Rag Doll Ch 05

First and foremost, my thanks go to Bonnie Hurd for poking, prodding and prying at this story to help me make it intelligible, so many, many thanks, Princess, and to OldKing Clancy for sanity checking at the 11th hour and introducing some logical and much needed changes!

This story follows on almost immediately after the events in Ch. 4, and draws together some of the loose ends from the original series.

A word of caution; it's a long one, for which I apologise, there isn't really any point in the narrative where I could draw a line and cut it into two halves to make two chapters, there is a lot of scene-setting and new character introduction going on, so please bear with me, the next part won't be anything like as long as this, I promise!

As before, please note this is my world, a reasonable copy of the real world, not a real-life situation in the real world, it's just a story, in a make-believe world, where these things get to happen.

There's no salutary lesson to be learned here, no priggish moralising (at least, I hope not!), no message, just hopefully an enjoyable read, so go ahead, dip a toe into my world and have a swim in the dark reaches and echoing spaces of my mind!

I do appreciate all comment, even the nasty, scary ones, and I'm saving the truly barking mad ones for publication one day, otherwise, if you have a comment or a point to make, please do be my guest, I'll try and accommodate, where possible, all suggestions, except the anatomically impossible ones...

Please do vote if you like it, or let me know if you don't!

beachbum1958

PS. This is a special mention for Leann, who always asked for "MAAWH", so read and enjoy, darlin'!

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My name is Robert Davies, and this is the story of how I learned to stop being an obnoxious prick and actually made someone happy at last.

*

I have one older brother, Nicky, but more about him later, and a younger brother, Richard, Rick, who's a year younger than me. We live in Carlisle, on the Scottish borders, in a great big, gloomy barn of a house my father had inherited from some relative or the other. When I was 17, Nicky did a bunk, I don't know where he went, for all I knew he dropped off the face of the earth, but that was just about when all our troubles began, the catalyst, as it were.

The day after he fucked off, his mother, Barbara went and hanged herself in the old Butler's Pantry, cue police, coroners, and all kinds of disruption while the rest of us tried to live our lives around it. At the time I thought it was the most inconsiderate thing I had ever heard of; why couldn't she go and do it in the public lavatory in town, or the ladies Restroom in McDonalds? Then at least we wouldn't have the Old Bill wandering through the house like they owned the place, something that particularly pissed-off my old man.

Yes, I know, I sounded like a heartless, self-involved prick just then. Well, back then, before so much changed for me, that's about all I was.

So Nicky was gone, and all was quiet for a few weeks, and then it all started to go pear-shaped; the Americans were trying to yank dad over there on what he said were trumped-up charges that he had violated one of their embargoes; this nonsense went on, and on, and on; dad spent a fortune on legal brains to clear this mess up, and when the last Extradition request was thrown out, as it should have been, we all breathed a sigh of relief; then the bloody Appeal Court got in on the act, allowed the appeal, and suddenly my dad is on a plane to stand trial in America, for doing business in Europe, with countries that had no connection to America; how did that happen?

Anyway, to cut a long story short, he was convicted of crimes against America, and sentenced to 40 years in jail with no hope of parole; basically, he was going to die in jail, they just extended the death sentence by 40 years. So now the witch-hunt started here, too.

All my dad's businesses, all his bank accounts, all his property, everything he owned, everything we owned was seized by the Serious Organised Crime Agency, leaving just this house; they even took the furniture, the TV's, and most of the crockery and silverware, because they claimed they were bought with the proceeds of crime; they'd be auctioned-off at some time in the future, but I didn't know where or when, and I didn't have the money to buy them back anyway.

I was 19, Richard was 18, and suddenly all we had was a mostly empty house, no money, and no furniture except a few battered pieces we found in the attics and basements. For various reasons we weren't entitled to any benefits; we had no income, but we owned an asset, a very valuable asset, apparently, so the only answer I got from the Benefits Agency when I asked for assistance was pretty straightforward; if you need money, sell your house; two teenage boys don't need to live in a six-bedroom mansion...

