocate. I was extremely tense and nervous, and with the bottles of wine and beer I had drunk ended with me pushing her from her hard won place between my legs to stagger on my knees through brambles to vomit copiously behind a large and blooming buddleia.

Naked, I slumped on the grass wiping my chin and crying in low sobs, rubbing my grazed knees. Debs put her arm around me, and hugged me,

"Don't worry sweetie," she said, "everyone throws up behind this tree, famous for it!"

I told her how embarrassed I was and that I had been... was keen to... to do whatever it was we were going to do... and...

She hugged me again and I felt her large naked boobs push against mine.

"Don't you worry honey," she grinned, "one night, when you are a feeling better, I'll make you feel EVEN better, trust me!"

She helped me back into my T-shirt and knickers and I staggered back to the house and the bathroom and eventually the spare room. Still mortified with embarrassment I only half hoped that Debs wouldn't come and join me.

The next morning, the scratches on my knees seemed to tell the kitchen where I'd been and who with. When Debs arrived, she rubbed my forehead and asked if I was OK. When Aunt Ron appeared she took one look at my knees, and turned to Viv and Debs,

"OK then," she sighed with a grin, "which one of you dragged my innocent young niece behind the potting shed?"

"Me Miss," said Debs, her head bowed, "but don't worry, it was only so she could throw up behind the butterfly tree."

"Really? Said Ron.

"Oh yes," said Deb's. She stood and turned slightly so her back was towards Ron. "why," She lifted her T-shirt to show the naked, shapely behind I had just started to get to know the night before, "was I naughty?"

"Hmm," said Ron, "well at least you're over twenty one Lainey," she said, using my old family nickname.

That evening, when I left to go back my flat, I did promise Debs' a re-match and that winter, with Auntie Ron and Viv at an LSE alumni fundraiser, Debs showed me what she had meant and what I had missed following my drunken fumblings. It was fantastic and I came more than any time before. In what must have been her grooming of me, Debs showed me what was possible between two reasonably supple women and I have never forgotten. Debs remains my only venture to the Isle of Lesbos, ventures to be exact, and I still haven't written off the part of my life, in fact my last visit was only eight months ago.

Tim said he would think about it, and we wished each other a good night and headed to our various beds. The next morning I awoke and thought I should return the favour of tea and toast in bed for my hosts. Mum was still sleepy and found out with a grin that she wore dentures and probably had done for many years.

My real shock was pushing the door to Tim's room which opened soundlessly. He lay on his bed, his duvet thrown to the side, naked. He had always been skinny but had the tiniest belly on him. But my real shock came when I saw his flaccid penis lying along his thigh. It was not thick but amazingly long, the next shock came when I noticed the knickers I had given up for the laundry the previous day half under his thigh and within inches of the end of his penis; they were dark and the large white stain across the back of them was unmistakable.

I managed not to drop his cup and plate of toast. In that second, those times when my knickers had gone missing and one pair had turned up under his pillow all made sense.

I backed out of his room and stopped, trying to work out how to deal with this. I just had this mental image of him masturbating into my pants for many years, and while I wanted to feel disgusted the image of his long penis took my mind off of that. I heard him stir slightly so stepped forward and tapped on his door.

"Hang on," he said, and I heard what must have been him trying to cover himself up, so I pushed the door open in the same kind of way he had to me the morning before. He had covered up his bottom half and just managed to push something underneath him – my come stained knickers I guessed.

He took his tea and toast gratefully and I headed next door into the bathroom for a shower. Under the heat and refreshing power of the shower I brightened up. With the memory of Ronnie, Viv and Debs fresh in my mind, and the new vision of Tim's long penis had my nipples hard as rocks and I could do nothing but strum across my clit until I trembled to a lovely orgasm, my first in months.

I switched off the power and stepped out hearing something move in the room next to the bathroom, Tim's, I guessed he was getting up. I wrapped the towel around me and left so Tim or Mum could make use of the room while I dried and dressed elsewhere.

Stepping outside in just my towel, I saw Tim in his light cotton pyjamas. I turned and smiled at him telling him the bathroom was all his.

Realising that the towel only just covered what it needed to I turned and stepped over my bag I had brought upstairs with me. Raising my right leg high I knew it would expose the white cheeks of my bottom, and I did. Stepping over my bag I turned quickly enough to see his huge erection tenting his light cotton pyjama trousers. Christ but it looked big; I had slept with half a dozen or so guys in the ten years I'd lived away from Mum and Tim and had never tried anything that size before and wondered if I could.