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Toy Story: Mister Spaceman

Interlude II: The Good Brother

"She's lying! Whatever she says, it's not true!"

The words hung over the dining room table like a foul odour. An exaggeration, maybe, but it wasn't as if the food itself was going to generate much of a smell – fish fingers from the fridge, peas from the freezer, and some cut up carrots, along with water. A simple meal for simple times. Or, as Hannah had realized, times where the purse strings weren't as free as they once were.

But that didn't matter. Vegetables? They were good for you. Fish fingers? She could live with them. But as she and her family sat down at the table, the food was the least of her concerns. Instead, sitting opposite her brother, she glared at him. Gripping her knife, and every so often, imagining using it, like in that film she'd seen once. The one where her brother had told her it was safe to open her eyes when it wasn't, and she'd had nightmares about being stabbed in the shower for a week.

She took a bite of a fish finger, still glaring at Sid. And he must have noticed, because looking back at her, he began eating his peas. Very, very slowly. Leaving his mouth open as he chewed. Sticking his tongue out, pea pieces caught up in his braces.

"Ew." Hannah looked up the table. "Mum, Sid's sticking his tongue out."

"No I'm not."

"Mum, he's talking with his mouth full!"

"Mum, get her off me, I'm just trying to eat my-"

Their mother slammed her fist down on the table, and both of the Phillips children shut up. And while the slam by itself was enough, Marjorie Phillips's words did the rest.

"Sid, Hannah, just eat your dinner. I just…don't have the time, right now."

Hannah gingerly ate one of her carrot pieces, as she watched her mother brush some hair behind her head, giving a nervous glance at her husband sitting opposite her. A fork in his left hand, a paper in his right, his beer belly slipping out from under his vest. It was summer, and even with the windows open, the air was hot, muggy, and oppressive. Sweat was accumulating under Hannah's pink butterfly t-shirt, and she could see the sweat stains under her father's vest as well.

Lachlan Phillips didn't talk much these days. Not since he'd been laid off from his construction job. That had been a month ago, and while Hannah and her brother were forbidden from reading at the table (not that that stopped Sid getting away with it half the time), her dad was allowed to read the paper, searching for work. Even though, when she'd found it left open a week ago, she'd seen the page left on horse racing. Maybe he was trying to get a job at the racetrack, but even so, she doubted it.

Maybe, Hannah wondered, he was lying about the whole jobs thing. Like Sid had lied to her mother about stealing her Janie doll, ripping off its head, and replacing it with a pterodactyl's. They'd both run down to the kitchen. They'd yelled, they'd screamed, and while Sid's voice had eclipsed hers, Hannah tried to make her case.

"He replaced Janie's head with a monster's!"

"She's lying!"

"Mum, he's always ruining my toys, why won't you listen?!"

Their flustered mother had looked down at both of her children, and had uttered words that, like Sid's after he'd shown his sister his handiwork, also hung over the table like an odour.

"I don't have time for this."

And that had ended it. Dinner was served at eight, dad had lumbered down, and Hannah knew that it was pointless to press things further.

Her mother never had time, Hannah reflected. Or if she did, she never used it in the right way. She had time to pick Sid up from summer camp, but not enough time to even go up to his room and find the evidence of what he'd done. She had time to make dinner, but not enough time to talk to dad. Right now, turning the newspaper pages, while taking a sip of beer – the one beverage on this table that wasn't water. Hannah watched his right arm as he lowered it. At the cigar-smoking skull tattoo, not too different from the skull on her brother's t-shirt.

Maybe skulls ran in the family, Hannah supposed. Maybe it was why sometimes, her mother reminded her of the walking dead. Why so many of her dolls met their end, their heads ripped off. Leaving skulls, somewhere.

"Any luck?" mum asked.

Hannah looked up the table, wincing. She knew how this would go.

"I mean, it doesn't need to be in construction, it just needs to be-"

"God's sake, would you lay off me?"

Hannah lowered her gaze, and focused them on her fish fingers. Here it comes.