There was no way I was going to allow the house to be sold; it was my dad's and it was all we had, so I found a job with the City Council, mostly driving the mowing machines that cut the grass verges and public green spaces. It was long hours, at minimum wage, but I jumped at it; I wasn't actually trained to do anything, I'd always believed in my dad's money, and this was where it had brought us...

I should have followed Nick's example; he'd always wanted to be a mechanic, even though dad was dead against him being any kind of manual worker, but Nick persevered, and actually qualified, in spite of dad and his objections. Richard and I however, had no marketable skills, we'd always thought dad was going to hand his businesses to us one day, so here I was, driving the mowing machine, spending all day cutting grass verges, getting sprayed with grass clippings, dogshit, and all the other nasty debris inconsiderate slobs drop on the verges.

When the grass stopped growing as the year turned, they moved me to pushing a street sweeping machine, which was even worse; I had to buy my own masks, as the ones supplied were worse than useless, and again, the days were long, cold, smelly, and poorly paid.

Richard couldn't find a job for love nor money, so he used to spend his days either watching the small second-hand TV I'd bought or going through dad's papers, the stuff that had been returned as being 'of no evidential value', and seemed to have found something of interest in there; he tried to tell me about it, but I was usually too buggered after a long day being back-sprayed with filth from the street-sweeper to pay any real attention, or even care, so I guess after a while he gave up trying.

And then one day, just after his 19th birthday, he was gone. I had a tin under my bed with an emergency fund, almost £200, and that was gone as well. There was nothing I could do about it; he had no mobile phone, we couldn't afford them, and so I just had to accept that he was gone, and my bill-paying fund was gone with him.

So there I was; haunting an empty house, earning just enough to keep me off the breadline, but not enough to actually make a difference or make life any easier, with no friends, no-one to turn to, as dad, in his wisdom, had kept us apart from other kids when we were small, even down to having us home-schooled; at least Nick got to go to secondary school, and then college, his mother made sure of that, but she never lifted a finger for Rick and me; I guess her own son came first, no surprises there, from what dad had told us about her.

Funny thing is, I never really questioned how, if Nicky was older than us, and if Barbara was his mother, how did we come along? When did our mother come on the scene, and where did she go? Somehow, dad managed to always deflect that question when it arose, and Rick and I never really thought about it; if we had, then maybe things might have been so different...

My job sucked, but I stuck with it; millions of people had no job; at least I had daily employment and a payslip at the end of the week, and with Rick gone, there was enough money for the occasional treat. I remember the first time I bought a real pizza, from the Domino's in town, I was actually drooling by the time I got home, it had been so long since I'd had one; my occasional treat was the 'Saver' version from the local supermarket own-brand range, and the taste of the real thing was out of this world; I had to discipline myself to just eat a couple of slices and save some to last for the next few days; that week was bills week, so no treats until the following month. After putting aside enough to pay the gas bill, the electric bill, and the Council Tax, there was precious little for food, so I quickly had to learn how to eke out what food I could afford as best I could.

And so it went on; work, no real prospects, no friends or confidantes, loneliness and anger; at dad, for letting them railroad him and stripping us of everything, at Nick and his mother for abandoning us, at Rick for leaving me alone, and at myself for landing myself square in the poverty trap. I wanted out of here, I wanted my life back, I wanted my dad back, and I wanted to see that smug scumbag Nicky strapped to the railway lines for what I was sure he'd done; I'd come to believe that Nick had somehow set in motion everything that had happened since he left, and I wanted my hands around his neck so I could choke the life out of him for being what he was; the sly, spoiled little bastard who destroyed my life.

Rick had been gone for almost two years, and I'd become so used to being alone that I hardly ever even thought about him anymore, when that all changed. I came home from work on a cold and windy November evening, badly in need of a shower, as usual, to find the front door open; I was immediately on my guard; there was nothing here worth stealing, the Crime Agency had already stripped us of everything of any value, but there were always junkies who'd steal anything they could sell for a fix, and vagrants looking for a warm squat to doss in, so I quietly eased the door open and slipped inside.

I immediately smelled something cooking, something spicy, warm, inviting, and my stomach rumbled; it was late in the week, and my budget was stretched to breaking point, so I had baked beans on toast planned for dinner; this smelled a lot better. I heard voices, and realised it was Rick. Rick! After two years, what was he doing here, and what gave him the right to just waltz back in after taking all the money I had and doing a disappearing act?

