This is my first posting into the ether and i would really appreaciate feedback...... It's a story i started ages ago and i can't get out of my head though i fear it's a bit of a non-starter. There are so many things wrong with it that i keep abandoning it and then getting sucked back in... please help....
 
What follows is meant to be the start of a story about three brothers, Gus, Chris and Mark, who were left to fend for themselves at an early age after their mother left. The youngest, Mark, who is half brother to the other two, was sent to live with his dad, Michael. The story starts when, after eight years, he goes back to live with them in a small town in Maryland.

Mark laid his suitcase on the plaid cover of the second bed in the room, the one by the door and looked around lazily. The room was tidy-ish. Chris’ bed ranged under the window, papers stacked up on the desk in the corner, a basket ball poster stuck with fading tape to the slanting roof above it. He couldn’t understand his brother’s obsession with sport. Chris pushed past him and went to the chest at the other wall. He opened the bottom three drawers and pulled out t-shirts and sweaters, folded but not ironed, and  put them under his bed. “You can have these.” He looked at his little brother with some scorn. “And can you a least try to be a little neat, okay?” Mark made a face at his brother’s bent back. “Sure thing bro.”
“Chris, give me a hand with this thing will you?” –Gus, from below. They lumbered upstairs with Mark’s battered trunk between them. “Gawd, what have you got in here?” George said as he dragged the grey case the last few feet into the bedroom.
“You’re not keeping all that in here.” Chris said, matter-of-factly.
Mark rolled his eyes. “Calm down will you? Since when did you become such a tidiness freak? He viewed the trunk with some distaste. “It’s full of a load of junk anyway.”
“You could have told us that before we heaved the thing up here!”
Gus put his bear like hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Fine take what you need and leave the rest in it. We’ll find a space for it somewhere.”
Later, after a dinner of tinned hotdogs and beans – Gus had said he wasn’t up to cooking and his two brothers readily agreed – they sat out on the porch in their jackets and watched the fading light.
Chris picked up a basketball from under the deck and started to bounce it against the back board over the garage. Mark leaned back in his seat so only two feet touched the floor – Gus being the oldest got the old rocker every time – and watched his brother move like a dancer in the front yard, elegantly tipping the ball in the net from longer and longer distances. He yawned.
Gus looked up at him from the yellowed paperback he was reading. “Bed soon I reckon.” Mark shrugged and stood up to get a better look at the view. At school from his and Alex’s room under the eaves you got a look across the leaded roofs to the playing fields. The roofs were good for climbing but the flat view bored him. Here from the hillside you looked down and saw, beyond the dirt track leading to their house, tall trees interrupted by the road which led past Annie’s orchard and into town; its straight and crooked parts visible by the outline of the trees all the way into town. The lights from the little marina took on a floaty appearance over the water, though you could only see the far end of the lake from their house. The lights of the main street shops were just visible as the light faded.  It was a good view, made the ramshackle falling apart house special in its own way. Even if chris would swap for one for a view of the lake and a smart porch with smartly painted woodwork, he wouldn’t.
Mark felt Gus watching him, wished he had a cigarette, or rather wished he could risk lighting up.  “So what’s your plan while you’re here? Are you going to behave yourself?”
Mark’s back visibly slumped. He shrugged.
“You better know better than that. I meant what I said.”
Mark made a face and exhaled loudly. His brother – knuckles white against the steering wheel, had been pretty plain. In fact the minute after he turned on the engine and started to turn down the school’s wide, gravely drive way, Gus had let slip the cool demeanour which had greeted Mark, bags at his feet in the lobby, and continued through the terse, unfriendly interview with Dr Rearden, the South African principal who’s accent gave him the hardened edge of a near criminal godfather rather than a teacher.
Out of the wood panelled hall way Gus had walked stiffly to the pick up, until he saw Mark couldn’t manage the trunk on his own.
He started the engine with grim faced resolution. All it took was an “are you okay?” from Mark to release the tirade.
“Six weeks, it’s been six weeks since the start of the year mark – not even that What were you – trying to get chucked out? Not easy that.”
Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You think life is such a big joke. When I dropped you off, you said you’d try – is this trying? Was that trying? And drugs! I swear if I catch you within an inch of that stuff again. I’ll –“ Gus bit down hard on his lip.
“It was only a drag Gus  it’s not like I was shooting up or something.”
And that was the annoying truth of the whole thing. One puff – not his first admittedly, but not a shooting offence, surely. Apparently that wasn’t the right thing to say.
Gus skidded to a halt, the pick up diagonally across the driveway, about ten feet from the entrance, The security guard stood up, uncertain what to do next.
Gus turned round in his seat and rested his huge hands on Mark’s shoulders. “Don’t you say that! Not ever again! You hear? You’ve got so far out it’s not even funny Mark. You’re fifteen for Christsakes and as if you didn’t know what…. Anyway it’s the height of stupid, stupid. And to act like your stupid immature irresponsible stunt means nothing –“ He broke off and Mark jumped as his brother hammered the steering wheel, hard, with both hands, shaking the car. He sat still for a moment before continuing in a much more threatening low tone. “I swear if I catch you up to that kind of shit again – “ He left the sentence uncompleted.
Mark shuffled down in his seat.
“Let’s get back. “
The security guard – who’s hand had paused over his walkie talkie looked relieved as the truck wound ut of the gates and turned on t the leafy road leading south to the freeway.

