This is day 20 of @mydivathings's #365daysofwriting challenge. Every day she invites you to write a short story based on the image she chooses. Today's image (below) is a Photo by Will Swann on Unsplash

Find out more about the challenge (you can join anytime!) here @mydivathings/day-20-365-days-of-writing-challenge

This story is part four of a longer story. You can read this part as a standalone piece or you can read part one here: @felt.buzz/reunion-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-the-365daysofwriting-challenge and part two here: @felt.buzz/reunion-part-2-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-the-365daysofwriting-challenge and part three here: @felt.buzz/reunion-part-3-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-the-365daysofwriting-challenge

Reunion (part 4)

Mitch stares at his brother while he talks, sipping his fucking coffee with its fancy fucking name.

Why the fuck is he being so nice?

Is it really water under the bridge, and all that like he says, or does Al have another motive? For all his appearance of wealth and confidence, Al seems nervous. He’s talking too fucking much for a start.

Coke?

Al was never one to stray over that line. Pun intended. But fuck, ten years has probably taught both of them a few hard lessons. Although by the look of him, Al has had it pretty fucking easy.

He and Al have been distant for more than 30 years: way before Mamie’s funeral, way before Justin's too. Mitch takes a sip of his beer, half listening to his brother talk shite, and half listening to some ponce behind him talking about where he gets his fucking nails manicured.

He takes another sip of his beer. He really needs a cigarette. But it is still raining outside. Why the fuck did he arrange to meet with Al? What did he think was going to happen? Al was always a jumped up little twat. They were never close. Not really.

Not like Justin.

When he looks back on his life - and he has been spending a lot of fucking time doing that these last few weeks - there are lots of things that Mitch doesn’t like. But if he has to choose, if Mitch could change one thing about his life, just one fucking thing, it would be that night.

Justin had turned up at the squat one afternoon in August. Mitch had just got up. He had been up for most of the night, smoking shit, and chatting shit with Dean and Mark.

“How you doing?” Mitch had said, opening the door wide and giving his brother a hug. “How’s Mamie?”

“I’m bored,” Justin said, following Mitch into the small galley kitchen. The sink was piled high with dishes, and every surface had something dirty on it. “Mamie is out working, Al is on holiday with his new girlfriend, and all my friends have summer jobs, or their parents have taken them on holiday.”

“So, I’m the last resort, am I?” Mitch said, as he put the kettle under the tap. “You’re fucking bored, nothing to fucking do, so let’s go and see that waster of a brother of mine?”

“Yeah,” Justin said, watching Mitch pick up a cup and sniff it, before rinsing it under the tap. “Something like that.”

“If you’re bored, you can always do the washing up.”

Justin laughed.

“No, mate. You’re alright.”

“Yeah, no one is that fucking bored.”

Mitch had found two reasonably clean mugs, put a teabag in each and they waited for the kettle to boil.

“Mamie misses you,” Justin said suddenly

“Yeah, I bet,” Mitch said, pouring the water into the mugs. “Did she say so..? Nah, didn't think so.”

“Maybe not in so many words,” Justin said. “But I can tell. She’s sad. She misses having you around. We all do.”

“Misses having someone to blame for all the shit that goes wrong, more like,” Mitch said. “Not gonna find fault with Perfect Al, or little baby Justin, is she?”

“Fuck you, Mitch,” Justin said, laughing throwing a lame-arsed punch at Mitch’s arm.

They had talked more shit for a few hours, and then Justin said he should probably get back home, ‘cos Mamie would be home soon, and she’d be worried, and Mitch said he was just a big baby and needed to cut that umbilical cord one day. And Justin told Mitch to fuck off, and they had batted that shit to and fro for five minutes or so and then Mitch said, you wanna go to a rave, baby brother or are you too much of a fucking mummy’s boy, and Justin had said fuck you, are you serious, of course I fucking want to go to a rave. Where the fuck is it? and Mitch said, wait and see, brother. Wait and see.

It was ten, ten-thirty at night when they left the squat. Mitch made a few calls, from the payphone round the corner and with his backpack over his shoulder, they walked a mile or so, before Justin asked where they were going. ‘Cos, not being funny but he couldn’t hear no fucking rave music.

“Never take a shit in your own backyard, kid,” Mitch said. “Unless you’re really fucking desperate and willing to put up with the stink,” he stopped. “This’ll do.”

They were in a quiet residential street, stopped in front of a beat up Ford Escort. Mitch looked around him, and then pulled a broken coat hanger from his backpack. With Justin watching, open mouthed, Mitch had that baby unlocked and hot wired in under two minutes.

“Come on, baby bruv,” Mitch said. “Let’s go party.”

It was one of those strange August days, that had been hot and sunny, but had suddenly got very cold. A mist was beginning to form, and as they drove out into the country, it thickened into a fog.

Mitch had issued Justin with a map and instructions he'd got from the recorded message. Justin may well have been a straight A student, but he couldn't read a map for shit. Mitch had to pull over twice and take a look himself.

When they hit the bloke, walking his dog, they were doing fifty in a thirty zone. Mitch didn't see him, what with the fog and the arguing and the trying to read the map as he drove.

Mitch has forgotten a lot of stuff in the last 30 years, but he has never forgotten the sound of that impact.

Mitch slammed on the brakes. They both sat there, blood pumping through their ears, so loud it almost drowned out the frenzied barking of the dog.

“Fuck!” Justin said, he sounded like he was about to cry.

Mitch turned round in his seat. Through the white filter of the fog, he could just make out a crumpled figure on the road, the dog standing beside him, jumping slightly with every bark.

The lights of a window of a nearby house was illuminated. The occupants alerted by the noisy fucking dog, no doubt.

Mitch put the Escort into gear and pulled off, tires squealing.

“Fuck!” Justin said again. Mitch didn't look at him, but he knew by the sound of his voice that the kid was crying. Fuck, he felt tears welling up in his own fucking eyes.

“Nothing we can do, mate,” he said, eyes on the road. “If I’m caught, I'm fucked. I'm doing time.” He gestured at the backpack on the backseat. “A lot of fucking time. There's over a hundred fucking E's in there. We've got to dump this shit heap, burn it and get the fuck out of here.”

Mitch saw the lights of an approaching oncoming vehicle. Blue and red lights flashed past.

Fuck.

“Pull over,” Justin said, his voice firm now.

“You've got to keep your nerve, Justin. It'll be all right.”

“Just pull over, will you? You're right, if you're caught, you're fucked. You're eighteen. Already have a record.”

Mitch heard Justin take a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m fifteen, good student. Clean. I'll get a slap on the wrist. Pull the fuck over.”

“You don't know how to drive.”

“Says the man who just ran someone over. Pull over, take the pills and get the fuck out of here. I’ll find a field and burn the fucker and be home before you know it.”

Mitch considered the options. From behind, they heard the sound of sirens. More police? An ambulance? Fuck only knew.

Mitch pulled over, grabbed his bag from the he seat whilst Justin got out and took his place in the driving seat. Mitch reached into his pocket and pulled out his zippo. He handed it to his brother.

“You sure about this?” he said. “You know what you're doing?”

“Just get the fuck out of here,” Justin said, pulling the door closed.

The car’s tail lights were quickly swallowed by the fog. Mitch swung the backpack over his shoulder and got the fuck out of there.

....

You can read part 5 of the story here: @felt.buzz/reunion-part-5-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-the-365daysofwriting-challenge