The Stitchin

Copyright © 2023 Mark Lakeram The moral rights of the author have been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior permission, nor be otherwise circulated in any form. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues other than those clearly in the public domain are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, and to events or locales is entirely coincidental. ISBN: 978 0 9957929 5 1 To Stephen CONTENTS CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 CHAPTER 25 CHAPTER 26 CHAPTER 27 CHAPTER 28 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 31 CHAPTER 32 EPILOGUE CHAPTER 1 DAY 1 Samuel Yates jolted himself upright and rubbed his weary eyes. His heart was beating faster than normal. He started to think calming thoughts to bring his heart rate to a regular pace. Soon, he was calm, not because he had many peaceful memories, but because this was his daily ritual. He took a sip of water from the glass on the table next to the bed, then looked at the green-blue glow from the alarm clock next to it. The machine displayed 14:14. At least, I made it to a couple of hours past midnight tonight, he thought. For a moment, he considered setting the clock to display the correct time but didn’t. Instead, he threw his head back, pressed his skull into the pillow, shut his eyes and waited for sleep to take hold. As he lay there trying not to think, he realised what day it was. A wry smile crossed his face. Instantly, he tried to stop thinking about it, but actively trying to do so made it harder. One thing he had learnt was not to count the night away by staring at the clock every ten to twenty minutes. He knew from past experience that doing so just made sleep stay away longer. Some time later—he wasn’t aware how long it had been—he felt something near his feet. He realised that it was someone bouncing up and down at the foot of his bed. ‘Wake up, little brother. It’s your birthday.’ The sleep assailant was moving towards his head. ‘You can’t stay in bed all day.’ Sam groaned. ‘What time is it?’ ‘Your clock says two a.m.’ ‘That means two p.m. The twenty-four-hour clock setting needs to be adjusted.’ ‘You’ve missed breakfast and lunch.’ ‘Were you here for them? I only just heard you come in,’ Sam lied. The bed-bouncer looked sheepishly at his younger brother. ‘No; I got lucky.’ He winked, dived down on the bed and ruffled Sam’s hair. ‘I hope you had a shower afterwards.’ Sam grimaced playfully. ‘It was in a hotel room, so I definitely made sure I used all the amenities.’ ‘A hotel—sounds interesting. Go on then, tell me all about it.’ ‘Now that you’re seventeen, you must stop living vicariously through me and go out and do it for yourself. Actually, scrap that, just continue to be you. You have to be the brains of the family, so just continue studying; fun will come later. Why don’t you get up and get ready? I can give you your birthday present, and we can go out and get a late lunch—with our lunch talk being all the gory details of last night and the highlights, including her being northern, older and with no inhibitions whatsoever.’ ‘Yes, sir, Mitchell, sir.’ Sam noticed his brother very quickly glancing around the room. ‘I’m sorry; they aren’t around. You know that both Mum and Dad would have been very proud of you.’ ‘Thanks,’ he responded. I presume that’s what I’m meant to say and what Mitch wants to hear. ‘I’ll see you downstairs in a bit.’ ‘Hurry up. And don’t wear trackies; jeans and a loose T-shirt will do.’ Mitch placed his hand on Sam’s forehead and kissed it, jumped up and raced out of the room that used to belong to their parents. Twenty-four minutes later, Sam joined Mitch in the kitchen. On the counter, Sam saw a chocolate cake with one candle on it. ‘You shouldn’t have. I told you I don’t want any fuss, especially with all the crap that has been going on lately.’ ‘It’s for me,’ Mitch said, lighting the candle. ‘Blow it out and make a wish; that way, I won’t sing.’ ‘I thought you said it was for you.’ ‘Please, just humour me.’ Sam blew out the little flame. He briefly thought about his parents. Why bother? This year won’t be any different, it will just be like the rest. No wonder I am emotionally stunted. ‘I wished for world peace.’ ‘Don’t tell me or it won’t happen.’ ‘I don’t think that’s on course to happen anyway.’ ‘Okay, Mr Cynical. Just open this.’ Mitch handed him a wrapped present. ‘Don’t worry; it’s not at all fussy and cost me zero pounds.’ Sam resolved to try to stop coming across as a brat and to just appreciate the effort his brother had gone to. It should be easy to fake happiness—fate has made us both professional liars. He opened the gift, prepared to say it was the best thing ever, regardless. ‘You’re a twat.’ He couldn’t help but grin away. He looked up at Mitch, who had a grin on his face to match that of his brother. ‘I’m not giving this back.’ ‘That’s the point of a present...’ He stopped as Sam started to put on the leather jacket. ‘It’s yours to keep.’ ‘Thank you. I’ve wanted this ever since I