seven Nicholas's parents have never really shed any light on whether he was a planned addition to the family. Any statements made now would, of course, be tainted with the fact that they don't even add him to their Christmas card list anymore; tell people he was unplanned to account for the fact that he doesn't fit in. (There's a good chance he might be projecting.) Pre-Nicholas, the Sykes family had six children and high expectations. John and Helen are forty-six and forty-four respectively, and they take charge of Charles and Robert (fourteen and twelve), Annie and James (eight and four), Lewis and Georgina (twins at three). A new baby, a new blank slate set at zero on the age counter, probably isn't what they're looking for - and yet, it's what they get. On the 1st of March, three days late, Nicholas makes seven. Seven is said to be a lucky number. Seven days in a week, seven colours in the rainbow, seven notes on the most commonly used Western musical scale. He's spoken to people about his place in his family before and the general reaction, after the "your poor mother", is that he must be lucky to have so many people looking out for him. Or, that he must be lucky that the others all served as distractions to let him get away with anything. Or, that he must be lucky to get double the amount of Christmas and birthday presents of everyone else. Nicholas Sykes is lucky. He feels that every day of his life for a number of reasons. Never because he receives double the number of Christmas and birthday presents. Because he doesn't. robert When Nicholas is born, Robert Sykes is twelve. And, as expected, the sustained consistency of ageing ensures that by the time Robert Sykes is sixteen, his youngest brother Nicholas is only four, and that kind of age gap doesn't always work so well. (It's a reason, not an excuse.) Because, see, having a baby around means that all the fun things that Robert would like to do on this family holiday are rendered impossible, because someone needs to look out for Nicholas. Eighteen-year-old Charles takes charge of Gina and Lewis, both seven, because there's two of them and that involves the most responsibility. Fourteen-year-old Annie and eight-year-old James stick together because they're in the middle and can occupy one another. Robert gets Nicholas. It's how it goes. Robert is tired of that being how it goes. He doesn't want to visit Blackpool Tower again, even if it is something of a tradition at this point. He doesn't want to 'keep an eye on his brother while we get the tickets'. He's not a child, even if he's surrounded by children. What Robert wants is to go and flirt with the cute girl who is setting up for the evening's youth disco back at the caravan site, and the only thing standing in his way (or so he believes) is the smallest member of the Sykes family. (It's not even much of a reason anymore.) Said smallest member of the Sykes family is unaware of any of this inner turmoil. He's standing outside of the tower, well within the vision of his oldest brother - breaking no rules, as ever. His stance and his eyes are wide as he gazes up at the elevator shooting its way to the top. He has to crane his neck until it's almost perpendicular to his body (the growth spurt is a few more years away) and although he's quite excited about going to the top he's also a little bit scared. Nicholas is innocent and unsuspecting and four years old. He doesn't expect anyone to be mean. "Come on then, Nicholas. We're going." Robert pops up rather unexpectedly; Nicholas's attention was too focused at the peak of the tower to notice the movement around him. He rights his posture enough to be able to look up at his older brother, the awe obvious, and only allows his voice to waver a little. "All the way to the top?" This makes Robert smile, but not naturally, not easily. It's a little twisted at the edges of his lips, like these muscles don't get exercised enough for them to know quite what to do. "Naturally." And, naturally, Nicholas goes with him. Hands hold tightly, the sense of security in such an act ironic in hindsight. None of the other Sykes children notice - or maybe they just pretend that they don't - and it isn't until Robert guides him through the crowds towards the lift that Nicholas even thinks of something else to say. "Where's Mum?" are his words, but they aren't accusing or skeptical. They're curious and light, and a bounce appears in his step as he cranes to seek her out in amongst all the people. "Just coming," is the subsequent lie. Maybe Nicholas should guess from the way Robert drops his hand in that moment, switching the grip instead to his shoulder. It feels secure, yes, but too secure; the light t-shirt doesn't protect his skin against the pinch. He doesn't complain, it won't do, but it doesn't exactly help him with the tiny amount of fear he's harbouring about going to the top. The elevator opens and those who have descended disembark, chattering amongst themselves. A group of people ready to ascend, tourists in bright blue raincoats, replace them inside the big glass box with big steel doors. A small voice in Nicholas's head whispers that it doesn't really want to do this. He doesn't know if he actually says it out loud or not - the voice in his head and the voice from his tongue match rather well (the drop in tone is a few