9

Anthony

 

           

He always enjoyed smoking one cigarette on the way home from work. Christ, he needed it, after a hot and stressful day in the kitchen.  That was one thing he knew that Chrissie would regrettably never understand.  She liked to inform him of how stressful her own day had been, and he would grin and bear it and smile sympathetically in all the right places, but inside his head he would groan in despair.  She had both the kids at school now, and had just started working with her best friend, doing other peoples ironing.  Anthony was all for it.  It was great that she wanted to earn her own money, and impressive that her and her friend had started their own little business, but at the same time, he just could not quite equate her collecting clothes from people and ironing it back at home, with his level of pressure in the hotel.  He didn’t tell her though.  He had learnt well how to back down from arguments.  He didn’t like them, didn’t like where they led, and all he had to do was look at his younger brother to see where constant confrontation got you.

He smoked the cigarette slowly, winding his way through the Sunday afternoon traffic to get home.  He hated working Sundays.  He was not religious, but he truly felt at least one day of the week should be a day of rest. Fat chance of that, ever, he mused ruefully. He smoked with the window rolled down, despite the cold, because he didn’t want the car to smell of smoke.  Chrissie would detect it almost immediately, complaining that it was terrible for the kid’s lungs.  Of course, she would smell it on him too, even if he ate some mints and chewed some gum.  He sucked on his cigarette, tolerated the traffic and thought about how best to tell her he was going out again.  There was no if about it, Anthony realised.  Michael was putting the pressure on, and if he didn’t come because of Chrissie, then the shit would hit the fan soon enough.  Michael did not need any more ammunition, he thought, any more reason to pick fights with his wife.  Yet again, he sighed, and felt dismay at the impossible situation he found himself in.  His brother and his wife pretty much despised each other. 

As he got closer to home, Anthony tried to think of a way to put it to her that would not make it sound so bad.  I’m going out again, for no real reason other than Michael wants me too, and I want to see Danny some more.  He shrugged to himself, mulling that one over for a while.  He could try inviting her along too of course, to meet Danny, but that would involve getting babysitters, which always seemed far too much of a hassle these days.  She wouldn’t come anyway, he mused.  She did not enjoy spending time with Michael, and her views on Danny’s release from prison had so far consisted of raised eyebrows, sucked in breath and barely disguised hostility.  They had not had it out with each other yet, but he knew it was coming.

Proceeding down the road, which led to their home, Anthony tossed his cigarette butt out of the window, fumbled in the glove compartment for an air spray, and pumped several streams of vanilla scented gas into the air.  He pulled up into the driveway and killed the engine.  He checked his phone.  Two messages. Michael; Dan gone awol. Explain at pub. Anthony rubbed his chin.  What the hell did that mean, awol? The second message was from a number he did not recognise; Ant, Mike on Dan’s fone, save it yeah, c u @6. Anthony shoved his phone back into his pocket and groaned.  Michael was just assuming he would definitely be there now, even though he had told him he had to square it with Chrissie first.  Typical Michael.  The trouble with single blokes, he thought, is that they don’t have to consider anyone but themselves and expect everyone else to be the same.  You would think that Michael would get it by now, he considered, shaking his head slowly and staring through the windscreen at his house.  He and Chrissie had been together nearly eight years.  They had two kids.  When the hell was Michael going to get used to the fact things had changed?

It was nearly dark outside.  He could see that the lounge light was on, and the curtains had not yet been drawn, because he could just make out the light of the television against the far wall.  Standing in front of it he could see a small figure, hopping from one foot to the other, waving the occasional arm.  Jess.  She looked like she was dancing; probably to that dance show she loved so much on Cbeebies.  He knew that Chrissie would be laying the table in the kitchen.  Liam would be in the back garden, muffled up in his coat, kicking his football against the back fence again and again until it was too dark to see it anymore.  Anthony watched his daughter through the window, and felt the rush of love that even now, still staggered him at times.  He had never known it was possible to love like that.  Not until the day Liam had been handed to him in the hospital.  It was so powerful it was terrifying.

That love, he thought, that love changed everything.  Up until that day he had been jack the lad, just like Michael.  He loved Chrissie, they had even moved in together, with Mike as their lodger, but the relationship had not seemed real, or solid, until the baby was born.  He loved Chrissie even more now, he knew it.  He loved the way she was a natural, earthy sort of mother.  She was everything his own mother had never even tried to be.  She adored those kids, he thought, watching Jess spin in circles next to the TV.  Watching her with them over the years, encouraging them and believing in them, constantly awed and amazed at every little thing they did, it had brought them closer together.  They had got married when she was seven weeks pregnant with Jess.  Mike had moved out by then, of course.  By then, it had been obvious that he and Chrissy were never going to get on.  They had both tried, at the beginning, they had tried really hard.  They had tried for him, Anthony realised.  Neither of them wanted to be the one to upset him or let him down.  But right from the start, they were in competition with each other, and they all knew it. 

And nothing had changed.  Michael was still trying to drag him out on benders every weekend, and Chrissie still felt anxious and threatened every time he came back worse for wear.  She thought Michael was unstable and a bad influence.  Christ knows what she really thought about Danny being back, or about what Danny had done.

Anthony got out of the car then, locked it up and went inside.  He poked his head around the door of the lounge and caught Jess mid-dance.  She squealed and immediately threw herself at him for a cuddle.  “Can you do it with me?” she questioned, when he set her back down, pointing at the TV.  He kissed the top of her head.

“I will, but hang on, let me get my coat and shoes off, and see mummy quickly.  Did you have a good day?”

“I tried my bike without stabilisers again!” she beamed back at him.  He dropped his jaw in amazement.

“No way! That’s brilliant!  Did you fall off lots?”

“No, silly Daddy! Well, only one time.  Two times actually.”

“Oh my God, that is amazing,” Anthony shook his head at her, and reached out to ruffle her hair, but she ducked away and starting dancing again.  “Well done baby, I am so so proud of you.  You’ll have to show me baby.”

“Mummy said it’s too dark now.”

“Yes, it is.   See you in a minute.”

Anthony kicked off his shoes, hung up his coat and wandered down the hall and into the kitchen.  He found his wife stirring a pot at the oven, and slid his arms around her from behind.  “Mmm, chicken?”

“Yep and pasta and garlic bread.  You hungry?”

“Oh yes.  Jess said she did well on her bike today? Did you go to the park?”

Chrissie smiled proudly.  “No, just the garden again. She’s getting really brave, bless her.”

“We’re obviously doing a great job,” he teased, kissing Chrissie’s neck.  She giggled and let him, but her suspicions were obviously aroused.

“Okay, what do you want?”

“Hey?”

“You normally come in and head straight for a shower. Why are you being all lovey dovey with me?”

“Because I love you.”

“And you want something?” She left the pot and turned around, smiling at him curiously, arms folded.  He reached out and smoothed a stray hair away from her face.  She still had the faint spray of freckles across her nose that had attracted him to her in the first place.  He made a face.

“Well I might sort of be going out tonight.” He saw her smile vanish.  Her mouth went small.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.  Just, you know, Danny being out and everything, and Billy, I haven’t seen him in years, he can make it tonight too so…..” He looked at her hopefully but she was staring back at him, her lips tightly pressed together.

“Well there was me looking forward to a quiet night in with you.  Just you and me.”