I pushed the door open, and there he was, looking the same, reading something and talking over his shoulder to someone in the kitchen, someone female, by the sound of it, a voice with a distinct London accent; so, he'd waltzed back in here and brought his girlfriend too, had he? I'd soon put him straight about that! You leave, you're gone, it's as simple as that; sneaking-off like that had taken away any right he had to be here, as far as I was concerned.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded, watching in satisfaction as he jumped, spinning round, to smile at me, a big, wide, cheesy, 'Hi, howya doing!' kind of smile, but I wasn't having any of it; he'd stolen my money, what little I had, disappeared, and never so much a note in almost two years to say where he was, to say sorry, nothing.

"Bobby, God, it's good to see you!" he exclaimed, and I had to grin at the sheer barefaced gall he had to think I was going to welcome him back, just like that...

"Where the hell have you been, and who said you could come in here? This is my home now, you left, so get out, and take whoever the hell that is with you! Get out, both of you, before I throw you both out by the scruff of your necks!"

The girl in the kitchen had come to the doorway, and stood staring at me in what looked like fascination, no trace of fear or apprehension on her face, just interest. I glanced at her, and then took a second, longer look. Whatever my problem with him, I had to admit Rick had good taste; she was exquisite! Tall, slender, possibly late teens or early twenties, olive-skinned, with long, glossy, mahogany-red hair, startling green-hazel eyes, and full red lips that seemed naturally red, rather than through any cosmetic help. She was dressed in a tight Tee-shirt that outlined and emphasised her small, firm breasts rather well, and skinny jeans that she managed to fill most enticingly; she was completely stunning, and I found my gaze being drawn to her even as my anger at Rick bubbled up.

"What do you want here? You take all my money, you disappear for damn near two years, and then you just roll in here expecting a warm welcome? Get out, now, and take her with you!"

I turned away in disgust, weary, angry, hungry, and just too worn-out to say any more. I'd rehearsed this meeting in my mind many times, and all the biting things I'd wanted to say hovered below the surface of my mind, but I just couldn't say them; all I wanted was him gone, and his girlfriend with him.

"Bobby, we need to talk, all of us, now..." said Rick, and I turned to him, anger threatening to spill over into something physical; couldn't he understand plain English? Why would I want to stand here and bandy words with him; I thought I'd made myself perfectly clear.

"Get out Rick, I told you twice now, are you deaf? Go, before I hurt you!"

"And will you hurt your little sister too?" he asked me, and my head snapped around.

"What did you say?" I croaked, and he nodded slowly.

"Bobby, this is Yasmin, Yaz for short; she's our younger sister, and that's her big sister, our big sister, Shereen over there."

I looked around in a kind of daze, and there was another girl, almost the double of Yasmin, but even prettier, if that were possible. This girl had paler, creamier skin, and dove-grey eyes, but the same rich mahogany hair, and she was maybe a couple of years older than Yasmin, maybe my age, but the same height as Yasmin, a similar slender, willowy build, and a figure just as tight and alluring as her sister.

"Hi Bobby, I've heard a lot about you..." she smiled, and I sat down before I fell down.

"How...when...did...when...? I managed, and both girls grinned at me.

"Don't worry, Bobby, when Rick turned up at our doorstep, we had pretty much the same reaction." smiled Yasmin.

My head was spinning; these two gorgeous girls were my sisters? How? When did this all happen?

Shereen patted my knee.

"Go and have a shower and get changed, and we'll talk after dinner; hurry up, Bobby, dinner's almost ready."

I suddenly realised what I must look and smell like, and hurriedly excused myself, taking the stairs two at a time in my haste to get cleaned up and get back to that wonderful smelling food and those beautiful girls! I had a hot shower; I normally had cold showers, to minimise my use of gas; I needed that for when winter really began to bite, when I had no option but to heat the room I lived in, and having a hot shower was a luxury in my circumstances, but I thought the fact that I had company justified it, just this once.