more years away too) - but if he does, nobody responds. Robert just marches him into the lift, practically pushes, and positions him very carefully in the middle. And, then, the sixteen-year-old lets go of his younger brother's shoulder, bends down, and mutters three words into the ear of a four-year-old child. "Don't look down." He's back out with a fraction of a second to spare, barely getting chance to catch the expression of unmitigated panic on Nicholas's face as the boy spins around to see the doors shudder shut. (There's no reason for it whatsoever.) Nicholas can't remember fear like it. This isn't secure and this isn't natural, it's scary and he's trapped and he wants to get out now and so he does what any four-year-old boy who has been tricked by his heinous older brother would do. He bursts into tears. Loud and terrified and confused because he simply can't remember fear like it. A bright blue woman immediately fusses over him but he recoils, hoping to dart to one of the corners so that he can fold in on himself, but the corners are made of glass and don't look down. He wants to get out. It feels like the box is closing in. The stranger is cooing. She's wearing a suffocating vanilla perfume and he can't breathe without breathing it in so he can't breathe. His vision blurs. Everything is grey and luminous blue and so he closes his eyes and puts his hands over his ears and it helps a bit but he can't stop crying and crying and crying... His mother comes to get him. Nicholas refuses to go back down, not with blue vanilla lady, nor with the attendant, so the only thing for it is to find those who own him to retrieve him back to ground level. (It's funny, because while he waits for them at the top of the tower, cross-legged in the middle of the floor of the observation deck, his tear-streaked face slowly dissipates in favour of something more impressed. Robert might have told him not to look down, but he likes the view. He likes being high up, looking down at all the things he usually has to look up at. He just doesn't want to get in the big moving box again; it would be much more fun to fly back to the street, to jump and bounce and be free.) His mother comes to get him and they return to their too-small caravan almost immediately, where his silent father can let loose. What excuse do you have for your behaviour? What image did you give of yourself today? What did you allow people to think of us? Why would you be scared of something so mundane? Every time his dad tells him that there's nothing scary about lifts, he feels even more scared - because if his dad is right, if there's nothing scary about them, then why is he afraid? He didn't run away, Robert said that Mum was just coming. He didn't run away, Robert took him to the lift. He didn't run away, he's not the one who needs an excuse or an image makeover or a lecture. But Nicholas is four. When his father says it's weak to be scared, Nicholas has no choice but to believe it is. When his father says it's his fault, Nicholas has no choice but to assume it must have been. He can't question it. Not yet. When he goes to sleep that night, bunched up in the bottom of the cramped bunk-bed unit that he's sharing with Lewis, he has a nightmare about being trapped in the lift, halfway up, no way out. He can't breathe through the smell of vanilla, and it isn't just a blue raincoat anymore but the lady's face is blue too, blue and twisted and unhelpful. He wakes, curled up tight, breathing heavy, sticky-faced. What excuse do you have for your behaviour? What image did you give of yourself today? What did you allow people to think of us? Why would you be scared of something so mundane? (There's a reason he cries quietly.) annie When Nicholas is born, Annie Sykes is eight. This one is an easy one because it means when Nicholas is eight, Annie Sykes is sixteen. (There's something about sixteen, huh?) "What are you doing?" she says as she sits down, and the genuine interest in her voice pulls Nicholas's attention away from his book - but only to prop it up so that she can answer her question with her eyes. Annie tilts her head to read the title, mouthing the three individual words subconsciously: George's Marvellous Medicine. Her corresponding expression shapes itself into something akin to mildly impressed, although she also shrugs, so it's something of a mixed message. "Do you like it?" It's not that it feels like a trick question, exactly, but it feels like his answer is wrong from the moment he even thinks it. Still, Nicholas nods, a shrug of his own blunting the reaction slightly. "Yeah, it's kind of funny." His own opinion it might be, but his eldest sister doesn't hide her hum of disagreement. "Really? I always thought it was a little infantile." Nicholas doesn't know what infantile means and the crease between his eyes proves it. "Pandering? Inaccurate? I didn't think Dahl's books were very grown-up." This is still confusing, mostly because Nicholas doesn't think that it's supposed to be grown-up. He found it in the children's section of the library. Annie misreads the look on his face. Instead of seeing confusion regarding how her mind works, she sees confusion about the point that she's making; it figures that the baby of the family won't yet understand what makes a book too childish to be liked. So, imagining