“I won’t be long Chris, I promise.  Just a few drinks, check in with Danny, say hi to Billy, and I’ll be back.”

“Don’t bother saying that.” She turned her back abruptly and went back to stirring the chicken in the sauce.  Anthony found his pockets with his hands and hung them there, sighing.

“What’s the problem?”

“Nothing.  Do what you want.  But don’t bother saying you won’t be long when you know that’s not true.”

“Chris…”

“You do what you want,” she snapped. “Whatever.”

“Chris please don’t be like this. I barely got to catch up with Dan the other day, you know.  I want to see how he’s doing, how he’s getting on. It must be so weird you know, all that time locked away.”

“Fine, I said.  I get it.”

“Well what does that mean?”

“I get that you’d rather be with them lot than us. That’s fine.” She tossed her dark blonde hair from one shoulder to the other, and he watched her shoulders stiffen, her back grow rigid.  She was really mad, he could tell.  He took a step back, looked at the hallway and thought of the shower that he really needed. 

“Don’t be stupid, that’s not true.  I don’t go out all the time Chris, do I?  This is sort of a special occasion.”

“I thought the other day was? How many special occasions will there be with this guy?  How long til he doesn’t need you checking on him?”  She said all of this with her back turned, stirring the pan.  Anthony considered just walking away, leaving it at that.  He could cope with a tense dinnertime.  He would help stick the kids in the bath and then make a move.  Deal with her moods tomorrow. 

“You know the situation,” he said to her instead. “I’ve told you all about it enough times.  I told you all about it when we first met.  You always knew one day he’d get out, and me and Mike would want to be there for him.”

Chrissie just shook her head, sucked in more breath.  “You didn’t answer the question though.  How long?”

“How can I answer that?” he shot back. “What does that even mean?  How long will I be a friend to him for?  How long will I be a brother to Mikey?”

“Oh look, I don’t want to row about this now, dinner is practically ready. Go and have your shower.”

“Fine.”  Anthony took the chance to walk away.  He caught a glimpse of Liam heading up to the back door with his football in his arms, before he stormed out of the kitchen, and thumped up the stairs.  It was all right for Chrissie, he found himself fuming as he slammed and locked the bathroom door behind him.  She’d grown up with lovely, normal parents.  She doesn’t know, he thought, peeling off the sweaty layers that clung to him from a day in the kitchen, she doesn’t understand.  There were times that he watched her with their kids, and almost felt jealous of what they had, of what she was giving to them.  Stunned and mesmerised by her gentleness and her patience with them.  They had everything they ever needed, he realised, and that was great, that was something they could both be proud of, but sometimes, just sometimes it pricked him sharply, it stopped him in his tracks.  He saw them, and he wanted to say to all of them; you lucky bastards.

He knew then that he would eat dinner and be civil, kiss the kids goodnight and go out on his own.  He would find Mike, and Danny and Lucy, and Billy, and he would get rolling drunk.  He would do it.  He would do it, and embrace it, and feel it all, and come home with the truth of it all steaming from his skin, and he would show it to her and say there, there look, this is me.  This is me.  Just in case she had forgotten.

He felt recklessness he had not joined forces with in a long time.  Chrissie seemed to sense this, and grew even more rigid with anger as the kids tucked into dinner. When they were bathed and ready for bed, Anthony kissed them both goodnight, looked once at his wife, and left the house without saying a word.

 

It was a twenty-minute walk from their house to Belfield Park high street.  He did not even consider getting a taxi.  He needed the walk.  He lit up.  Thought of pints of beer lined up along the bar, whiskey chasers and tequila shots.  Like the old days.  He smiled as he walked.  He thought of them all smiling from ear to ear, cheering raucously when he arrived, and he thought of those rare and wonderful moments, and he felt a swell of longing and nostalgia and love.

Anthony pushed his way into the pub and saw them right away, bustling with each other at the bar. The music was loud, just the way he remembered it, just the way it should be and he even thought he knew the band, The Libertines, and the song, roaring into his brain oh what became of the likely lads?  Oh what became of the dreams we had? Oh what became of forever? Though we’ll never know! He approached them with arms out wide, arrogant smile upon his sneering lips.  “All right you bastards?”

“Anthony, you cunt!” Michael spun around and slapped him hard on the shoulder.  “Look, it’s fucking Billy!”

Anthony slipped his hand briefly around Danny’s arm; “all right mate?” and then moved on to Billy.  He had not seen him in years, had no idea how many, but the little boy was no longer little, he was short, but stocky, flame hair dulled to a rusty burnt orange.  With pint in hand and childlike grin, he greeted Anthony with a vigorous pint-spilling handshake.

“Anthony!  How the hell are you?”

“Good mate good, what about you?  All grown up! Jesus, look at all you lot,” he gestured to the four of them, Lucy standing next to Danny, her back against the bar, her coat off and lying over one arm.

“Mad isn’t it?” Billy agreed. “Fucking crazy.”

“What do you want?” Michael turned to the bar, sticking out his elbow to poke Anthony in the arm.

“Same as you lot.”

“Glad you made it,” Michael glanced his way. “Was getting worried there for a minute.”

“Shut up and get me a drink,” Anthony looked back at the other three.  His eyes moved curiously from one to the other, from Billy, up to Danny, then down to Lucy, whose hand occasionally crept onto Danny’s arm, only to slide slowly back again.  He watched them all for a moment, as the small talk battled on, and he felt both a stabbing sense of sorrow, and a fierce desire for hope.  Michael pushed a pint into his hand and leaned back against the bar, just as Lucy suggested grabbing the corner seats and getting comfy.  Anthony lingered beside his brother, as the other three converged on the table. “What’s up then?” he asked him.

“Few weird things. Good and bad.”

Anthony took a sip from his beer. “Bad first then.  What’ve you done?”

Michael looked taken back. “Why do you assume I’ve done something?”

“You usually have,” Anthony shrugged. “What is it?”

“Just a little incident yesterday, of me and Dan pissing on Howard’s grave and his old man catching us.” Michael closed his mouth, and dared a glance at his brother. Anthony was staring back at him in utter horror.

“Pardon me?”

“You heard didn’t you?” Michael flinched and bit his lip, and his eyes darted across to the table where the others had sat down together.  Anthony felt the need to shake his head a little, frowning at the floor.

“I don’t think I did hear you right,” he said, glaring down. “You can’t have said that, because that would make you even more stupid than I thought you were.” He looked up sharply, and caught the flash of guilt in Michael’s eyes, that quickly darkened to anger.

“Don’t start,” he hissed. “Danny wanted to. He wanted to go and check the grave.”

“What the fuck for?”

“Why do you think Anthony?  To fucking make sure!”

“Okay, okay,” Anthony placed his pint on the bar and leant there with his elbow, his body turned towards Michael.  “Whatever, that’s insane, but why the fuck did you feel the need to piss on it?”

Michael shrugged and Anthony saw him as a teenager again.  But he was not a teenager anymore; he was nearly twenty-five years old, and a father.  Not like he ever acted like either. “Why not?” he replied. “He promised him he would. That morning, when he did him in.  When he ended it. He told him he would piss on his grave. I think that’s pretty cool don’t you?”

“You need to grow up,” Anthony told him seriously. “I mean it.”

“Christ,” Michael rolled his eyes into his head and then frowned back at his brother, his jaw set hard. “You would have understood once.”

