April Fool

It’s seventeen years since my brother died. Seventeen years to the day. As children we would holiday in Dorset for a week during the school summer break. It was wonderful there. Mum, Dad, me and little Charley. We would pack our own small travelling bags with toys, books and sweets for the journey. It would take what seemed like forever. Dad would drive and we would reluctantly listen to my mum’s 60’s love songs all the way. When we got there we would fight to get into the chalet first. Find the twin room and dump all of our stuff on the best bed to claim it. Charley was quite a bit smaller than me so I always won. We would all get changed as quick as we could and go for a swim with Dad whilst Mum finished unpacking and made herself a cup of tea. It was always sunny and we would always want to go down to Beggar’s Point where Dad would blow up the inflatable dingy and Charley and I would row around in the large pools of water that the sea left when it had gone out. You see we were always around water, always swimming and splashing around. We were all strong swimmers. That’s why I didn’t believe him. That’s why when he began to scream and splash around in the pool that I thought he was just messing around. I thought it was all an April Fool’s joke. When Dad noticed something was wrong, it was too late.

I was only eight, and little Charley, well he was only five. Every year whenever I hear those words said in jest as people play petty mindless little jokes on each other, I can’t help but think of my little brother. I miss little Charley.


300 words