Did You Get What You Deserve?

~*Alecsandra’s Point of View*~

I sighed and adjusted my microphone.

“Let’s try it one more time.”

Sasha nodded and tightened a string on her guitar. Cariad, seated behind her drums, grinned as she pulled her hair into a pony-tail.

“Wanna hear a joke?” she said. “Four elephants fall off a cliff. Three fall on the rocks, one falls in the water. Ba-dum-bum-tshhhh!”

I groaned.

“That was not funny. That was so not funny, it’s funny.”

The same evening that we ejected Lindsay from the band, I called Cariad and asked her if she wanted to play drums for the album we were recording. She immediately dropped the phone and booked tickets on the next flight to Jersey. Having arrived on Friday night jet-lagged as hell, she then managed to drag herself out of bed on Saturday morning and go straight into the studio with us having only had two hours of practice.

“Come on, one more time,” I said.

“Alec!”

He looked up as I sprinted through the door.

“Hey, Little One. What’s up?”

“We finished recording our cd!”

“Awesome!”

“We just need to do a few more things and it’ll be completely done.”

“Cool.”

I peered over his shoulder. He was searching through the cupboard of CDs and DVDs under the TV cabinet.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to find a blank disc…”

He pulled out the last disc in the cupboard.

“Nope, nothing. Hey, what’s this?”

I took the disc out of his hands.

“Nothing. Just old videos of me.”

He grabbed it back.

“Wait, I think I wanna watch that.”

Grinning, he put it in the DVD player and sat down to watch.

“Happy Birthday, Alec!”

A young me grinned toothily at the camera.

“How old are you now, sweetie?” asked my mother.

“Six!”

“Wow,” said Dad (the camera was obviously on a tripod, as I couldn’t imagine who else could be filming), “you’re practically a grown-up already!”

Six-year-old me giggled violently and ran away across the room before turning around and sitting down with a bump in front of the fire-place. The ornaments and pictures on the mantlepiece rattled, and the picture in the middle of the shelf wobbled towards the edge. Dad caught it as it fell.

“Woah, careful,” he said, “you don’t wanna break this picture.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s Alec.”

“Who’s Alec?”

Dad sat down on the floor and pulled six-year-old me onto his lap.

“Alec was a very special boy,” he said, showing me the photo, “and I loved him very much, and Mummy loved him very much, and Gerard and Bob and Mikey and Ray all loved him very much too. But one day he died, and we were all very sad, and so I keep this photo of him right here on the mantlepiece so we’ll always remember him.”

“He has my name.”

“That’s right. You’re called Alec after him, because he was a special boy and you’re a special girl.”

Six-year-old me contemplated this for a moment, then leaned forward and gave the photo a kiss.

“How did he die?”

“He was hit by a car. See, that’s why you need to remember your traffic safety.”

Six-year-old me nodded.

“Yes Daddy.”

“Good girl. Now let’s go have cake.”

Alec switched the TV off. He didn’t look at me, didn’t say anything, just stared at the blank screen for a minute. Finally he looked around at me sadly.

“I wish I could have been there to see you grow up,” he said.

I nodded.

“I know. I wish you had been there. I needed a big brother when I was little.”

He sighed and held out his arms to give me a hug.

“We’re going to make up for that, okay?” he said. “I’m going to stay right here so you’ll always have me close by when you need me.”

I smiled into his shoulder.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”