“You said his old man caught you?  What the fuck does that mean?  Whose old man?”

Michael glanced over at Danny, and then leaned closer to his brother. “This old man came along, started shouting at us.  We ran.  He called out it was his son.  His son’s grave.” He lifted and dropped his shoulders again casually. “Who would have thought the bastards dad would still be alive, eh?”

“I can’t believe you…really I can’t.” Anthony was shaking his head. He picked his pint back up and drank three slow mouthfuls.

“It’s fine,” Michael grumbled. “What does it matter?  The old goat won’t do anything.”

“Well you better hope not,” Anthony snapped suddenly, pushing his face close to Michael’s. “Because in case you forgot, your friend over there only just got out of jail, and funnily enough they don’t take kindly to ex-cons getting straight back into trouble again!  What were you thinking Michael?  Why didn’t you talk him out of it?”

Michael just puffed his angry breath down into his pint. “I didn’t want to.  He needed to do it.  It felt good doing it.”

“You’re a fucking idiot Mike.”

“I don’t know why I even bother telling you anything…”

“So what else happened then?  There’s more I can tell.  Look at the state of Lucy.  And despite this being a happy occasion, Danny looks more like he would like to take someone’s head off.” Anthony held his brother in his stormy glare. “What else?”

Michael sighed loudly, and scratched at the back of his neck.  “Someone spray painted graffiti on Lucy’s front door last night.”  Anthony lifted his eyebrows.

“Saying what?”

“Killer.”

“Oh Jesus fuck…you idiots!”

“Why does that make us idiots?  Are the idiots not the shitbags who go around spraying shit all over people’s houses that they know nothing about?”

“You know what I mean Mike.”

“Well anyway,” Michael drank half his pint quickly, burped and wiped his chin. “That was the bad news.  Wait till you hear the good news.  Well Dan doesn’t see it as good news but I fucking do.”

“What is it?”

“His mum’s giving him two hundred grand.”  Michael nodded at Anthony and lifted his pint back to his lips.  Anthony felt stunned, and speechless.  He looked across at the group in the corner.  It looked like Billy was having to do all the talking, while Lucy did her best to fill any awkward dragging silences.  He turned back to Michael.

“Oh my God.”

“I know.  I know!”

“That’s unbelievable.”  He stared, wide eyed, from Michael, to Danny then back again.  “That’s like, so much money!”

“Yeah I know,” Michael grinned.  “Like life changing money, yeah?”

“Definitely”

“Yeah, and he doesn’t want it.”

“You what?”  Anthony stopped then as they both watched Danny slide back on his stool and leave the table.  He came straight to them, holding out his glass, which was empty already.  Michael took it from him.

“You want the same again?”

“Yep,” Danny nodded at them.  “I’m getting seriously fucked up tonight boys.  It’s been eight fucking years!”

Michael laughed and patted his shoulder agreeably.  “Well,” said Anthony. “It sounds like the next round could be on you, if what Mike’s been telling me is true?”

“Oh that?” Danny rolled his eyes as if he could care less. “Don’t even fucking get me onto that.  You want two hundred grand Anthony?  You can fucking have it.”

“You’re serious?” Anthony asked him, as Michael addressed the barmaid. “You don’t think it would be helpful?  You know, to start again?”

Danny rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes flicking curiously over Anthony’s face.  Anthony felt unsure of him for a moment.  He could not tell if he was just already drunk, or just really fucking angry.  For a moment it seemed like the face he was staring into, was nobody that he knew.  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said to him. “I want to get fucking rat arsed and have a good time.  It’s been a shitty shitter of a day and I want to get wrecked.”

“No problem,” Anthony smiled easily at him, reaching out and clapping him on the arm.  “You go for it mate.  You fucking do it!  We won’t say another word, will we Mikey?”

“My lips are zipped,” Michael agreed, turning around and passing Danny his drink. “So what’s it like seeing Billy again?  Looks like his fucking dad, right?”

Danny snorted into his drink. “That’s exactly what I was thinking! I swear I nearly fucking called him Donald!”

“Come on,” Michael tugged his elbow.  “Let’s get over there.  This is gonna be a shit hot night I can tell you.”

 

Anthony followed them.  He felt somewhat on the outside for a while, wallowing in the anger as he felt towards his brother, and the confusion he felt with Danny.  He sat back, drinking steadily, and wondering why the familiar feeling of responsibility settled so easily upon his shoulders.  He shot glances at Michael and Danny and felt like they had all momentarily stepped back in time.  Chrissie was right, he thought, to question how long.  How long?  How long was he going to feel responsible for them?  How long was he going to feel like he had to look out for them? 

8

Michael

 

            The arrangement was to meet at The Olde Inne pub at six o’clock.  Billy had texted to confirm this.  He would be coming alone.  Michael was excited.  He did not see the harm in popping down to the pub at lunchtime, just to get into the mood.  The pub was warmer than his flat, and the pub provided food as well as free newspapers.  He made himself at home in his usual corner, tucked into a cheese and pickle sandwich, accompanied by a packet of crisps and a pint of beer.  He felt at ease and brimming with anticipation.  He was looking forward to getting Danny back again and having some drinks.  And Billy!  Maybe they could drag him forcefully back into the gang, he mused to himself as he sprawled in the corner, with the newspaper spread out before him.  They would all be back together again.

            Just then his phone beeped with a message.  He pulled it out and looked at it.  Anthony; Dan back yet?

            Michael punched back the reply. No. U comin out later? He placed his phone on the table and picked up his pint, drinking three large mouthfuls before his phone beeped again.

            Not sure. What time?

            Michael rolled his eyes in annoyance at his older brother. Billy coming at 6. Waiting 2 hear from Luce and Dan. I’m here now. He almost deleted the last bit.  At this time of the day he knew his brother would be greased with hot sweat, working in the kitchen of the posh hotel he was employed by.  To imagine Michael relaxing in the pub at mid-day would irk him no end. 

            At this time? The message came back through, making Michael chuckle. U alone?

            It’s warm, he texted back, u coming later or what?

            Be home by half 5. Have to check with Chrissie. Txt u later.

            Michael growled in disgust and typed back; you better make it u cunt. Anthony did not reply.  He dropped the phone back onto the table, drained the last of his pint and finished off his sandwich.  The beer made his body feel warm and tingling all over.  He picked up the newspaper and started to read it, spread out across his knees. He imagined he would have one more drink here, then go home and try to tidy the flat up a bit.  The other night he had been too drunk to care about the state of it, but now he felt a creep of embarrassment about it.  He knew he did not have to worry about impressing Danny, he had just come out of prison for Christ’s Sake, but he had seen Danny’s face in the morning, as he looked around at the state of it all.  Having a flatmate, he reasoned, was going to be brilliant.  They could look after the place together, take turns tidying up and cooking, like they used to do back in the bed-sit.  Those had been strange times, he reflected now.  He remembered feeling jumpy the whole time, checking his shoulder, and waking up in the middle of the night bathed in terror, but at the same time, they had been amazing times.  He had not had times like that since, he mused.  He and Danny and Anthony, against the whole fucking world.  Lucy and Zoë around every Friday, he smiled now, thinking of it. Billy and Jake. The nights going mental at Chaos, then around the corner for kebabs and chips, before finishing the night up in the bed sit with a joint or two shared around.  Michael recalled the feeling that he was surrounded with the best people in the world.  That was the best feeling in the world, he thought now, nodding rather morosely to himself in the corner, as he stared up across the empty pub.  Best friends, and amazing music, and a few drinks and what have you, and that was it, life couldn’t get any better than that, could it? 

