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It was very innocent I suppose, but I was not twelve anymore. He was still wearing his shirt and trowsers, but had removed his jacket, and his warmth against my body felt good as I kissed the back of his neck and rested my head against his shoulder blade. I am not sure how long we lay cuddled on the couch, but it was later into the night (or early morning) when I awoke again. TJ was not on the couch. After a cursory glance around, I spotted him in the kitchen drinking coffee he had gotten up and made for himself. Somewhere down in my limbic brain as I dozed, I thought I had a faint memory of him getting up and giving me a warm kiss on the cheek as he exited the couch… could have been dreaming though. Just then I heard a familiar voice coming from the kitchen, ‘Are we still alive?’ To which I rubbed my eyes, stretched, and answered to his use of the ‘royal we,’ ‘Yah, We’re still alive, thank you very much (yawn).’ I got up again and shuffled back into the kitchen and pulled up a. It was about the Merryfield Detention Centre and how they were working “to rehabilitate those that have a distorted view of recent changes in society”. By the end of it I wasn’t convinced that it was quite as benign a place as the BBC would have us believe. There were a few interviews with inmates but I had the impression right through that a warder was standing behind the camera staring at them to remind them that when the cameras went home they would still be there.I can remember party activists complaining about BBC bias in last year’s election. They seem to have got over it now.I also felt that I wasn’t keen on ending up there – which maybe was the objective. One thing is for sure, when / if I do decide to get out I want to be VERY confident that I make it clear out of the country.Monday April 25thI was clearing up at home this morning. Sally didn’t want me to come over to her place until the afternoon. The place was a tip, Jill had some of her friends from uni over last night..
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Yes, they had been questioned, but it had never seriously crossed any of our minds. To the best of our knowledge, the only person who even knew where we lived or even our phone number was Suzie, and she certainly wasn’t involved. However, there he was, standing in my kitchen, a look of sheer hatred on his face, and carrying a gigantic Bowie knife.“Hamilton?” I repeated. “What are you doing?”He stopped and sneered at me. “Nothing, now. You surprised me. Where’s the bitch and the brat? The car is outside.”Hearing him call Marilyn a bitch brought me back to reality. My brother was the one behind everything. He had been the one to vandalize and torch her car, he had been the one who tried to firebomb my home, he was the one trying to kill us. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this?”“It’s all your fault! You’re the reason we had to move out. You’re not supposed to be here! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!”“Hamilton, that’s crazy!” I was staying out of arm’s reach of my brother. He was still.

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