"I mean, I'm busting my arse off day in and day out, and you serve up this pig shit? Fuck, let's have a little bloody context."

"I'm just saying-"

"Margie, just keep your fucking mouth shut." Her dad flicked the paper. "I'll be out of her earning the green before long, don't you fucking worry."

Her dad said that word a lot, Hannah reflected. It was a word that her mother told her and Sid to never say, whether it be at home, or at school, or in Sid's case, summer camp. Usually, when the word was said, the conversation ended.

"No, I am going to say it," said mum. "Half the time I find you sleeping in front of the TV."

Please mum, don't…

"I mean, what are you even doing? I cook, I clean, I pick up beer can after beer can and-"

Her father slammed his fist on the table. Hannah winced, and wrapped her hands around her. If Janie was here, she'd have something to hold onto. Like she did in bed, when she wanted to feel safe from the shouting she'd hear beyond her door. At the stomp-stomp-stomp across the hallway, and down the stars, before culminating in a slamming door. Over the last month especially, Janie had been there for her.

But Sid had taken Janie away. Her brother, who watched his father get to his feet. Grinning.

You're disgusting.

She hated him. Both of them. Her dad for just lounging around, doing nothing, and Sid, for playing from dawn till dusk.

"I don't need to take this," dad said. He got up from the table, beer and paper in one hand, before he lumbered to the kitchen. "In my own fucking house!"

Hannah brushed some hair out of her watering eye.

"It's all the same with you. Oh get a job. When are you getting a job? Have you been to any interviews?" There was a thump from the kitchen, as dad took out a six-pack of beer from the fridge. "Not just in my own house, but got those fucking next door neighbours, moving house, showing off to the world. Need an even bigger fucking place than this one." He snorted. "Bet I even built it for them."

Hannah took a bite of fish finger, thinking of the boy next door. Andy. They were moving soon, and had been preparing for quite awhile, given how long the sign had been up. Throughout the summer break, Hannah had toyed with the idea of going over. Talking to the boy next door. After all, he was leaving soon, they'd never see each other again, and a simple "hi" wouldn't hurt anyone, right?

"Fucking same, the lot of you."

But then she remembered her dad. And her brother. The former stomping past them with the six pack under one arm and a newspaper under the other. The latter grinning like a wolf. One that had full impunity within the paddock. If she tried to talk to Andy, there was a chance that Sid would follow suit. Like he'd almost done a year ago, when he'd broken her Marie Antoinette doll.

Sid was cruel enough in this house. He didn't need to make someone else's life miserable.

There was the sound of a dog barking, and a cry of "shut up, Scud!" Hannah, gripping her knife, looked at Sid, who was trying to fight back laughter as he returned to his fish fingers. How he enjoyed this, Hannah didn't know. Any more as to how he'd talked mum into letting him go to summer camp (which had to cost a bit), or how, even after being kicked out, he was still allowed to play all day, every day. Whether it be in the yard with his stupid soldier toys (and bombs), or outside the house, skateboarding, or in the house itself. It was as if mum and dad were willing to let him get away with murder.

Which, given how her father yelled sometimes, might not have been so far from the truth. Slowly chewing her peas, she looked at mum – pale skin, lank black hair, a dark bruise under her right eye…She felt sorry for her.

"So, Sid. What did you do today?"

Sometimes.

"Ah, went skateboarding," Sid said. "Helped some kids out."

"Really?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. She didn't know if her mother actually believed Sid, or if she made herself believe it. As if her son was the perfect little boy she wanted, and was willing to entertain the fantasy.

"Yeah. They'd lost their mum, but I helped them find her. Turns out they'd wandered away from a playground, and she was there, waiting for them."

Hannah snorted, but as Sid glanced at her, she went back to her carrots. Her brother had torn her doll's head off this night, she didn't need anything else broken.

"That's wonderful," said mum. She looked at Hannah. "And what did you do?"

"Me?" She blinked – her mum rarely asked anything about what she did. Between Sid and her father, Hannah had learnt that her place in this family was at the bottom of the totem pole, and it was far better to be ignored rather than risk climbing it.