            Just then Tony the landlord sauntered over to collect his empty glass. He was a short, rather overweight man in his late forties.  He reminded Michael of Terry, The Fat Man, they had all called him, Danny’s boss in The Record Shop. “Want another young man?” Tony asked him, grabbing his grass.

            “Ooh go on then, you’ve twisted my arm Tone.”

            “Same again?” the man grinned.  He was wearing a rather unflattering beige and brown cardigan, which did not quite button up across his wide girth. 

            “Oh yes.  Then I’ll be off.  Though I am tempted to stay here and keep my seat warm for later!”

            “You back again later are you?  Celebration?”

            “Yeah, we’re back later,” Michael grinned up at him.  “Me and the boys! We’ll be taking over the place Tone, my man.”

            “Ah right you are,” Tony nodded.  “That friend of yours the other day?  The blonde one?  He the one you were telling me about before?”

            “Yeah.  Danny.”

            “The one who’s been in jail?”

            Michael nodded and folded up the newspaper.  “That’s him.  Fucking best friend I ever had in my life, Tone.”

            Tony smiled, stepped away, and then paused, looking awkward.  Michael raised his eyebrows at him, waiting.  “He the one that, you know?” he lowered his voice slightly, even though the pub was empty.  “Killed his old man?”

            Michael nodded slowly. “Wasn’t his old man,” he corrected him, and he was aware that his defences had gone up already, even though he had known Tony in here for years, and he was a good bloke.  “He was his step-dad.”

            “Nasty piece of work I hear.”

            “Yeah, you hear right.  The guy was a psycho.  Totally fucking twisted. Danny should never have been sent down for it.” He got up lazily, needing the toilet, and half wanting the conversation and the questions to end, and half wanting them to continue.  This was where it got difficult, he thought.  There was a side of him that felt tense and under attack whenever anyone who was not involved brought up what Danny had done.  He had defended him, and fought his corner numerous times over the years, coming to blows more often than not.  People were stupid and narrow minded most of the time.  They had their own opinions on something they knew nothing about, and this enraged Michael more than anything.  How dare anyone have a view or something to say about what Danny did that morning?  But at the same time if he felt people understood, or sympathised on one level, he found himself enjoying telling Danny’s tale for him.  So people would understand.  He looked at Tony and could see he was squirming with curiosity.  “He pleaded guilty when he didn’t have to,” he told him then.  “He took ten years in prison when he didn’t deserve any.  I tell you mate, any one of us would have done the same fucking thing he did.  I know I would have.  You can’t treat someone like that for years, and not expect them to fight back one day.  That’s all he did in the end.  He fought back.”

            Tony was nodding emphatically; his brow shining with a fat mans sweat.  Michael eased past him to head to the toilet.  “Blimey,” the man said, shuffling back to the bar. “The things that go on, eh?”

            “You don’t know the half of it mate,” Michael remarked and went off to the toilets.

            After his second pint, he shrugged on his coat and headed back to his flat.  He lit a cigarette on the way and dragged his phone out of his jeans pocket when it beeped at him.  It was Jenny, Zach’s mum; Can you take Zach tomorrow night by any chance? At yours, or you can come here? Hoping to go out for a change!

            He thought it over for a moment, before replying; having a major tidy up, he can come here if you want?

            Jenny’s text came back instantly; that’s gr8!! Thanks Mike!! He’ll be so excited. Can u pick him up 4ish tom?

            Michael paused before replying.  He wondered if he should tell her about Danny.  Not via texting, he decided and typed in; yes no prob c u then.

 

            He was tucking his mobile back into his pocket as he turned the corner into the alley that led to the back of his flat.  It was a dirty, narrow alley, lined with industrial bins from the shops, and crowded with bulging black bin bags.  He kicked a crushed beer can as hard as he could as he approached, sending it nearly all the way to the other end, where the alley came out next to McDonalds.  It was then he spotted the reporter woman again.  She was hovering next to his back door, a distasteful expression on her overly made up face.  Michael dragged on his cigarette, pushed one hand into the pocket of his coat and sauntered up to her. 

            “Can I help you love?  Bet you’re freezing your arse off out here.”

            Caroline Haskell had aged well over the last eight years, he thought, looking her up and down as she turned to greet him.  He guessed her to be in her mid-thirties by now, but she was one of those women who did everything in her power to halt the ageing process so it was hard to tell.  She had poker straight hair, golden blonde and so full of shine it reminded him of those adverts on the TV, where the women are always flinging their hair from one shoulder to the other.  He could imagine her doing that.  She dressed like a reporter, he thought.  Smart casual, with sharp little heels, and always with a bag across her shoulder.  She beamed her convincing smile his way and he wondered how many suckers had fallen for it over the years.  She stuck her hand out to him.  “Michael Anderson?” She phrased it as a question, although she knew full well who he was.

            “Last time I looked,” he said with a grin, giving her hand an obligatory shake. “And no, Danny is still not here before you ask.”

            “Ah,” she said, hoisting her bag on her shoulder and tossing back her hair.  She tilted her head at him slightly and he looked into her wide amber eyes, and wondered what she was like in bed.  She had a neat, narrow nose, and wide mouth.

            “Certainly are persistent,” he told her, dragging on his smoke again. She smiled courteously, and he thought she was probably one of those women who smiled like that at everyone, even her bank manager. 

            “Just doing my job,” she replied brightly.

            “Who do you work for then?  Still with the local rag?”

            “Do you happen to know when Mr. Bryans will be back?” she asked, ignoring his question, but pulling a business card out of her bag and passing it to him.  He looked at it briefly before stuffing it inside his coat.

            “You left one of those already.”

            “Is he coming back here?”

            “No idea darling.  I’m not his keeper.”

            “But he is staying with you here?”

            “For now.  Look love,” Michael sighed and tossed the butt of his smoke to the ground.  “He won’t want to talk to you, so you’re wasting your time.”

            “I think I’ll wait to hear that from him,” she said curtly, and turned on her heel, hair swinging.  “Good afternoon Mr. Anderson.”

            “Yeah, whatever.”

 

            He went up to his flat, felt disgruntled with the horrible state of it, and kicked an empty beer bottle across the hall floor.  There was no dog to greet him, because the dog was with Danny.  Michael walked into the kitchen, felt overwhelmed with the filth, and walked back out again.  He found himself fiddling with CD’s again, wondering what to listen to, and thinking about a drink. 

            Five minutes later he heard the doorbell buzz and cursed loudly.  He stalked up to it and slammed his hand against it.  “Is that you again Haskell?”

            “No,” came the surprised reply.  “It’s me and Lucy.”

            “Oh. Sorry Dan.  Come on up.”

            Michael held the door open and watched the pair of them, closely tailed by Kurt, make their way up the grotty carpetless stairs.  He narrowed his eyes at them and waited, hands in pockets, knowing something was up.  They didn’t look like the young, love-struck couple he expected them to be by now.  Lucy looked tense and her shoulders were slouched wearily.  Danny was carrying a box and an envelope, and more than anything, he just looked pissed off. “That reporter chick was just here,” Michael said as they filed past him.  Danny made a sound of disgust.

