Welcome to the Real World by Carole Matthews Page A

his own. The overstretched teachers at the school he attends have too much to do to keep their eyes permanently trained on him and his care is sometimes erratic. When he's bad, Joe has no choice but to keep him at home. I wonder whether the hospital will ever be able to get his condition under control and whether he'll be able to enjoy normal schooling one day. I do worry so much for what his future holds. I'm hanging on to the hope that he might suddenly and miraculously grow out of it.

    Nathan has been asthmatic since he was a baby. The so-called Wheezing Baby Syndrome he developed while still in his pram was rapidly diagnosed as something more serious. For a time it was thought he might have cystic fibrosis, and the stress of having a sick baby and spending too much of their time on hospital wards took its toll on my brother's marriage. There was more than one argument about the fact that Carolyn had smoked twenty cigarettes a day throughout her pregnancy and continued to do so even when their child sounded like he was coughing his little life away. Joe might not feel the same but, personally, I was delighted when the selfish cow cleared off. I never knew what my brother saw in hershe might have had model girl looks but she was a right royal pain in the arse from day one. Mother material she was not. Confirmed by the fact that she has had no contact whatsoever with Nathan since she left, not even a birthday or Christmas card. How could anyone be so callous? Still, her loss is our gain.

    The only downside is that not having a permanent partner makes life so hard for them both and they really don't deserve it. I've offered a million times for Joe and me to throw in our lot together, pool our meagre resources and for me to move in with them. But Joe is under the illusion that one or both of us will, at some point, find suitable partners and that we should keep our options open. I like his optimism and I never say anything to bring him downbelieve me, he has enough on his platebut my options closed down years ago.

    'Do you want to join us for beans on toast?' Joe asks, reaching for a pan.

    'You're a lifesaver.' I sit down at the small table. These are organic, sugar-free, additive-free beans, as Nathan is allergic to practically every convenience food known to man. Anything from cleaning products to strong scents to peanuts can cause him to go into dreadful and sudden bronchial spasm. He has regular, long courses of steroids and he doesn't sleep or eat wellall of which have combined to make him small for his age. He has 'vulnerable' written all over himthough not in felt pen, to which he's also allergic.

    I wonder whether if we moved out of London and went to live, say, in the Caribbean, life would be easier for him.

    'So,' my brother says. 'What have you been up to, sis?'

    'I got a new job yesterday. That's why I couldn't come round.'

    'Cool.'

    My heart not only breaks for Nathan, but it tears into shreds for Joe, too. Caring for a sick child 24/7 is no fun. I'm sure that Joe would love to go out to workeven part-time would help him to get a breakbut such is our benefits system that he'd be so much worse off if he even earned a few quid legitimately.

    Very rarely, Joe might do a cash job for a friend which helps him outbut most of the time he's barely above the breadline. How wonderful it must be, not to have to continually worry about money and to be able to rent huge penthouse apartments at the drop of a hat, and have chefs to rustle up whatever your heart or your stomach desires, and to be chauffeured around in limos wherever you go.

    'What are you doing?'

    'Working for an opera singer.'

    'What, like Pavarotti?'

    'He's even bigger than Pavarotti.'

    'No one's bigger than Pavarotti.'

    Joe has a point, even though Evan is as far removed from the stereotypical image of a portly opera singer than it is possible to be. 'It's Evan David.'

    My brother looks at me blankly. He doesn't get out much. Particularly not