Nice car," said Nick's brother Ed, as they put the bags in the boot at the airport. Nick looked up at him, wondering if Ed meant anything more than this, and then decided that he did not. He would have to try not to be so touchy. They had not seen each other for nearly two years and his brother was simply making an effort. After all, it was a nice car, a black four-wheel drive Toyota, but hardly ostentatious. It was the first substantial thing Nick had bought when he and Beth had moved to the US eighteen months before, and he could not pretend he did not enjoy sitting up high behind the wheel, driving the wide sunny streets on the way to work every day.
"Big," said his brother.
"Well," said Nick, starting the engine, "we have the baby now. And anyway, everything's big out here, you'll see." He pinched his belly and grinned at Rosie, Ed's wife, sitting in the back. "Even me."
"You look well," she said.
"I'm a fat American, you mean."
They had never been close, but Nick was grateful that Ed and Rosie had made the effort to come to his wedding, especially as it had not been an easy journey. For the last year they had been working on some kind of hospital ship run by a Christian organisation that they were involved with. The ship went up and down the coast of Africa, giving out treatment and supplies in war-torn or impoverished countries. Nick wasn't sure about the details. He knew that his brother and Rosie had been given some basic medical training before they left England, but privately he wondered what on earth use Ed—who had a degree in history—might be in this situation. Once every few months, Nick would receive a card postmarked from Liberia, the Congo or Angola with a brief message saying "both well," "Africa extraordinary" or mentioning a particular country's "terrible problems." It was always the same card, a picture of The Angel of Hope, a decrepit-looking ship that Nick was certain he would not be tempted to put to sea in. Ed and Rosie had only finished on the boat the previous week, and to get to the wedding in time they had flown from Ivory Coast to Paris and then to London, before catching the plane to Denver.
It was a source of wonder to Nick that he and Ed shared the same parents and had grown up in the same household with only three years between them. Although their parents had been regular churchgoers, they had never tried to force their faith on their sons. With Nick it hadn't stuck, and by his teens he retained only the woolliest notion of a divine order. But while he experimented with drugs and girls and politics, his brother spent his university years attending the chaplaincy and organising events for the Christian Union. Nick had assumed this was just a phase, a hangover of adolescent self-consciousness or eccentricity that Ed would grow out of the same way he had grown out of sucking his thumb.
It didn't happen, and as time went on Nick began to regard his brother as something of an embarrassment. He told stories of his brother's piety—never swearing, giving away his Christmas presents to a charity shop, spending his summer holidays building an orphanage in Bangladesh—and as they lay on a beach in Thailand or thought about buying cocaine, it became customary among Nick's friends to ask, "But what would St Edward say?"
As soon as they had finished university, Ed and Rosie got married and began living and working in a homeless shelter in east London. This led, in time, to the boat. When Nick thought of Ed these days, he often had a vision of him as a dour Victorian missionary, buttoned up in a stiff jacket and collar, striding through slums in searing African heat, clutching his Bible. But Nick also knew that the mockery of his brother hid some other feeling, an unease he had felt in Ed's company for as long as he could remember, the sense that despite everything—his professional success, his new baby, his upcoming wedding—he himself was fickle, trivial, somehow fundamentally lacking in seriousness. When he had told Ed over the phone that he and Beth had both been offered jobs in Denver, Beth's home town, adding that the money was too good to refuse, he had been almost annoyed when his brother said that it sounded like a good opportunity and wished him luck.
***
That night, Ed, Rosie, Nick and Beth went over to Beth's parents for dinner. Her family had flown in from around the country and her mother had cooked an enormous joint of beef. Nick sat talking to Beth's father, Bill, a retired lawyer with whom he got on so well that Beth sometimes joked about which member of her family he was really interested in. Nick was at the other end of the table from his brother, but about half an hour into the meal he heard Ed say, apparently in response to something he had been asked, "…the real problem is the lack of basic medicines. Most of these things are completely treatable. But as it is, you see small children with tumours like this." Nick looked over at him. Ed had put down his knife and fork and was holding up his hand, making a ring with his thumb and forefinger, almost as if he had the bloodied and malignant lump there in front of him. "They try and cut them out, but they don't have the equipment. The hygiene is so poor that more often than not they die anyway. And that's only the beginning—glaucoma, dysentery, Aids of course. . ."
Ed had been engaged in conversation from across the table by Beth's brother-in-law, Karl, a surveyor from Phoenix who bred bulldogs and who had taken Nick to his first baseball game. Nick looked around the table. Other conversation had died away and everyone was listening to Ed. Nick leaned forward, intrigued to see that his brother had become such an expert. He had begun to ask a question when Beth's mother cut in, smiling. "Perhaps this is a discussion we could save for after dinner."