            “For God’s sake.”

            “I told her she was wasting her time,” Michael shrugged and closed the door behind them.  “You guys want a drink?  Not tea, I mean, because we’re out of milk.  Whiskey?”

            Danny looked at Lucy, eyebrows raised in question, and Michael had to turn away and smile.  It reminded him so much of the way Anthony always looked at his wife before agreeing to anything these days.  He walked back into the lounge and located his bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.  “Can I stay here tonight?” Lucy sighed and asked, dropping down onto the sofa and chucking her keys onto the table.  Michael took the hint and sloshed three measures of whiskey into the cleanest glasses he could find.  He sat next to Lucy, while Danny stalked around the lounge, fiddling with the box he had.

            “Course you can,” Michael told her.  “What’s up?  What’s in the box?”

            “Mobile phone,” Lucy smiled slightly.  “It’s doing his head in.”

            Michael snorted in amusement.  “Who gave you that?”

            “My mum,” said Danny, his brow creased in frustration.  “Can one of you sort it out for me?  I don’t even see the point in the fucking things.”

            “Give it here,” said Michael, taking it from him.  “You’ve got to charge it up first, you twat.  It’s a good idea actually.  I’ll put all our numbers in it for you.”

            “Believe me Dan,” Lucy said, twiddling her hair around her finger and looking back at him.  “Give it a week and you won’t be able to live without the thing, I promise you.”

            Danny just looked away, out of the window.  Lucy looked back at Michael and caught his eye.  “Someone sprayed graffiti on my front door,” she told him, while he uncoiled the charger from the box.  “We found it this morning.”

            “What did it say?”  Michael got up and plugged the charger into the wall, and the phone into the charger.  Lucy glanced at Danny, as if to let him explain, but he was staring out of the window and made no attempt to help her out.

            “Killer,” she mouthed to Michael.  He remained where he was, kneeling on the floor with the phone in his hands.  He shook his head at her and his expression was troubled.

            “You must be fucking kidding me.”

            “Nasty, eh?”

            “Fucking scandalous!  Shittinghell.  Danny?” Michael looked up at him.  Danny turned his head slowly.  He looked far away.  “You all right mate?  Just ignore it, yeah?  Just fucking idiots probably.  How dare they?”

            “That’s what I said,” Lucy nodded at him.  “I’ve probably opened my mouth too much, you know, and people spread gossip around, and someone thought they’d play a silly joke.”  She glanced back at Danny, but he said nothing.  “It’s not really that bothering him though.”

            “What then?”

            “This,” Danny said suddenly.  He walked to Michael and thrust a piece of paper at him.  Michael took it and unfolded it.  He could see it had been screwed up and then smoothed out again.  He scanned it quickly. “And this!” Danny stood beside him and held out another envelope. Michael took it.

            “Hang on, hang on, this one first. What the hell is this?”  His eyes were drawn to the figure at the bottom of the page.  He stared up at Danny, his eyes bulging.  “Is this what I think it is?  Is this yours?  Jesus fucking Christ Danny!” He put the phone down and jumped to his feet, holding the bank statement at arms length.  “Oh my fucking God mate!  You’re rich!  Look at this!  Is this really yours?  Your mum did this?”  He probably had a thousand more questions lined up, but he looked at Danny then and stopped himself.  His face was dark, his eyes scowling and his mouth screwed up small. 

            “I don’t want it,” he said simply, and picked up the whiskey Michael had poured for him.  “It’s his fucking money, isn’t it?”

            Michael did not know what to say.  He folded the statement carefully and passed it to Lucy.  He crouched down and examined the second envelope.  “What a day,” he said with a small chuckle.  “Someone has it in for you, then you get rich, but you don’t want it.  Maybe you should talk to that reporter chick, eh?  Give her something to shut her up. I’m scared to ask what this one is about.”

            Danny turned and stalked back to the window with his whiskey.  “She wants me to think it over,” he said.  “But there is nothing to think over.  How could I take it?  How could I take his money, after everything?”

            “But it’s her money Dan,” Michael shrugged gently, now scanning his eyes over the letter he had pulled out of the second envelope.  “She’s the widow.  It’s all her money.”

            Danny growled impatiently. “Yeah, that’s what she said too, but that’s a convenient way to look at it, isn’t it?  When you think about it, when you’re truthful about it Mike, it’s his fucking money, isn’t it?  Isn’t it?” He turned to face them both, his eyes challenging them to disagree. “Because she didn’t have two pennies to rub together until she met him, did she?  His money bought the house, his money bought the club, and his money bought the Cedar View house.  Not hers. His.”

            Lucy and Michael swapped cautious looks.  “I’ve said it’s up to him,” Lucy said in a gentle tone.  “But I do think a couple of days to think it over is a good plan.”

            “Think it over?” Danny questioned from the window.  “A couple of days for it to do my head in, you mean?  I can’t believe any of you think I should take that money.  Would you Mike?  Would you?”

            Michael grimaced, and gave a half shrug.  “I don’t know Dan, it’s a tricky one.  On the one hand, I totally get why you wouldn’t want a fucking thing that came from him, but then on the other hand, don’t you kind of deserve it?  After everything?  I mean, look at it this way, he’d fucking turn in his grave if he knew, wouldn’t he?”  A sly smile crept across Michael’s face.  “Imagine how much it would piss him off!”

            Lucy sighed and rolled her eyes impatiently. “Trust you to see it that way Michael.”

            “What?  It’s true.  That’s how I’d look at it.  I’m just saying.  If it were me, and it was my life that had been totally fucking wrecked, I would take the money and say fuck you bastard, thanks a lot!”

            “So you would take it then?” Danny asked.

            “Yeah.  I think I would.  To spit in his eye.  To piss on his grave.” He caught Danny’s eye.  “The final revenge.”

            Danny just shook his head and turned his back.  They watched him down the whiskey and wipe his mouth on his hand.  “I’ve got to get out of here for a while,” he announced then, and walked past them, placing the empty glass back on the coffee table.  Michael watched the alarm leap into Lucy’s eyes, but to her credit, she did not react to it.

            “Okay,” she said.  “We’ll wait here.  Sort the phone out for you.”

            “Don’t forget pub at six!” Michael called after him.  “That’s most important!”

            The only answer they got was the door closing, followed by the sad whining of Kurt, who had not been quick enough on his old legs to get through as well.  Michael smiled at Lucy, who sank back into the sofa, throwing her arms up above her head. “You’d think it would be easy, wouldn’t you?” he joked.  “But I think adjusting to life out of prison is gonna’ be harder for him than being in prison.”

            “It was never gonna’ be easy,” said Lucy.  “Too many memories.  Too many complications.”

            “He’ll be all right.”  Michael thought of the old man at the cemetery and in his head he linked it to the graffiti on her door, but he said nothing.  “And this one,” he said, getting to his feet and holding out the second letter. He shook his head at it. “This is another total mind fuck, isn’t it eh? His fucking dad, no less!”

“I know,” Lucy said quietly. “John certainly sprung that one on him.”

“Great timing.  What do you think he will do?  Call the guy?  What the hell would you say after all these years?”

“God knows,” Lucy said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think he’s ready for that yet.”