she's being helpful, she explains. "It's all in the way all the adults are horrible and the children always fight against them and win. It doesn't make sense, see? Adults are the ones who know what they're talking about." "They are?" "Don't be silly, Nicholas, of course they are. You don't like having a bedtime, do you? But you know that when you have a bedtime you feel much better in the morning than if you had stayed up late. And you do better. Mum says that she can still hear those children next door running around at about ten o'clock at night, you know. That's why you're getting better marks. It makes sense." "Oh." "You went over there yesterday, didn't you? For tea?" "Yeah. Ben's my friend." "Uh-huh. What did you do? Homework?" "They've got a computer." "For homework?" "No - they've got some computer games." Annie tuts dramatically. "See? Distraction. Robert and I have a computer because we've got important school work to do, and Charlie has one for university, but why would you need one? Why would we let you use it, you've got books and writing and if you had a computer you'd just play computer games. Totally irresponsible." Nicholas suddenly feels like he's made an error, misrepresented his friend's family somehow, and he's quick to jump to their defence. "Well, they prob'ly do homework on it too..." "Prob-ab-ly, Nicholas. Anyway. If you want to try some other books then just come and let me know. You're too old for the ones about magic and stuff, I've got some really good science-y ones to get your brain going." Then, she leans forwards, tugs on the collar of his shirt to straighten it up, and slides off the couch. Nicholas watches her go, the frown still etched into his forehead as he looks back down at the pages of his book again. His infantile, pandering, not-grown-up book. "Cabbage! Oh, no, I don't like cabbage," George said. "It's not what you like or what you don't like," Grandma snapped. "It's what's good for you that counts." (Adults are the ones who know what they're talking about.) lewis "I'm going to fucking kill you." Lewis slams the door and Nico swears the house shakes. When Nico Sykes is fifteen, Lewis Sykes is eighteen, but they've already been at odds for years. Nico loses count of the number of injuries he receives at the hand of his brother, made worse by the fact that they were forced to share a room until the previous year when James vacated Farm Road to study biomedicine at Leeds University. As soon as James left, Nicholas was awarded the attic room and Lewis pledged to never forgive him for it. It's the April half-term holidays. Nico is finished his homework - it's not exam year for him this year - and his guitar teacher has set him a few challenges to meet before their next session. He sits on his bed, his legs kicked out in front of him, and plans to play Eva Cassidy until his mum calls for dinner. Lewis does not like that plan. It's exam year for him and he's more important and he's had enough of hearing his brother's music. He needs quiet and respect and to get angry at something. Which brings us to: "I'm going to fucking kill you." Lewis slams the door and Nico swears the house shakes. Nico starts off apologetic. Kind of. "Is it - sorry, is it annoying?" "I'm trying to revise and you're just going on and on playing the same fucking thing over and over. How is it interesting for you? You played it once, do something else. Give me a fucking break." The apologies don't last long. They've been at odds for years, after all, and there's only so many times Nico can get the shit kicked out of him before he decides that he might as well deserve it. "I mean, I'm allowed to do what I want in my room." "Say that again." "I'm allowed... to do what I want in my own room?" Lewis growls, his face murderous - but his eighteenth birthday came with an attempt to cut down on inflicting bodily harm on his fellow humans. Nico can practically see the gears in his brain working out how to get back at him, and can only wait for his punishment. When it comes, it comes before he can do anything about it. Lewis has the guitar away from him before Nico can wrap a possessive hand around its body, and he hops to the other side of the room to hold it out of reach. The younger Sykes stands up and although he's plenty tall enough to take it from his brother's grasp, he's not as co-ordinated and makes the fatal error of losing his balance as he tries to make a grab for it. The temporary off-kilter-ness allows Lewis to propel him from the room, pushing Nico to the top of the stairs that separate the loft room from the rest of the house. Door closed, older brother sitting against it to prevent Nico from getting back inside... anything could happen. Lewis might have the entire room at his disposal, but he opts to exact his revenge on the instrument that interrupted his studying. Nicholas presses his ear up against the door immediately, hoping for any kind of clue as to what's happening - and he doesn't have to wait long. The high pitched squeak of a guitar string being tightened isn't a very loud sound, certainly not audible through a thick panel of wood, but Lewis plucks it with a viciousness that assures the other boy he's doing it deliberately. It doesn't take long at all for the first string to give up, a weird boing sound confirming its demise. Nico