“Were you listening to me?”
“What?”
“Bedtime.” His brother said firmly. Mark didn’t argue.

Gus glared up at the clock. A mass of papers were spread out before him on the writing table, the battered armchair beside it, the top of the television set. American literature was all very well, but he preferred the cold facts of economics. He couldn’t care less about Fitzgerald’s take on the early twentieth century – but give him some graphs and a couple of articles about China’s potential growth in the next decade and he was a happy man. Am Lit was a requirement, non negotiable, even if you were trying to fit college around running two jobs and looking after your kid brothers. He knew, he’d asked, suggesting his life experience was worth more, could be the equivalent of- “good try son, but no.”
He’d been up for two hours, trying to make up for yesterday’s lost time, but now it was time to fit in something even less pleasant than Am Lit if he was to be on time for work at 8.30.
He sighed, inwardly cursing Mark, correcting himself and swapping his expletives to Michael.
He stood up and stretched, knocking over the aging bowl of fruit on the tv set. He’d put it there three weeks ago in a half hearted attempt to get them to eat better but now the apples were shrivelled and mould had started to form on the edge of the orange nearest the bowl. He picked it up and dropped the fruit into the trash in the kitchen, picking up the phone from above the breakfast bar and stretching it back through the door to the sofa – it wasn’t a big house. He retrieved a scrap of paper from under the mug on top of the battered wooden bureau and sat down. He started dialling – it was a relief to hear the ring tone, he’s better get round to paying that bill before the phone company cut them off again. He dialled the long international number. The ringing tone sounded funny. Gus imagined it as a very British tone, heard by gents in bowler hats and women in gloves in a marble clad office block somewhere in London.
“Bryant Corporation. Sarah speaking. How may I help you?”
Gus almost laughed out loud at the marbled tones, coughed, and said, “Michael Bryant please.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Tell him it’s Gus – that is George O’Riley.”
“One moment please.”
There was a click and some classical music filled his ear. Gus clicked his tongue impatiently, wondering if he should have asked mannerly Sarah to phone him back.
“Hi George? What’s up?”
Gus raised his eyebrows at Michael’s thinly veiled impatience. “Hi, how are you?”
“Good thanks – We’re still finding London a refreshing change.”
“How is, er, everyone?”
 “Well, Marie says the shopping here is wholly different to New York. She’s out emptying the stores on a daily basis, the kids are enjoying the change of scene. “ Michael’s voice became wary. “ How is everything  there? How’s Mark?”
Gus tightened the fingers of his left hand around the armrest. “Well there’s been a bit of a problem.”
“Is he playing up again? He’s due to come over for the Christmas break – perhaps we need another man to man chat..”
Gus gripped the phone harder.  As though he’d ever called Michael for anything less than serious – as for sorting things out – He took a deep breath. “The thing is the school called me yesterday – he’s been kicked out.”
“What?” Michael voice boomed down the line.
“They’ve thrown him out  - him and a couple of others for smoking pot.”
“You’re kidding me? I’ll kill him–is he there?“
“Michael – look he’s still in bed – its not seven yet. “
“I don’t believe this. I put the fear of God n him before he went back and goddamit I’ll put it in him again. We need to get him on a plane over here ASAP.”
Gus grinned at the way Michael pronounced it, AY-SAP, like he thought he was a military man. He remembered Mark blazing about that “fucking general”. Not exactly your typical soldier in designer gear and pampered in male only salons, but still.
“Marie’s gonna love this, I can see it now. And what will we tell the kids? Great.”
“Look Michael – wouldn’t it be easier to let him stay here a bit? He could stay with us and go to school with chris. I’d straighten him out a bit. “ Gus tried not to get his hopes up, but it would be good, like before, only better. Maybe make up a bit for what went before too.
“I don’t think so Gus. The deal was I got custody – things didn’t work out brilliantly before.”
Gus smarted at the unfairness of the comment but bit his tongue. “ That was a long time ago Michael.”
“Even so – look can you get him to the phone please?”
“Call back in ten minutes  - I’ll get him up.