Dinner was incredible; the girls were amazing cooks, and they'd put together a wonderful Madras chicken curry, tangy, hot, and spicy, fragrant basmati rice, sweet and fruity Peshwari naan breads stuffed with almond paste, coconut, sultanas and honey, and flavoured with cardamoms and other, more exotic spices, and a cool cucumber, sour cream and onion raita. For someone whose meals usually consisted of soup, and beans on toast, it was a banquet I never seriously thought I'd ever get to eat, and I pitched in happily. Conversation was limited as we ate, Rick and the girls watching me as I stuffed my face. I stopped when I saw them eyeing me, and Shereen reached out to put her hand on mine.

"Eat as much as you want, Bobby; we saw what's in the pantry. Poor you, I don't know how you survive on so little; I never knew things were so tough for you, none of us did, or we'd have been here sooner. You eat all you want, there's plenty for you, there always will be, I promise."

Her eyes were brimming with tears, and I bridled; who the hell was she to come in here and start pitying me? I'd managed okay so far, and I didn't need some stranger patronising me! That was my father talking, of course, and even as the resentment flared inside me, I realised how barren it was, how that kind of thinking had left me here to slowly dwindle away. I told you, I was an uptight prick, and never more so in that instant, when I hotly, foolishly, resented the simple act of another human being reaching out to me.

I looked away in embarrassment, knowing that she'd somehow read every mean and angry nuance of my reaction to her, the embarrassment growing to encompass the knowledge that they knew I was so hard-up I was reduced to living on baked beans on toast and tomato soup. Shereen put her hand on my chin and turned me to face her.

"Bobby, you're my brother, you're Rick's big brother, and I won't ever leave you hungry or cold; when Rick brought us here it broke our hearts to see how little you have and how you have to live, alone and with no-one to care about you. We won't let that happen again; that's a promise, okay? You'll never be alone again, cross my heart."

I was trying to take this all in; this girl, my...sister, was promising to take care of me, and all I could do was wonder why; I didn't know her, I had no connection to her, and I couldn't understand the deep connection she seemed to feel with me; was I so disconnected from people, so wrapped-up in my own struggle that I'd forgotten how to relate to others, how to be grateful? Had I ever really learned how to do that? With a rush of shame, I suddenly realised I'd never felt gratitude to another living soul, only an almost overpowering sense of entitlement. I'd never related to other people in any meaningful way because I knew I was better than them. Was that really the legacy my father had left me? To be a complete and total ass?

Rick leaned over and slapped me on the shoulder.

"Take it easy Bobby; it'll take a while to sink in, but it will, believe me, you just have to let it happen. It took me a while, but you're smarter than me, you should be able to figure it out in jig-time. Just take my word for it, it's worth it, honest. Now eat up, we have a lot to tell you, and you're not going to like any of it, but you have to hear it; then perhaps you'll understand better what and who we are, and why everything happened the way it did."

When we'd finished, Rick and Yasmin cleared the table while Shereen led me into the sitting room, and I have to be honest, I was captivated by the sight of her bouncy little bottom twinkling in her skinny jeans as she walked ahead of me. I only had the ratty old couch and a battered prolapsed armchair I'd salvaged from a house being demolished, so I motioned her to the couch and pulled the chair a little closer so we could have that talk Rick had mentioned.

Rick and Yasmin came in just then, and plumped down on the couch, Rick in the middle of those two beautiful, exotic-looking girls. Rick was definitely uncomfortable, but he obviously wanted to tell me whatever it was that was so important, so I waited patiently.

"Bobby, you're not going to like this; I didn't, it still tears me up inside, and there's so much of it, so here goes; first off, Bobby, about Nicky..."

I rolled my eyes; the last thing I wanted to know about was that spoiled little mummy's boy. Rick looked annoyed at my impatience.

"No, Bobby, you've got it wrong about Nicky; we were both wrong, no Bobby!" as I tried to interject, "Just be quiet and listen, for once, just listen, please!"

I was the verge of walking out, but something stopped me; perhaps it was the look on his face, or the note in his voice...

"Bobby," he began, "We were wrong about Nicky, so wrong, just listen to me; he didn't desert us, or leave us in the lurch; dad beat him half to death, and Barbara got him out of here to save his life!"