whimpers. "Stop, Lewis! I don't have any other strings and I don't have money - " (Showing weakness is a mistake.) "I'm sure dad'll buy you some. Oh, wait, no, he won't, because he thinks you're a pussy." Another string snaps with a twang and Nico pounds the door so hard that his knuckle cracks loudly. "Give it back!" "No can do, loser. I'm teaching you a lesson. Have some fucking consideration." Another snap. "Lewis, this isn't fair, I'm sorry for disturbing you but you just had to ask - " "Shut up, Nicholarse, there's only three le - motherfucker." (The thing about steel strings is that they tend to break with a great deal of force. A hand in the wrong place and there'll be a story to tell people about later - although for Lewis's sake it was a shame it was "I got that scar being a dick to my brother" and not "I got that scar when my guitar string broke on stage with Bruce Springsteen...") Nico hears Lewis move away from the door and seizes his chance, pushing the handle and finding his brother hunched over on the floor, cradling his hand in his arm, blood dripping from a cut along his thumb. Neither boy moves for a minute. Nico's knuckles are bright red and sore but are nothing compared to the deep red of the liquid pooling around his brother's wrist. Both of those reds pale in comparison to the red of rage that is descending far more heavily on one Sykes sibling. Nico can't take his gaze away from the drip drop of blood onto his carpet, not until Lewis, with no regard for his injury, picks up the guitar again. Nico's pained sound at the sight of the bloody finger smearing across the head of the instrument is ignored - or maybe it's what spurs Lewis to be a total git as opposed to a reasonably big one. The jab to his stomach is forceful, especially considering it was dealt by a man with a cut open thumb. Nico folds, breaks like one of his guitar strings, falling to his bedroom floor and watching as the weapon of choice crashes next to him. Two strings are intact, the two lowest. He groans, both at the destruction of his guitar and the fiery pain in his abdomen. "Shut up next time." As Lewis leaves, his advice practically spat at Nico's curled up figure on the floor, he slams the door again. The house shakes. (Or maybe it's just the stars in Nico's vision.) charles When Nico is eighteen, Charles is thirty-two. Fourteen years means they've always been worlds apart, but when they're eighteen and thirty-two the distance is also literal. He's been away for just a fraction more than six months when money finally becomes an issue. The ground he's covered has taken him across Europe and Asia, but as he counts out money for the African safari he's sure is a good idea he realises he's not going to get much further. Not without help, anyway. And help won't be forthcoming. Why should it be? He hasn't spoken to anybody with the surname Sykes since he walked out of the door, and can presume they only know he's still alive as a result of no news being good news. As ever, awareness of the fact that not one of the eight members of his immediate family wants to get in touch while he travels the world needs to be suppressed as soon as it is acknowledged. Especially considering what he knows he has to do. It's not fair and he doesn't want to but Nico is good enough at numbers to work out that the only way out of the situation is to dial a few. Charles answers after three rings. The surprise in his voice at Nico's greeting couldn't be more obvious and Nico resents it (and his task) even more. "Where are you?" "Tanzania." "Bloody hell, Nicholas. How did you - " "Trains, buses, planes. I'm taking the long way round." "Apparently. Are you - we were expecting you home long before now." Nico pauses, economic with the truth in the way that he always is when it comes to his family. "I never said when I'd be back." "I know that. However, six months is an awfully long time to be away. You're eighteen. What could you possibly know about surviving in the world like this?" The laugh that Charles receives in response to his question is lacking in genuine humour - but then, Nico doesn't suppose Charles is used to hearing any other kind of laughter. "Not to brag, but probably more than someone who has only read about the world in books." Nico might be wrong in that supposition, because Charles takes offence at something. "Ah. You imagine you're better than us now, is that it? Was this entire performance so that you could come home with an elevated sense of yourself? Nicholas has experienced things." "No. No, I - " He sighs, kicking his increasingly shabby backpack under the bed he's hoping to be able to vacate tomorrow if he can sweet talk his way into some funds, considering kicking himself for the misstep. "I - I can't explain it. But it's amazing. It's so fucking amazing, Charles. I've just been on a safari. In Africa. And I'm constantly sunburnt and I've been sleeping on stupidly hard beds in hostels. I spent New Year in Singapore." "Impressive." Charles is not impressed. "You don't need to - no point in pretending to be impressed. Just - I wouldn't have called at all, but I need your help. I need... I haven't got... I'm a little bit lacking in money." "I see. Didn't feel as though you might owe your family an update on your wellbeing?" "Oh, fucking hell, Cha -" Not the way to sweet talk, Nico. He