“No,” Michael agreed and placed the letter on the coffee table. He went back to fiddling with the mobile phone. “And the guys is about eleven years too fucking late, eh? Danny could have done with this when he was fucking thirteen years old with a psychopath for a stepfather. Fuckinghell. Hey Lucy, if I’m doing this, and you get bored, you could do me a totally huge and massive favour?”

            She looked at him in suspicion.  “What?”

            “Help me tidy up.  My kid is coming over tomorrow.  This place is a fucking death-trap.”

    7

Danny

 

            Dreams had been a problem for a long time.  He had been shocked waking up after a peaceful night at Michael’s place, but had known his luck would not last long.  He just felt relieved that his twisting and wrestling, and his final crash out of the bed, had not woken Lucy up.  He looked up at her from where he woke on the floor, and saw her shift and murmur in her sleep, but that was it.  Thank God.  He could still feel the scream, caught at the back of his throat, and he had to cough twice to shake it away.  He dropped his head into his hands for a few moments, and listened to his heart thumping wildly in his chest.  He imagined his blood racing through his veins, waiting for the signal to calm back down. 

            The dreams varied in their make-up.  Some were horrible, filled with images of blood and terror, some were non-descript, and nothing really happened; yet they still emanated a dark creeping kind of fear.  He would wake up sweating and gasping if he was lucky. Most nights he was woken up by the sound of his own screams.  He rubbed his eyes.  He thought of the dreams as penance.  As punishment.  He had told various doctors and therapists over the years about the dreams.  He had explained how violent they were, how terrifying, and how life like.  They seemed to think it was okay.  That he would work through them in his own time.  He thought of them as his inside scars. 

            Danny glanced at the window.  The face from the dream was still there in his mind, stretched in rage, the eyeballs bulging, saliva looping from the top teeth to the bottom.  He remembered running.  Running, running so fast it felt like his lungs might explode, and still, it was not fast enough, or far enough.  The face was behind him, it was whooshing up upon him, and when he looked back over his shoulder at it he was reminded of that scene from ‘The Shining’, where Jack Nicholson’s crazed face appears through the smashed in door.  Sometimes he knew he had looked into that face and been convinced that none of it was real, that he was not a real person at all, but a monster, a monster like in the films. Danny shook his head, shook it all away and looked around him. The blinds were down, but he could see it was daylight, so he got up from the floor and searched for his clothes. 

In contrast to Mike’s place, Lucy’s flat was warm to wake up to.  He liked the way she had decorated it too.  Each room was simple and plain, yet somehow warm and cosy at the same time.  The bedroom walls were a gentle, sea blue.  The large pine bed matched the huge pine wardrobe and dressing table, which, he noted, was over spilling with various pots and jars of make-up and hair products. The room had that girl smell about it, he mused, as he pulled on his jeans, and found his top crumpled up at the foot of the bed.  She had a tall pine bookcase to one side of the bed, crammed full of books, and to the other side a little bedside table, with a blue lamp on it, an alarm clock, a coffee mug and wine glass.  He smiled at this.  He liked looking around at her flat, piecing back together the parts of her life he had missed out on.

            Like the bookcase, mostly full of teaching books and textbooks.  He still couldn’t really picture her as a teacher.  The thought made him want to giggle.  He imagined she was brilliant at it though, a natural.  He looked at her now, deep in sleep next to Kurt, who had managed to wriggle right under the duvet, with just his tail poking out.  Danny sighed deeply, and allowed himself to feel and embrace the hope that careered through him whenever he was with her.  It had always been that way, he thought.  Life was shit, he felt shit, but then he would find her, and it was like she made the sun come out again, made him feel lighter, not so held down or bound up.  He recalled many nights curled up with her, just like last night, not speaking, just breathing together, just holding on, and every breath he took with her was like being given permission to live.  He looked at her now and thought, I don’t deserve you.

            He went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on.  He intended on making her breakfast in bed.  He felt good, he realised.  Not so churned up, not so fearful.  He did not allow himself to think about yesterday, and the cemetery.  There would be a time later to dissect it with Michael, and he would tell Lucy when things had settled down.  He repeated the mantra he had sold to himself, over and over again in his mind, as he busied around the kitchen; one day at a time, one day at a time.

 

            Lucy set her laptop up for him after they had eaten breakfast.  She set it up on the kitchen table, while he washed up at the sink, and every time he looked at her she was smiling, half laughing, and he was the same.  “Like an old married couple,” he said eventually, wishing it were true. 

            “Look at this,” she said to him, drinking from the second cup of coffee he had made for her.  He dried his hands and came around to the table to see.  “This is my Friends Reunited account,” she said, pointing to the screen. Danny leaned closer. 

            “So people contact you through this?” he asked, and she nodded and ran her finger down a list of names, with accompanying photos on the left hand side.

            “Look, here’s Zoë.”

            “Zoë?” Danny exclaimed with a laugh.  He had not thought about her in years, but at one time she had been permanently joined to Michael’s side.  “Wow, Zoë. What’s she up to these days then?”

            “Look,” Lucy clicked on her photo and brought up her information for Danny to see.  “She’s got three kids and another one on the way,” she said and glanced up at him.  He shook his head, his hand going to his mouth in amazement.

            “Bloody hell, has she? Are any of them Michael’s?”

            It was a joke, but Lucy made a face at him. “I wouldn’t put it past him, would you?  But no, I don’t think so.  She got married really young, like twenty or something. I was chief bridesmaid, no less!”

            “Really?  Oh my God. Where does she live?”

            “Redchurch.  Same as Billy. Some people just stay where they started, don’t they?”

            Danny blew his breath out and shook his head again.  He for one could not ever imagine going back to Redchurch, not for any reason.  Belfield Park was grimy and grotty, nothing much had changed there, but it was the place they had ran to, it was the place they had at least been safe for a while.  “Do you see her much?” he asked Lucy, and she shrugged in reply.

            “Not really, not socially. I mean I see her at school, because some of her kids go there, but I’ve never taught any of them.  We chat on here a bit.  Stay in touch, you know?  You can set up an e-mail account on my computer if you like?”  She looked up at him enquiringly, and he pushed his hands into his pockets.

            “I don’t know.  No point really, eh?  I don’t know anyone anymore.”

            “Fair enough,” she said easily. “What time are you meant to meet your mum?”

            “Any time,” he replied. “I’ve got the address. It’s about half an hour away from Redchurch, Milford something? Down by the sea.”

            “She sold the Cedar View house immediately,” Lucy said then, looking back at the computer screen.  “Did she tell you?”

            “Yeah,” Danny nodded.  His mother had in fact been his most frequent visitor over the last eight years, though he did not feel comfortable telling Lucy this. 

            “She had to drop the price quite a bit to sell it.”

            “I know.” He turned away then, went back to the sink and picked up the tea towel to finish drying the breakfast things.  He had his back to Lucy, waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.  She had never forgiven his mother, like Michael. It was a hatred she seemed determined to hold onto.  He sighed to himself and thought I guess everyone needs someone to blame, and Lucy blames her.

            They were silent for a while.  Danny finished drying the dishes and tried to put them away, but he didn’t know where anything went, so Lucy ended up closing down the laptop and getting up to show him.  She seemed preoccupied, he thought, watching her move around the room.  “Listen,” he said finally, catching her by the shoulder and stopping her.  “Last night was amazing. Christ, how cheesy does that sound?” He laughed at himself and went on. “But I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything, because you don’t, or like you have to tread on eggshells around me.  You know?”  She frowned at him slightly, but nodded. “You can say anything,” he told her.  “You can ask me anything.  I won’t mind.  Okay?”

