I chuckle. “There’s never a dull moment.”
“What happened this time?”
“From what I gather, Max stole someone’s takeaway again. He’s always been under the notion that if he pays for it, it’s his.”
The guy shrugs. “It holds merit. Kind of.”
“Boy, are you serious? You’ve gone a step too far,” a woman shrills, and I groan at the sight of the wicked witch neighbour we’ve been hoping will move. Her children are hellions, but they aren’t the main reason we want them to leave. We understand kids make noise. No, it’s her yelling at all hours, whether it’s at her kids or her guy of the week, that we can’t cope with. Ninety-nine percent of the time it escalates into a fight and the police are called out. It’s a nightmare. And when she isn’t there, her kids play music until the early hours. Her older ones think it’s okay to party like the world ends tomorrow.
Max holds his hands up, trembling, and his bottom lip quivers. “Please don’t spank me. I can’t deal with it,” he cries, and in a rush to get away from her, he nearly falls over the wall separating ours and the other neighbour’s garden.
“What the fuck?” the son jeers, staring wide-eyed at Max.
The mum is struck still as she stares at Max in confusion. “I—”
“Want to spank me. I was beat as a child, you know. I have PTSD. And now you want to spank me. And not in the kinky way my woman likes.”
“I—”
He dramatically turns to his twin. “She even has a wooden spoon. I can’t deal,” he whispers loudly for everyone to hear.
My lips twitch as the delivery driver begins to laugh. “As entertaining as this is, I need to go. Enjoy your meal.”
“Have a fun evening.”
He sends me a salute before making his way back to his car, dodging Max and his theatrics.
“I’m in the middle of cooking,” the mum defends, glancing around at the others watching on.
“You brought that spoon out here to hit me with it. Don’t think we can’t hear you when your kids are naughty,” he cries, wiping tears from his cheeks.
“Hey,” the kid snaps. “She doesn’t hit us.”
Max’s face sobers. “She should,” he retorts, before a loud cry escapes him. “Why? Why? I’ve come home from work to have a relaxing night in and now I’m going to be whipped.”
“I’m not going to hit you,” the woman cries, her face reddening as other residents come outside to have a nose.
“Hey, what’s going on? You okay, son?” a neighbour from across the road yells, narrowing his gaze on the mum and son.
Max turns to the neighbour, his lip quivering. “You see the spoon, do you not? She’s going to spank me with it.”
“Mum, let’s go inside.”
“But—”
Max flinches, squealing like a two-year-old having a tantrum. “Don’t hurt me.”
The son takes his mum’s arm and pulls her back whilst keeping an eye on Max. Wise. As soon as I hear their door close, the tears on Max’s cheek dry and he turns to the neighbours and bows. “I’m here all week, guys.”
Some chuckle, used to his theatrics. Myles, on the other hand, clips him around the ear. “I thought it was about to kick off.”
“Like you would have gotten involved. You’ve got a career to build.”
It’s true. Myles is working part-time and doing full-time university classes. He has a lot of work to do before he can become a qualified social worker. Luckily, his job is in that field, so he’s learning whilst working.
“Food,” Max grumbles, glancing down at the bags.
I snort and head into the kitchen, placing the bags down on the table. “Is anyone else coming for dinner?”
“Lake is with her mum and brother right now. He has another hospital appointment and she wanted to be there.”
I nod, then lean in to kiss Myles when he hands me the plate. “Ohh, Korma aloo kufta,” Max gushes, practically foaming at the mouth.
“Mine,” I warn him.
“But I always get it.”
“No, you always get Dhamaka chicken.”
Max glares at his brother. “She doesn’t even like the Korma aloo.”
“They only had one left and it’s what she asked for. She also had tikka, so I got you a Balti.”
“I don’t want a Balti. I want the korma aloo.”
When he goes to grab it, I snatch it back. “No. And don’t think you are taking any of my veggie rice either.”
His eyes widen as he drops down in the chair. “You can’t be serious. You won’t eat all of that. You barely eat one meal, and you have about a thousand here. It won’t hurt you to give me the aloo if all I’ve got is the two other ones.”
“Don’t forget your rice, naan bread, chips, and onion bhajis,” Myles declares, reaching for a glass.
“Please,” he pleads, fluttering his lashes at me.
“No, Max. Last week you ate the last nugget in my box.”
“It was a share box,” he argues.
“But it was mine.”
“You were throwing up in the toilet. I didn’t want it to go to waste.”
“The answer is no,” I tell him, stabbing my fork into the rich potato.
He licks his lips, following the movement. “This is so stingy. And not fair. Everyone knows I have that.”
“It was the last batch for the night. They’ve had a busy day and the stock delivery doesn’t come in until tomorrow morning.”
“And you give it to your wife? Why? I’m your fucking twin. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“Not particularly,” Myles mutters.
“And you,” he declares, pointing his finger at me. “Since when do you not share with me? I’m your favourite. The only people who don’t share in this family are the stingy fuckers who get pregnant.”
Suddenly, he scrapes his chair back, still pointing his finger at me as he inhales sharply. “No!”
“Max,” I soothe, needing him to calm down. I can feel the blood drain from my face because now that he knows, the world will know.
He turns to his brother, the same accusation in his eyes. “No!”
“Max, stop being a drama queen.”
“How could you do this to me?”
“Pretty sure I did it to Kayla.”
Max glares. “Not the point I was getting at. You know how it’s been.”
“Max, you are just being sensitive.”
He snorts, rolling his eyes. “I cannot believe this. It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Max.”
“I’ll die,” he rants. “I’ll fucking die of starvation and none of you fuckers care because God forbid your wife doesn’t eat the last cheese cracker.” I duck my head, not wanting him to see the guilt there. “Oh my God, you actually ate the last cheese cracker.”
“We’ve not been shopping,” I defend.
“I can’t believe this. I bet all the others fucking knew too. This is why you’ve been eating all my food.”
“Our food,” Myles mutters, still dishing up his plate.