"Anyway, I admire you," said Karl, "people like you. We don't all get our hands dirty."
"We don't really see it that way," said Ed.
"No, of course not. Just a turn of phrase. Are you going back?"
"No," said Ed, "not for now."
"Job done?" Nick said, and then wished he had not. His brother gave no sign of having heard him.
"The project's in financial difficulty," Ed said. Karl nodded and, after a pause, changed the subject.
"So, what do you think about your kid brother getting married?"
"Oh no," said Ed, "I'm younger."
"But you beat him to it?"
"One of the many things I've done to annoy him."
Karl laughed and Beth's mother offered everyone more food. Talk turned to a ski condo in Vail that Nick, Karl and Bill were planning to go in on three ways. The idea was that it would be a place the whole family could use at the weekends and for holidays. Karl said that apart from anything else, property up there was a goldmine and it would be a guaranteed investment for everyone.
Neither his brother nor Rosie had really touched their food and it occurred to Nick how much weight they had lost since he had last seen them. Rosie had been almost plump at their wedding. Ed, especially, looked gaunt, his eyes large and dark in his face. It all added to his natural air of severity, and perhaps this is what it was, a gradual perfecting of an ascetic look he had been working on for years. Perhaps food and good health had become the latest form of self-denial. Or was it, Nick wondered, all out of some bizarre solidarity with the starving millions? Despite their deeply browned skin, he decided, they both looked faintly sick.
***
When their parents were killed in a car crash five years before, Nick received a letter from his brother full of religious homilies about death and grief and reassuring him that they had gone to a better place. Ed said that God loved us without reservation and that He had a plan for all of us. At the end he had signed off, "Yours in Christ, Ed."
It bothered Nick that Ed thought it necessary to put all this in a letter, rather than saying it over the phone or in person. At the time they were both living in London and seeing each other almost every day to deal with the aftermath of the accident. It struck Nick as fantastically conceited of his brother to believe that what he had to say on the subject was worthy of being written down. Ed, he felt, was trying out a pose, that he had been waiting all along for an event awful enough to match his piety. There seemed to be another implication to the letter too—now that life had revealed itself in all its profundity and suffering, he felt his brother to be saying, shouldn't Nick cast off the pretence of an unbeliever and accept what he in fact knew to be true?
He wanted to tell his brother that he found him ridiculous. For a few minutes after receiving the letter he considered sending Ed a postcard that just said "Which better place?" or "Better how?", but in the end he could not bring himself to do it. Instead, it was never mentioned by either of them—conspicuously so, it seemed to Nick—and, looking back, he sometimes felt that this was a victory for his brother.
But following their parents' death, it was Ed who held things together. It was Ed who knew what needed doing and, he had to admit, what their parents would have wanted. Ed wrote to family and friends. He organised the funeral and gave a reading while Nick could only nod and mumble at the aged aunts he remembered vaguely from his childhood. Afterwards, Nick made desultory efforts to take charge, feeling that as the eldest, these things were somehow his responsibility, but he found much of it intolerable and in the end consoled himself with the fact that his brother, who was working as a volunteer, had more time. In the following six months, Ed arranged the clearout and sale of their parents' house, and dealt with the execution of the will.
In the period that followed, Nick felt as if a weight had been lifted from him, some kind of burden of expectation or judgement that he had not known had existed. About a year later he met Beth, an American working in his company, and soon afterwards they had begun to talk about leaving London.
***
Nick had hoped that his brother would not wish to come on the bachelor night two days before the wedding, but when Ed made no sign of opting out, Nick took him aside. "This might not be your thing," he said. "I won't be offended if you want to pass on it."
"Nice try," said Ed. "But I think I can handle it."
Karl had organised for a stretch limo to pick them all up from Nick's house, drive them around town long enough to drink a couple of bottles of champagne and then drop them at a bar. Nick felt sorry for his brother. The rest of the party were in jeans and shirts, but Ed had worn a suit. It looked old and was rather too large for him, and Nick wondered if it had belonged to their father.
When the limousine pulled up outside the bar, Karl asked for quiet. "Men," he said, adopting a sombre tone and looking from face to face, "listen up. This is serious stuff. Two days from now, one more of us gives up his freedom and is lost to the enemy. It is our duty—our privilege!—to make sure that he has one last bite of the apple. So that when he stands up there by the altar he's not thinking about that one last piece of pussy he should have had."
Nick grinned and rolled his eyes at his brother, but Ed was staring up at the roof of the car, one hand tugging gently at the sleeve of his suit. His face was set with a serene expression—irritatingly serene, thought Nick.
