Free Pack Up the Moon by Anna McPartlin

pain who had as much control or lack of it as I had.
    It took me hours to pick the card. In the end I went for the plainest one I could find and inside I wrote two
    words: “Thank you.”
    I posted it before I lost confidence and then I walked
    away from the post office to meet my brother for lunch.
    I didn’t tell Noel about Jason. He was not himself. His eyes were circled, his brow furrowed. I tried to find out what was going on, but he fobbed me off with his standard-issue work excuse. I knew that there was more going on, but having faced one demon that day I wasn’t looking for another one. He picked at his food like a tubby gymnast hoping to lose a few pounds by merely
    playing with food as opposed to actually eating it.
    “Are you sick?” I’d asked early on.
    “No. I’m fine. Just tired,” he’d replied.
    “OK.” I smiled. If something were wrong he would have told me.
    “How’s Sean?” he asked.
    “Good,” I lied.
    The truth was, he wasn’t doing so well. He had become withdrawn, working too hard, and although his days of impersonating Shane McGowan were behind him, he was
     
    still relying on the crutch that is alcohol a little too much
    for my liking.
    “No, he’s not,” Noel said, while attempting to loosen his collar.
    “What do you mean?”
    “He came to see me last week. I think he needs counselling.”
    “You think everyone needs counselling.”
    My brother was like Oprah: he believed in communication. I don’t know why — he certainly didn’t learn that behavioural pattern at home. Noel went on to tell me that Sean had visited him at home. Father Rafferty had let him in and he had waited there watching Sky News and
    debating whether the world was nearing its end for an hour
    and a half, before Noel had made his entrance. They had retreated upstairs and Sean had admitted that he was
    depressed or at least he thought he was. He put this down to the fact that he couldn’t seem to enjoy anything: work, eating, sleeping, sex. I noticed that although Sean was comfortable mentioning sex, he hadn’t mentioned that he was drinking to excess. Noel told me about their little visit because he felt that I was the only one who could help.
     
    I wondered. I was useless. He disagreed.
    “He really cares about you. You need to talk to him.” I thought I already had.
     
    *
    I met Sean in the park, my idea — no alcohol. He looked better than he had in months although the light that once
    brightened his brown eyes was still nowhere to be found. We sat on a bench dedicated to an old man who had paid
     
    for the installation of the pond. I didn’t beat around the bush because, although it was summer, it was way too cold.
    “I want you to go and talk to someone.”
    “What?” He was laughing as though nothing was wrong.
    I wasn’t in the mood for messing. “You need to talk to someone. Better again you need to stop drowning your sorrows.”
    “No, I’m not!”
    I was in no mood. “Listen, Sean, you can say what you want, but we’re all worried. Clo, Anne, Richard — and you know Richard, he doesn’t notice anything — and Noel.”
    “You spoke to Noel:’ His tone was cool.
    Shit, I shouldn’t have included Noel.
    “No!” I said with mock horror, then added as innocently as I could, “Have you been speaking to him?” “I’m fine,” he said.
    “Piss off!”
    He looked at me with curiosity. “Piss A?” he repeated, intrigued.
    “Yeah. Piss off!” I said emphatically.
    He laughed.
    I didn’t find the situation so amusing. “Oh, that’s funny. Yeah, it’s all funny. You’re falling apart and it’s a real laugh:’
    He stopped laughing and moved to a defensive stance. “What the hell do you want from me?” he asked, but as soon as he made the query, it was obvious that he did not want my response. He was, however, going to hear it.
    “I want you to take your head out of your arse and I
    want you to face up to the fact that John is dead and there
     
    is nothing that