"Yes, Hannah." Her mother gave a forced smile as she cut up one of her fish fingers. "What did you do today?"

Her hands are trembling. She looked at her mother, to Sid, back to her mum. "Well, Janie and I had a tea party…"

"Janie? Is that one of your school friends?"

"No, mum, Janie. My doll."

Mum stared at her.

"The doll I told you about?" She looked at Sid, a fire in her belly making her tongue work in strange ways. "The doll that my brother destroyed?"

Sid sprung up. "Liar!"

He almost got her to shut up. But dad was gone. And no matter what Sid might do to her tomorrow…

"You tore off Janie's head! Like Marie Antionette, and Lucille, and Betty, and-"

"Kids…"

"Mum, she's lying!"

"Mum, he ruins everything!"

"Liar liar!"

"You're a liar!"

"Sid, Hannah, sit down!"

The words hung in the air, joining the odour of "she's lying" and the word that couldn't be spoken. Hannah stared at her mother, noticing the sweat above her eyes, and the sweat beneath them. Sweat that was on all of them, as the summer heat worked its magic.

Sid grunted, grabbed his last fish finger, and began heading out of the room.

"Sid, you haven't finished yet."

"Got work to do."

"Sid, at least finish your vegetables."

Her brother ignored her. Just chewed on the fish finger. Leaving Hannah and her mum alone in the dining room, and two empty plates. One belonging to an unemployed bum, the other to a kid that would likely end up the same way.

And they deserved it, Hannah reflected, as she ate her last carrot piece. Both of them. One day, like the boy next door, she'd be able to move out. Maybe find a new family. Do all sorts of things. Feel…safe.

Someday. She looked at her mother, who'd buried her face in her hands. "Mum, may I be excused?"

Her mother didn't answer. She didn't even seem to be listening.

"Mum?" Hannah asked, a bit more forcefully. "May I be excused? I mean, dad's left, and Sid's left, and I've finished my vegetables, and-"

"Just go, Hannah." Mum looked up from her hands, no longer able to hide her tears. "I'll tidy up."

Hannah hesitated. Mum wasn't as bad as dad or Sid, but she let them both get away with anything, while she always had to toe the line. She never took her side in an argument with her brother, nor stood up for her in front of her father, when he went on about "the damn girl's tea parties" or moaned that she needed to 'toughen up,' whenever she hurt herself, or got hurt (again, usually by Sid). Mum didn't do any of those things, but nor did she do much to stop them either.

"Goodnight, mum." She got up and headed for the exit. Unlike Sid's room, hers didn't have a lock. So while she'd closed the door earlier this evening, there was nothing to stop her brother from bursting in, stealing one of her dolls, and doing another of his 'operations.' Sooner she got to her room, the sooner she…

She stopped. Hesitated. Her mum was picking up the plates. One by one. Slowly taking them to the kitchen. Their dishwasher had broken down over a month ago, and with dad out of a job, they didn't have the money to replace it. So that meant sorting out leftovers, then washing the plates, then drying them. And that, Hannah knew, wasn't the most exciting task in the world. Even less exciting than preparing dinner.

She bit her lip. Looked at the stairs that led up to her room. Looked back at the dining room, and her mum in the kitchen beyond. She bit her lip even tighter, before sighing, and walking back into the kitchen.

"Here, let me help you," Hannah said.

Her mum looked down at her. Looking almost as old as Gran Gran had been when she died.

"You wash, I dry," she said. "How about that?"

"Hannah, you don't need to-"

"It's fine mum. It's…fine."

She wanted to say that she wasn't her brother or her father. That she was better than them. That even if mum let her walk all over her, she still did dinner, and the washing, and the shopping, and everything else, so that maybe, at least this time, she could help out.

"Thank you, Hannah."

The young girl tried not to smile as she dried the first dish. Her dad was still a jerk, Sid was still a jerk, Janie was still missing, and soon, the next door neighbours would be moving.

But, as she dried the dishes, as soft music came from the kitchen radio, right now…

That didn't seem to matter as much.