In the bar they did shots of tequila. Karl bought round after round, and after each slug everyone was encouraged to slam a fist on the bar and exclaim, "I said goddamn!" After an hour or so they climbed back into the limousine and drove a hundred yards down the street to another bar where they did the same. Nick hardly spoke to his brother. Ed was standing on the edge of the group, declining his shots but not, Nick thought, looking like he was having an altogether terrible time.
After one more bar, Karl announced that it was time to commence the real business of the evening and the limousine dropped them at a strip club. Karl paid for them all to get in, bought two bottles of champagne and a round of sambucas at the bar and then produced several small rolls of five-dollar bills fixed in rubber bands that he handed out. Nick watched his brother raise his hands in refusal but Karl tucked the money into the pocket of Ed's suit, as if he were a mafioso dispensing bribes. "My gift to you all," he said. "Please, it makes me happy."
Girls in G-strings were dancing on small stages set around the club. Nick went and sat down at one of them. He wasn't thinking about the girls. For some reason he had been reminded of something his brother had said to him several years ago, at the time of his own wedding, about how he and Rosie planned to raise their children in the third world. Nick had laughed and said "Good luck to you," but occasionally since then, and more often since his daughter Katie had been born, the idiocy and self-righteousness of Ed's remark would fill him with a kind of fury. If he found the right moment and the right mood, he would ask if this was still on the agenda.
Nick looked around. Karl was wandering from stage to stage. He would stop and stare for a minute at a girl and then walk on unsatisfied, the roll of notes gripped in his fist and held out slightly in front of him. Nick spotted Ed standing on his own at the bar, holding a drink. He looked so out of place, with his fixed expression and baggy suit, that Nick wouldn't have been surprised if one of the bouncers had asked him to leave. He wondered why Ed had insisted on coming. As it was, his presence threw the whole place into a seedy, pitiful light. This was the effect his brother had on everything, Nick thought.
Ed came over to the stage where Nick was sitting.
"I'm sorry—" said Ed.
"Sorry?" Nick cut in. "Don't be sorry. What's to be sorry for?" He grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him down into the chair next to him, more roughly than he had intended.
"You know this is all bullshit." Nick gestured at the stage and the club beyond. "It's just playing. I don't even like champagne. All bullshit." He was still holding his brother's arm. "While I've got you—"
"I'm going," said Ed. He was holding out the roll of notes that Karl had given him. "Can you give this back?" Nick took the roll from his brother and laid it on the stage in front of Ed. A girl spotted the money and began to walk over. Ed reached for the notes but Nick gripped his wrist. Now Nick was holding his brother by both arms.
"Don't," Nick said. "It's not polite."
The girl leaned forward and placed her hands on Ed's shoulders. Nick let go of his brother, stood up and walked to the toilets. On the way back he went to the bar, and by the time he returned Ed had gone.
***
For the first time since Ed had arrived, Nick did not feel anxious about his brother. Occasionally he glanced around and saw him, often in the thick of a group of people, Beth's elderly relatives or friends of her parents, people Nick himself barely knew or recognised. Ed played easily with the younger children too, and it occurred to Nick that, against the odds, his brother was proving a credit to him. Several times Nick spotted him in earnest conversation with Karl.
After the meal, Bill got up and spoke. He welcomed Nick into the family and said he couldn't be happier in Beth's choice of husband. Then he introduced Ed, saying that although he was not a scheduled speaker, he had asked to say a few words. For a moment, as his brother stood up, Nick's heart sank.
"Since we arrived here," said Ed, "my brother and I haven't had much time to talk. So I wanted to take this opportunity to say how glad Rosie and I are to be here and that this is happening. We don't know Beth well but if she is prepared to put up with my brother then she must be something special. I am certain our parents would have approved."
He paused and took a sip of water. "Anyway, I know the real point of these speeches is to assassinate the character of the groom, and as the person who has known him the longest I take that responsibility seriously." Ed went on to tell a story Nick had all but forgotten of how, when they were children, Nick offered his brother ten pence if he would stand naked in a window at the top of their house for twenty seconds, while the other children in the neighbourhood played in the street below. Ed hammed the story up, making everyone laugh. Nick felt he had underestimated his brother—perhaps he had always been guilty of underestimating him. Ed explained how, as he stood in the window, Nick had adjusted his seven-year-old brother's arms and legs so that he was fully spreadeagled, and then counted to twenty so slowly that Ed had begun to cry.
