“Talk to him, Alice… Or maybe to her? Or perhaps just to yourself?”
“Alice, please… He’ll get himself killed out there!” Her mother’s voice trembled with tears.
“Mum, what makes you say that?”
“You know why! He’s still just a boy!” Julia nearly sobbed.
“He’s twenty-five. In a month. A boy…” Alice held back a sigh, lowering her voice so she wouldn’t yell into the phone. “Fine. I’ll call him.”
She hung up and bit her lip.
“Oliver, Oliver… That’s all anyone talks about. And me? I’m just background noise, an extra in someone else’s drama. Alice is grown, Alice is independent, Alice doesn’t cry—so she must not be hurting. No one asks how I am, what’s going on with me…”
“It started after Dad died,” Alice told her friend Emma, stirring her coffee.
“Grief, stress, heartache,” Emma nodded. “But it’s been two years…”
“Exactly! Yet she clings to Oliver like he’s her last lifeline. Her whole world revolves around him now. It’s like she erased herself.”
“And you?”
“Me?” Alice gave a bitter laugh. “I’m here, but I don’t count. She’s got this special bond with my brother. Fine, if it weren’t so unhealthy. He’s only two years younger, but she treats him like a baby—feeding him, fussing over him, reading his mind…”
“Maybe he looks like your dad?”
“They all did—Oliver, Dad’s old school photos. Must’ve skipped me.”
Alice was twenty-seven. Worked at a law firm, rented a one-bed flat in an old building near King’s Cross Station. Her love life? Stable, if uneventful. After a few rough relationships, she’d decided to focus on herself for a while.
Oliver was different. Sluggish, absent-minded, allergic to effort. Barely scraped through school, picked a degree with “no maths.” Dad had still been alive then—gave him a stern talk, and Oliver grudgingly settled on something.
Then Dad died. Suddenly, brutally. Mum shattered. Doctors, pills, prayers, her career nearly collapsing. And Oliver—her only comfort.
Her baby boy. Except he hadn’t been a child for years.
He got a job, barely contributed, but always came home for dinner before disappearing into his computer. Then, everything changed when Sophie came along.
At Christmas, Alice visited. Oliver was glued to his phone, grinning at messages. Muttering to himself. Love, she realized. And for once, she was happy for him.
Mum, though? Tense.
“You should see him!” Julia fretted when they were alone. “Used to sleep till noon, now he’s working like a dog. Weekends, late nights—all for Sophie. Saving for a ring, dinners, flowers… Suddenly he’s responsible!”
“Mum, isn’t that what you wanted? For him to grow up?” Alice was baffled.
“Not like this! Hiking, kayaking—reckless! What if something happens? I’ll be alone!”
“You can’t keep him in a bubble,” Alice sighed. “He’s living. That’s normal.”
Months passed. Alice was finishing lunch in a café when her phone lit up—*Mum*. She exhaled and answered.
“He didn’t come home last night! Stayed at hers. Warned me, but I hoped he’d change his mind—”
“Mum, he’s nearly twenty-five. It’s normal.”
“He’s my *child*! I didn’t sleep. Talk to him, please. He listens to you.”
Alice promised. But wondered—should she? Maybe not as his sister, but as one adult to another. Or maybe not at all—let him figure it out.
Then came new crises. Horseback riding.
“He’ll break his neck!” Mum wailed. “Why can’t Sophie do it alone?!”
Then a camping trip.
“He’ll freeze! Or get bitten by a tick! Alice, *talk to him*!”
“I’m not his sister anymore,” Alice groaned to Emma. “I’m a switchboard between them. Mum says—tell him. He says—tell her. I’m stuck in the middle!”
“Maybe he’ll move out soon?” Emma mused.
“I told him—marry her and leave. Far away. For his sake.”
Then, silence.
Mum stopped calling. No panics, no demands. Alice almost worried. She rang first.
“How are you, Mum?”
“Fine, love. Oliver and Sophie split. She… moved on. He’s heartbroken.”
“Ah.”
“He’s home again. Moping at his computer. At least he’s not drinking. And he’s safe here. Selfish, I know, but it’s a relief. He reminds me so much of your father… I still love him. Still cry every night.”
Three months later, Oliver called.
“Can I bring Natasha round? Want you to meet her.”
Alice laughed. “Sure.”
But inside, she thought: *Here we go again. Mum’s going to lose it. Cry, obsess, call me daily. And I’ve got my own boyfriend to introduce soon…*
Next month, she and James were planning a trip. Hiking. The thought of Mum finding out made her shudder.
*Then she’ll panic over me. What if I fall? Freeze in a tent? What if I have a kid, and she latches onto them instead?*
Alice sat on her bed, whispering:
“God, why is this so hard?”
She punched her knee, then cried. Because she loved them too much—Mum, Oliver—and just wished they’d stop being so afraid. To love without losing themselves.
Maybe that was the answer. Not talking to him, or to her.
To herself. And finally giving herself permission to be happy.