stops, pinching the bridge of his nose as though the action will lock out all of the things that he feels but can't say. "Sorry. Just. Spare me the lecture, alright, it's not like anybody tried to call me. It's not like anybody offered me any support when I told you all what I wanted. It's not like anyone offered me any support when I was living in the same city, let alone when I deviated from the plan. Me not calling to update you is hardly a surprise." Charles doesn't say anything for a few long, stretched out seconds. He breaks his own silence with a sigh that weighs a thousand tonnes. "When we all went to university, mum and dad had a couple thousand saved for each of us. For food and the like. I presume they never gave you yours?" Nico's own silence is of the stunned variety. He breaks it with a stutter that says a thousand words. "I - I didn't even know they had anything saved." "Nicholas. We may have had very little growing up, but it was so they could give us our lives in adulthood. I would never have appreciated a family holiday abroad like I appreciated funding for my higher education, and that is how we all felt. You as an exception, of course." The obvious dig hurts, stabs frustration through his veins, but Nico's ever-reliable monotony doesn't give him away. "Sure." "If they didn't mention it to you, I assume they... well, they could be saving it for when you get home and see sense." Nico groans, standing up and then sitting back down - he can't quite make up his mind how to work with this conversation when it just feels so unworkable. He explained this countless times before he left and now he's being asked to explain it again and again and in addition to knowing numbers he also knows a lost cause when he's in the middle of one. "This is me seeing sense, Charlie. I needed to get the fuck out of that house and that town and that country and find... something." "There is nothing you will find out there that you couldn't have learned about on the way to an education, Nicholas. St Andrews wanted you. You don't under - " Charles stops, pauses, sighs. Then, "I can get you your money." It's a sign of how unworkable it feels that Nico doesn't catch on straight away. His conversation partner might not be able to see him, but the expression on his face probably isn't too difficult to surmise; a frown lathered in confusion. "But they won't just give it to me, will -" "I'll give it to you. I have it - not your money specifically, but I have around five thousand that I can transfer to your account. That's what they gave to me when I left. I was planning on giving it back to them, to thank them, but if they keep yours... well, that would make it even." "You'd -" "I realise that with inflation it probably isn't as much as what they gave me, you could likely work out those figures if you knew the going rate -" "It's only... I didn't expect that much, Charles. I was kind of thinking you'd help me out with enough to get back and that'd be the end of it." "Well. I would implore you to use it to come home. Apply for universities once again, think of it as an investment. But something tells me I'd be wasting my breath arguing for that outcome." "I can't come back." There's a long pause, longer than any of the ones they've endured thus far, and Nico can't quite see why. Charles is offering to send him five thousand pounds. He might not be able to understand why Nico is doing what he's doing, but he surely can't imagine that a ticket home from Tanzania costs that much. Charles knew upon offer that he wasn't funding a return trip, rather a continuation. The rest of the voyage, as it were. Nico can't understand the pause but he's not about to question it. Instead, he perpetuates it. Sitting on the bed in the small room that he'll definitely be able to vacate tomorrow now that he has the funds, Nico says nothing until his brother says something. "Why do you keep doing that?" It's not what he expected - not that he knew what to expect. "Doing what?" "I say home and you change it to back." Ah. Nico shrugs, unseen. His response is noncommittal. "Huh." Another pause. Another sigh. Another disappointment. "You won't be coming home, will you, Nicholas?" "I guess... that would be too much like going backwards." james Nico's phone has been ringing a lot this week, thanks to a combination of events that feel more surreal every time he thinks about them. A record breaking crowd at the John Peel stage on Sunday, the release of his debut album on Monday, mid-week charts projecting it a third place on the album charts, heading to play a festival in Belgium... He's twenty-one years old and life can't get better than this. Theoretically. There are less than five years between Nico and James, age-wise. It takes more than five days for James to call. "Nick." James is the only one of his siblings to ever acquiesce to the name-shortening request - which is weird, really, because they all shorten Georgina's name without comment - but he refuses to use Lydia's nickname. Nico doesn't know whether to appreciate it or not. It feels less formal, sure, but still blatantly different. Still blatantly unaccepting. Like every time he gets a call from one of his siblings, he immediately assumes the worst. "Hey, is - is everything alright? I'm in Belgium, sorry, I can't - " "Everything is fine. Don't