            “Okay,” she smiled, and stepped forward, slipping her arms around his middle. “It’s okay. I’ll drive you to your mums.  I’ll wait outside though.”

            “You don’t fancy seeing her, do you?”

            “No.  Sorry.  Maybe one day, who knows?  But not today baby.”

            “I understand,” he said, and lifted her chin up so that he could look down into her face.  “And please, anything you are worried about, or want to talk about, we can yeah?”

            “I am single,” she blurted out suddenly, and then instantly covered her mouth with her hands.  He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes at him.  “I don’t know why I said that.”

            “I’m glad you did.”

            “What an idiot I am..what a retard!”

            “I don’t think you’re an idiot. I reckon you’ve had no end of fella’s following you about.  You didn’t have to wait for me or anything, you know that don’t you?”

            “Course, stupid.  Listen, we better go.  We’ll talk more later yeah?”  She fixed him with a mischievous grin, and pulled away to find her bag and keys.

 

            Outside the front door, Danny tucked Kurt under his arm and wished he had asked Michael for some cigarettes.  Lucy came out behind him, looking up and smiling as a young man came jogging along the pavement towards them.  “Hi Carl!” she called out breezily, and placed one hand on Dannys arm.  He looked at Carl, who slowed down and stopped in front of the building, hands on knees as he caught his breath.  He looked up at them both, and Danny half expected a hello, or a smile, or a question, but what he received instead was an extremely embarrassed expression, as the man pointed to the front door they had just pulled shut behind them. 

            “Um…” he said, grimacing and looking like he wanted the ground to open up and pull him in.  Danny and Lucy followed his pointing finger, and immediately they both gasped in dismay.  Someone had used black spray paint across Lucy’s red front door.  The word killer scrawled out in huge, drooping letters.   

           

            The word echoed in his head during the drive over to Milford-on-sea.  Lucy made small talk with him, and kept the radio down low.  She told him about her class at school, and the funny things the children said and did.  He could barely concentrate on a word she was saying.  He nodded and looked her way every now and again, but it was useless. Killer.  All over her fucking door.  He felt sick in his stomach, sick and heavy with guilt.  “Who would do that?” he asked eventually, his voice strangled.  She turned the radio down a bit more, looked at him briefly and shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

            “I don’t know.  I don’t think I want to know.”

            Danny thought of the old man then, the old man in the cemetery, but it did not bear thinking about, none of it did.  He could not bring himself to mention it to her.  Not yet.  This was all too much to deal with.  It was not fair on her, he thought.  Her fucking front door!  Who would do that?  Who would know?  Again, he saw the image of the old man’s burning eyes in his head, and he looked out of the window, biting his lip, feeling the strong urge to whack his own head against the window, just to get rid of the man’s face. 

            “People are idiots,” Lucy was saying, trying to calm him, he knew.  “It’s probably just kids, you know?  Stupid idiot kids.”

            “But who would know?  I mean, except for us lot.  It’s not like it’s all over the papers.”

            “Michael mentioned that reporter was at his door yesterday morning.”

            “Yes, but I didn’t speak to her.  I’ve never spoken to any of them.”

            “You need to put it out of your head,” Lucy said then, with a sigh. “I mean it.  I know that’s easier said than done, but you’ve got your mum and John to deal with now, and then meeting with Billy later.  It must all be so much, anyway.  Try not to think about it for now.”

            He looked her way.  “I’m really sorry Lucy.”

            “Don’t be stupid.  It’s just a door.  Carl said he would have a go at removing it while we’re gone.”

            “That was nice of him.”

            “Yeah.  So put it out of your head, for now.  Can you do that for me?”

            “I’ll have to,” he shrugged, knowing it would be impossible.  “Can’t do anything about it can I?”

            “Just kids,” Lucy said again, and he could hear in her voice that it had shocked and confused her.  Her eyes were darting around, concentrating more than she needed to on the driving, and she kept swallowing nervously.  “Just stupid kids. Word must have got out somehow.  I’ve told people.  I should have kept quiet, but you know, I’m not ashamed of you being here, and I’m not ashamed of why you were in prison.  I’ve never hid it from anyone.”  She smiled bravely at him.  “So it’s probably my fault,” she concluded. “I should have kept my big mouth shut.  Someone has told someone and so on, and some stupid idiots have had a laugh. Tried to wind you up.  We have to ignore it Dan.”  She looked his way again and nodded firmly.  He nodded back, agreeing with her.  What else could he do?

 

            His mother had been living in a third floor apartment with a glorious view of the sea, for most of the last eight years.  As Lucy had reminded him, she had put her Cedar View house on the market shortly after he was sent to prison for murdering her husband in the kitchen.  Seeing her was not going to be as difficult or as emotional as Lucy seemed to envision though.  He had seen her once a month without fail for his entire incarceration.  She had been his most consistently regular visitor.  They had, in his opinion, laid their demons to rest a long time ago.  They had peace, a mutual understanding and respect that he knew Lucy would probably never come to terms with, but that was fine. 

            As far as he knew, his mother still lived alone.  As far as he knew, she had not seen anyone romantically since her husband’s death. But he didn’t know for sure, and he imagined she would not jump at the chance of telling him if she was with anyone new.  Lucy remained in the car, dragging a dog-eared paperback out of the glove compartment and assuring him he could take as long as he needed.  She wished him luck before he set off with Kurt at his heels.  He looked up at the bright white building she inhabited, and then pulled his coat tighter around his body.  It was a cold day, for early September, and the wind whipping up from the beach made him shiver and quicken his step.  His mother buzzed him in, and he took the stairs rather than the lift, hopping up them two at a time, with Kurt now tucked back up under his arm.

            His mother met him on the landing, with the door to her flat held open.  She smiled an enormous, invigorating smile.  Such a smile he had not seen on her face in a long, long time.  During her visits to him inside, she had worn the same dark and pained expression, time and time again.  She had always been a slim woman, but the last eight years had seen her shrink to something close to skeletal.  She still wore her blonde hair long and wavy, and she still dressed well.  Today she was wearing slim fit blue jeans and a navy blue tunic with three quarter length sleeves.  He smiled back at her and thought that even in her late forties she was still very beautiful.  When he put his arms around her, he felt the fragility of her body and was afraid that he might break her.  She had no such qualms about him though, practically leaping at him and gripping his head with both hands, pulling his face down for a kiss.   Then she closed her eyes and buried her head in his chest, and they stood there like that, for what seemed like an age.  “My son,” she said, squeezing him tight.  “My son. You don’t know what this day means to me.  I so wish I could have come to meet you.” She looked up at him then, stepped back and viewed him with shining wet eyes. “But I understand why you wanted your friends,” she said, as an apology, and he sighed slightly and peered past her into the flat.  He wondered if there would ever come a day when she would not feel the need to turn everything into an apology.

            “Lucy brought me,” he told her. “She’s waiting outside.”

            “Oh.” Kay nodded, and then smiled politely, before gesturing him into the flat, which was warm and smelled of lavender.  He went in and dropped Kurt to the floor. His mother closed the door and helped take his coat.  “Of course,” she said, of Lucy. “I understand that.  That’s fine.  Would you like tea or coffee?  If you have time?”