Mark slept spread out on front with the covers over his head.
“Time to get up – both of you.”
“Ten more minutes.” He said dozily pulling the edge of the cover down further over his face,
“No – up.” Gus leaned down and expertly pulled the covers off his brother’s sleeping form.
“Hey!”
“Don’t push me – I’m a tired man.”
“Chris was snoring all night – I barely slept.”
A pillow rolled threw the air and landed on mark’s face with remarkable accuracy. Mark leapt up and jumped onto the second bed.
“Oy! You’ll break the bed, geroff!”
Mark, sitting on chris’ chest, tried to pull him into a headlock. Chris sat up quickly and tried to tip him off the bed. Mark resisted until he felt two big arms lift him under the armpits and dump him unceremonially on the floor. “Awch – that hurt.”
“A lot less than you deserve.  Now get going – Chris you’ll be late. Mark get dressed, your dad’s calling back in ten minutes. “
“What? What? I’m not talking to him.”
“Believe me you are. Now get dressed.”
“I’m not fucking talking to him Gus – I don’t  care what you say.”
 Chris – who had started to pull on the pair of jeans he’d left on the chair the night before, winced.  Mark looked stubbornly down at his hands.
Gus leaned down in front of his brother and said in a low dangerous tone, “firstly don’t  swear at me if you know what’s good for you Mark. Secondly if you choose not to speak with Michael, that’s fine, I’ll drive you to the airport and you can talk to him in person – your choice. “
Mark shrugged.
“Your choice – but I know which one I’d pick.” Gus added quietly, turning back down the stairs.

But when the phone rang six minutes later it was Mark who picked it up and dragged the cord over to the deck to sit on gus’ rocker.  Chris stirred his coffee and took a bite out of a bagel.
“You playing today? You want something else? Eggs?”
Chris shook his head. “Naw this is fine.” He took another bite out of the bread. “I think we’re out anyway.”
“Oh – yeah – I’ll pick some up at work. “
“Things are a bit tight at the moment aren’t they?”
“ A bit. We’ll live.”
“Why don’t I get a job, just a part time one? It’ll help us out.”
“I told you – no. We’ll be fine.”
“But Gus –“
“Christ Chris I told you no already a million times– can’t you let it lie?”
“We need the extra money.”
“If we need the extra money I’ll get it. Don’t worry – you concentrate on passing math and I’ll worry about the money okay? Last time I looked things were looking pretty shaky for you – I don’t need the worry of you keeping up in school and holding down a stupid frigging job, okay?”
Chris slammed his mug on the counter. “Just because you’re pissed at mark – don’t take it out on me Gus.” He leaned to pick up his bag. “I’ll be back late. Bye.” He slammed the screen door that led out of the kitchen to the back of the house, hard.
Gus shook his head. He knew how easy it would be for chris to take on a few extra hours here, a couple there. He needed to concentrate on his basketball, like any other kid should.
Mark trailed into the kitchen with the phone. “He wants to talk to you.” He snarled. Gus sighed, obviously he was everyone’s bad guy today.

Mark picked up chris’ sweater from the sofa and pulled it over his head. It was dark green with a worn patch on the elbow and smelled vaguely of cigarettes. He opened the door of the porch and slipped out. The front yard wasn’t exactly a front yard. There was a basketball net above the garage, and a small level patch in front of the porch and over towards the garage but after that the land fell away, the dirt drive scattered with rocks and scarred with potholes.  He eased away from the house to the area to the edge of the garage, hidden by the house and leaning against the wooden wall, pulled a single cigarette from his jeans pocket. He lit up and held the cigarette between his half open lips, the way he’d seen James Dean do. He wondered if Chris smoked . He was far too smart to let anyone catch him if he did, and probably not, because of basketball. At school everyone smoked. Probably always had -  which was another thing Michael would never admit to.

It was weird being back in Carlington with the fall closing in and the trees already starting to lose their leaves. He guessed it would be the same in town , the summer visitors would have closed up their houses by the lake, packed up and gone back home. It was weird thinking Michael would have been one of them as well – one of those summer visitors packing up to go back to New York, back to school or college or whatever. And before that he’d have spent a summer on the lake, not like the summers Mark spent at the lake, with Gus and Chris, running around a bit wild, fishing from the pier and scrambling for cash. Michael would have belonged to the country club, be expected to spend his days sailing.
Mark took another long puff on the cigarette.  Michael wasn’t happy with him. Well, so what, when was Michael ever happy with him? He didn’t mean to get thrown out of the stupid school, but now it had happened, well, it wasn’t so bad. Maybe he’d get to stay here – it would be just like old times, well sort of. He ground the butt with his heel and hid it under a stone.