Uncle Charlie by SJI Holliday

Me an’ Uncle Charlie’s always been close. He let me drink a can of Red Stripe in the lavvy under the stairs when I was eleven. He never even touched me that time, but mam went mental. Not at me though, at me da.‘Sort out that bloody brother of yours,’ she yelled. ‘He’s only one tickle away from a sex crime.’ I never really knew what she meant; back then. He wasn’t even s'pose to be round at ours no more. Charlie’s not much older than me. Me gran had him by accident when she thought she were going through the change. It was a change alright, having another little ‘un in her forties, just when she’d got used to going out on the piss again with me grandad. Grandad thought it couldn’t happen. It did though. At least all the other siblings were old enough to look after the baby. Cute little Charlie. He was eight when I was born. By the time he was fifteen he was babysitting us every Saturday night until the time when me mam came back early and found him tickling me on the couch. I quite liked it; made me feel all nice and squirmy inside. Didn’t understand what was goin’ on when she burst in, face like a beetroot. ‘Get the fuck out,’ was all she said. When he stood up from the couch the buckle on his belt jangled a bit. Must’ve come loose when he was tickling me; in the special place.