It was odd to hear his brother tell this story so vividly. Nick had not been in the habit of thinking of his past, and there now seemed so little to connect himself with the person Ed was describing. Beth loved to talk about her childhood, growing up in Colorado in the 1970s, her large family and the summer holidays spent with her grandparents on the west coast. Now that they were living in Denver it was as if her past had come to stand for them both, and he sometimes felt a nostalgia for her memories that was entirely absent from his own.
"So two things," said Ed as he came to the end of the story. "Firstly, I want to say to Beth that this was all a long time ago and I'm sure that she has nothing to worry about, and secondly to ask"—here he turned to Nick—"can I have my money now?"
***
In the days after the wedding, Nick left Ed and Rosie to their own devices. He lent them his car and they drove down to Colorado Springs to visit someone they had worked with on The Angel of Hope. The day before their flight back to London, Karl took them up into the Rockies. They wanted to see the mountains, and Karl needed to take a final look at the condo he was buying with Nick and Bill in Vail and run over a few details with the real estate agent. They left early in the morning, and Nick was in bed by the time they came back.
The following day, Nick loaded Ed and Rosie's bags into the car and they set off for the airport. Nick switched on the radio, flicked between stations and then turned it off. He could not think what to say to his brother. There seemed something final about the moment, as if an obligation had been fulfilled and now neither of them needed to have anything to do with the other. With their parents dead, they no longer even had family in common. They drove in silence until they reached the freeway.
"So you haven't said much about the mountains," said Nick. "How was it up there yesterday?"
"It was beautiful," said Rosie. "So peaceful."
"Great time of year to be up there," said Nick. "Any time is a good time, in fact."
They were silent again for several minutes.
"Did you see the place?" said Nick.
Ed made a sound, either a sigh or a drawing in of breath. Nick looked over at him. Ed put his finger on the button to open the window.
"Yes, we saw it."
"And what did you think?"
"I should tell you that Karl is making a donation to our appeal for the boat," said Ed.
Nick looked at the road ahead and then began to nod slowly.
"I see." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I see, I see. And I'm guessing that after this donation there isn't enough left over for the condo."
"I believe so," said Ed. "Karl feels bad about it."
"Does he? Shouldn't he feel good about it? Wouldn't that be the point?"
Ed didn't reply.
"Do you feel good about it?" Nick said.
Ed turned to look at his brother.
"God loves you, you know. You don't think so, but He does. He loves all of us, regardless."
"Regardless of what?"
"Regardless of anything."
"Well thanks, I"ll bear that in mind," said Nick. "But what I'm really interested in is what kind of money are we talking here?"
"It's not for me to say. Enough to help us carry on with our work."
"Spreading His word?"
"Yes, that's part of it."
"I'm a bit confused," said Nick. "So which is the most important part? Helping the needy or bringing them to God?"
"It's part of the same thing. Many do convert, if that's what you want to know. I'm sorry you resent me, Nick."
"Oh Christ, don't be a jerk." Nick slammed the palm of his hand on the top of the steering wheel and the car veered left. His mind was racing. He wasn't sure what was the most important thing to say. "You're cynical, Ed. You think you're not but you are. You're really cynical. You don't know these people. They're nothing to do with you. You've no right."
"I'm sorry you can't have your condominium."
"It's not about the fucking condo."
"Can you slow down please?" said Rosie. Nick looked at the dial and then braked. They were nearly at the airport.
"Sorry," Nick said.
No one spoke. Then Ed said, "Can I ask you something, Nick?"
"Sure, anything you like. Be my guest."
"Do you miss our parents?"
Nick hesitated. If he was honest, he thought of them less and less, but he did not know how else you were supposed to be. "Look, Ed. I'm healthy and my family are healthy. I live in a nice house. I just got married and I sleep well at night. Which part of it do you want me to feel guilty about?"
They were at the airport. Nick parked the car.
"Well," said Ed, "come and visit."
"Where?" said Nick.
Ed shrugged. "We'll see."
"Thanks, Nick," said Rosie. "It was a lovely wedding."
When they had gone, Nick drove the car round to where he could watch the planes taking off. As his brother had been speaking at the wedding, Nick had remembered a game they had invented together as children. They called it "Having Trouble Breathing." One of them would lie on a bed with a pillow on his face while the other sat on top of it. The challenge was to lie there as long as possible before crying out, "Having Trouble Breathing." Nick remembered the woozy feeling that would come over him and the thrill of not giving in too soon. On one occasion, Nick had lain there not moving after Ed had got off, staying dead still while his brother began to scream and shake him.
Nick sat and watched the planes until he decided on one that might have been his brother's. He watched it climb into the sky and disappear. Then he started the car and drove home.