worry. I'm just calling because, well." James pauses and then makes an awkward coughing sound, like the words are stuck on his tongue. "I listened to your album. It feels fantastical even saying that - my younger brother's album - but Olivia bought it and we listened." "Oh." "It's good." "Oh. Well. Yeah. I - I like it." "You should." "I... do." The conversation becomes cyclical very quickly. Too quickly, in fact, because it means that Nico panics a little and gets ahead of himself. He starts imagining that maybe James is feeling as awkward about this as he is, and maybe there's a deeper meaning to the call. He told them his Glastonbury set was going to be on TV. Surely they've heard his songs on the radio. Fantastical, James had said, like he was calling to right some wrongs. The conversation becomes cyclical very quickly and Nico jumps to conclusions. "Hey, you could come to one of the shows I'm doing soon? We're at festivals first, but then I'm touring and I've got a band and everything, we'll come to Nottingham. I could put you and Olivia's names on the list - and anyone else's too, if anyone else wants?" "Uh. Well. Yeah, probably. We can - I can't commit to anything right now, Liv and I are both busy and truth be told I haven't spoken to the rest of the family about..." James trails off as though it's the last few words of his sentence that will inflict the most damage. The fact is that the damage was done with the very first "uh", a word so sharp it could pop a balloon, especially one filling slowly with a hope that maybe the potential success of the album isn't a hollow kind of win after all. "Oh." It's the third time Nico has oh-ed in the space of about five minutes and he feels like the sound personified. A flat and dull placeholder. What's the difference between his "oh" and his brother's "uh"? "Uh" is reaching for an answer - there's a space at the top of the u for unlimited height. "Oh" is locked in - Nico is in the middle of that hollowed out o with no way out. If he reaches for an answer he'll only end up touching the walls of the circular prison that he's trapped in. It's a curved elevator taking him to the top of Blackpool Tower. James clears his throat on the other end of the line. It seems that, actually, Nico was right about one thing. His brother is feeling awkward about this. But for none of the right reasons. "It's... I just wanted to let you know I'd heard it. Nick." "Right." "But you're probably very busy. Belgium, you said?" "Yeah." "I will have to let you get back to whatever you were busy with, anyway. Olivia is just about to serve dinner." "Okay." There's a pause on the other end of the line, and in the background he can hear the sounds of James's domestic life. Olivia is plating up food, the sound of pots and pans audible. There's classical music playing; none of that Nico Sykes stuff, despite the verdict of the one and probably only listen. James must be standing next to a washing machine, because the sound of the spin cycle is whirring away as an undertone to everything else. There's a pause on the other end of the line and then the line goes dead. James Sykes doesn't even say goodbye. (The shittiest thing about it, Nico thinks later, after the show, as he lies in the cramped bunk of his low-budget tourbus, is that he probably thought that was okay.) georgina 2015 is a difficult year for relations between Georgina Sykes and her youngest brother. Although she starts the year speaking to him on a bi-monthly basis (if text messages count as speaking) things start spiralling when Nico walks out of a lunch meeting because she asks him to sing at her wedding. He doesn't attend the ceremony or the reception, he doesn't get her tickets to his London show, he doesn't answer her calls, he doesn't make any kind of response when she gets drunk and spews nasty words all across his official Facebook page. He's twenty-two and she's almost twenty-six. Technically, they're both adults. Technically, according to sixteen-year-old Annie Sykes, they should know what they're talking about. Nico welcomes two members of the Scafidi family to New York in the days after his final show. In conversation over lunch one day, Liz reveals that Gina is pregnant. She apologises instantly ("sorry, I didn't - I know you don't really speak to her, but I thought she'd have told you... sorry, Nicky.") but she doesn't need to. Nico is happy for his sister, even if he is slightly worried for the child she'll be taking responsibility for raising. 2015 may have stretched their relationship beyond any prior limit, but he doesn't consider that when he picks up the phone. Nico doesn't really consider anything. He's been trying this thing where he doesn't overanalyse himself; he does what he wants and he says what he thinks and he feels what he feels and it hasn't blown up in his face as of yet. He picks up the phone and calls his sister to congratulate her on her impending arrival and she seems genuinely pleased to hear from him. At first, he doesn't think she's going to say anything about it. Nico wouldn't exactly blame her. The conversation is polite, and although both parties are certainly aware of the "dissappointmentt" felt on both sides, it's almost a shame to tread all over that. (Naturally, if Gina hadn't done it, Nico would have taken great delight in it.) "I wasn't - I wasn't expecting to hear from you, Nicholas." (Okay, so she doesn't technically bring it up. Nico is casually delighted.) "Because of the Facebook thing?" "Well... yes. I didn't - mean any of that." "You sure?" "Yes. Of course I'm..." "I mean, my girlfriend is gorgeous, so I hope that bit wasn't sarcastic." "I - of cour - I..." Gina stops, likely realising that she can't win with this one. Nico would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy her discomfort. When she starts again, she seems to have widened the scope of the subject. "This was always going to happen, wasn't it?" she asks, and Nico finds himself on edge instantly. (It's funny how the smallest things can set off the biggest reactions.) "What do you mean?" "You were always too different from us." Nico laughs, but he doesn't find it funny at all. Offensive, more like. Ridiculously so. "That's bullshit." "What, you don't think you were?" "I know I was. But I'm not going to let you justify you guys all being complete dicks by saying that I was always too different." Gina's back-pedalling is frantic. "That's not what I meant." "Yeah, it is. I'm not doing it, Gina. Maybe the reason I was so different is because you guys used to scare me and then laugh when I used to get into trouble for being scared. Lewis literally hurt me on the daily and James calls to tell me he likes my record but can't make time to come out and actually support me and you write vitriolic Facebook messages about me for no apparent reason, but you all sit around and sigh about the fact that we're just too different and that's why we don't get along. Of course I'm fucking different. Why the fuck would I want to be like you guys?" "Nicholas..." He doesn't even register her speaking. He's on a roll now. Most of the time, saying what he thinks to a member of his family happens accidentally. He tries not to push himself further out of the loop than he already is, keeping his mouth shut, assuming the role he had when he was four years old and didn't feel as though he could stand up for himself or question authority. But adults don't know what they're talking about and they were never home anyway. It's not that he's finally had enough, because he's been sick of it for a long time, the longest time, but he finally feels as though he doesn't need to hold onto any of it. "Mum and Dad weren't good for us, you know. You probl'y don't, because you are them, you're literally everything they wanted you to be, but their ideas were really fucking harmful for the real world." "Don't bring them into - " "They're already in it! Come the fuck on, Gina, you're all in it together. The only reason you think I'm too different is because Mum and Dad think I am. You watched them throw out all of my things and decided they must be right, that has to be it. 'Cause there's someone else who doesn't want to leave Chilwell and can't fathom stepping outside of his little bubble because he loves his life, who thinks of me as really fucking different from him, but will make his way to ten shows this year because he wants to support me, and that guy has been my best friend since I was seven." "Yeah, and you were both royal nightmares. Don't pretend you're innocent, Nicholas. You broke our stuff and got in our way and made noise whenever we were trying to study and we always had to look out for you." Nico's scoff couldn't be more disgusted. "Ah, yes. Those things are equivalent to shunning me because I made the educated decision that I liked singing more than maths. I understand completely now. Thank you for shedding light on it, I see what I've been misunderstanding." "There's no need to be sarcastic. I don't know what you want - " He cuts in before she can deliver any more of her self-pitying bullshit. "I don't want anything. Not anymore. I wanted some support but I worked out pretty quickly that I wasn't going to get that from any one of you guys. So I found some elsewhere." Gina is silent. Gina is silent, so Nico keeps talking. It's a rare occasion. "I genuinely hope you have a good Christmas, Gi. And year. And life. And maybe one day we'll... you know. But I can't let you make yourselves feel better by pinning everything on me." His sister still doesn't say anything, and for a few moments Nico thinks that he might have pushed it too far. For once in his life he's said everything that he wants to say and she might've hung up on him because of it. A sharp inhalation informs him of her continued presence, and then a surprise. "I'm sorry, Nico." It's the first time that Nico can remember a member of his family calling him Nico, and if he's being honest he expected that it would have more of a meaning. It doesn't feel special or significant or like someone is finally looking at him for who he is, maybe because he can't know what to believe with Gina. Maybe she's just trying to scrape back some points. Maybe she's starting to see what he means. Maybe it doesn't matter either way. "Yeah," he says, and it might only be one word but it holds the entire weight of everything that he has just let go. "I've gotta go, we're -" He presses pause on the words, deciding suddenly that she doesn't need to know. She doesn't need to know anything anymore. "Happy birthday for next week. Congratulations on your baby news." Nico Sykes is just too different. Lucky number seven.