            “Oh yeah, tea would be great. John’s not here yet?”

            She smiled a gracious smile and shook her head as she slipped past him into the kitchen. “No, not yet. He won’t want to speak to me, you understand.”  He followed her into the kitchen, which was square, with a huge window that looked out at the sea.  It was painted white, and had a small round table in the centre.  A wind chime made of shells hung from the great window.  There were fresh flowers in a blue and white striped jug on the table.  She got two mugs down from a cupboard and switched on the kettle.  “So tell me, how’s it been so far?” she glanced at him with a wide smile that touched her eyes.  “It must feel so strange! So unreal!”

            “Yeah,” he shrugged, thinking of the man in the cemetery and the graffiti on Lucy’s door. “You could say that.”

            “So good to see all your friends?  And Lucy!”

            “Oh yeah.  It’s great.  It’s been great. Weird, but great.” 

            “Look, go and sit in the lounge, it’s far more comfortable.  I know I haven’t got you for long, but we can have a quick cup of tea, and I have two presents for you.”

            Danny frowned at her.  “Presents?”

            “Yes!  Presents!  I’ll bring them through.  Go on now.”

            Danny did as she wanted and went back into the lounge, which sported sliding doors that led out onto a small balcony.  He could see a little bistro style table set out there, and one chair.  It certainly did not look like she entertained much company, he thought, looking around the lounge.  There were no signs, no men’s coats or shoes, or slippers lurking around anywhere.  He remembered a time when men had followed her, when every conversation with a strange man had evolved into flirting and proposals. Men had wanted her, he remembered, had wanted to own and possess her. He took a seat in an armchair next to the sliding doors and she reappeared with two wrapped presents, which she placed on his lap, before hurrying back into the kitchen for the tea.  Danny looked down at the gifts.  One was a square shaped box, and the other a flat package, possibly an envelope.  He bit his lip on the inside and wished that she hadn’t.  He blinked away a vivid memory that shot into his head, an image of him on his fourteenth birthday, sat on his bed opening the presents that she pushed upon him so excitedly.  A new Nirvana t-shirt, he recalled.  It had made him smile.  Then his mother had gasped at the bruises to his stomach when he tugged off the one he was wearing, to try it on.  Play fighting, he had told her.  She had believed him.  He looked at the gifts she presented him with now, and a spiteful part of him felt like knocking them to the floor and telling her not to bother. 

            She came back with the tea and a plate of biscuits and set them all down on a small table between them.  She took the other chair; almost disappearing into it, so small and bird-like she was these days.  She perched, and picked up her tea and held it delicately in her hands, grinning at the gifts he held.  “Go on,” she said. “We haven’t got long, have we?  We can’t leave Lucy out there on her own too long and John will be here soon.  Open them!”

            “You didn’t need to,” he told her uselessly.  “I don’t need anything.”

            “Oh don’t be silly. Open the big one first.”

            He opened it and held up the box.  It contained a brand new mobile phone.  He frowned a little and shrugged his shoulders.  “Thanks mum.”

            “You’ll need it!” she seemed to delight in telling him. “Everyone has them these days you know!  You can’t live without them.”

            I’ve managed the last eight years, he thought, but did not say.  He smiled and turned the box over in his hands.  “Thanks.  I won’t have a clue how to use it though.”

            “Oh Lucy will show you!” his mother laughed, waving a hand at him and setting her tea back down again. “Before you know it, you’ll be addicted to it like the rest of us!  Plus, I can get in contact with you.  I’ve put my number in there already for you.  They are great really, Danny. We’ll be able to stay in touch so much better with this.”

            “Okay,” he nodded, unconvinced. “Thanks again.”

            “Now the next one!” she urged, and actually pulled her knees up slightly, rocking back in the chair gleefully.  He wondered distantly if she was all right.  He pulled off the paper and found an envelope addressed to him.  He looked up at her and she nodded at him insistently.  “Open it love.  Open it.”

            He tugged it open and inside he found a bank statement, a chequebook and what seemed to be a debit card with a pin number.  He held them lightly in his hands, not understanding, but she nodded at him, smiling.  “All yours,” she informed him.

            “What?  What is it?”

            “Your bank account Danny. You remember I started them for you and John when you were little?”

            “Sort of, but…”

            “Well I’ve been looking after it for you, all this time.  I’ve been adding to it.  I’ve left you some money.  So you will be okay.  Look!”  She sat forward and thrust a finger energetically at the bank statement.  He trained his eyes in on it, ran them down the entries on the right hand side, and landed on the current balance figure at the bottom.  His eyes shot wide open.  Two hundred thousand pounds.  No way.  It couldn’t be real.  He looked at it again.

            “Holy shit mother.”

            “It’s all yours,” she said then, and shifted forward, even closer to him.  He felt her small hand drop onto his.  He looked from her grave expression, her haunted eyes, down onto the paper.  He shook his head at all of it.

            “No way.  It can’t be.  You can’t.”

            “I can and I have.  Don’t you worry, John is sorted out as well. He wouldn’t take as much.  Well it took me years to convince him to have any, but you know he has a little girl now?  That kind of changed his mind.  Things between us have thawed gradually, since then.” She kept her deep blue eyes on Danny’s.  He wanted to look away, but he was held there, and it was horrible, because he could see everything there in her eyes, the awful guilt, the useless regret, all of it, and he knew he could never take it away for her.  “But he’ll never forgive me of course,” she went on, her voice now tight and small.  “And rightly so.  But he has accepted my help finally.  He accepted it because it is all I can do to say sorry.  It is all I have left to try to make amends.  You need this money Danny.”  He looked down, shaking his head violently, and felt her hand tighten on top of his.  “Look at me,” she said.  “Look at me!” He lifted his eyes; found it torture to meet hers.  “Now,” she said to him. “You listen to me, because I have to say this to you, and then that will be it, because I don’t want to rake up the past, I want us all to move on.  I want us all to have decent normal lives.  But you need to take this money, son.  You have nothing at the moment, and we all know why.  You can take this money.  Start a business. Buy a house.  Whatever you want.  I only ask that whatever you do with it makes you happy, because you deserve to be happy Danny.  Do you understand?”  She was crying now.  Fat diamond shaped tears filled the corner of each eye, before toppling over to spill quickly down her thin cheeks.  She was holding his hand so tightly it was beginning to hurt.

            “Where did the money come from?” he heard himself ask her, his own voice a strangled croak.  She swallowed and lifted her other hand to wipe at her eyes.

            “It’s my money,” she said adamantly. “From the sale of the old house and the sale of the club.”

            Danny gritted his teeth.  He stared down at the cream coloured carpet beneath his feet.  “Then it’s his money.”

            “No,” Kay said quickly, sitting back, but keeping her hand over his.  “No it’s not Danny, it’s mine.  Because when he died everything that was his fell to me.  My house and my club.  My money.”

            “No,” Danny argued, his eyes burning into the carpet.  “His money.”

            “No!” she said, this time louder, angrier.  “Don’t you say that!  It fell to me.  What am I supposed to do with it?  I have everything I need, don’t you see?  I bought this flat, I own it completely.  I have a nice little car, and I have a nice little job as receptionist in a doctor’s surgery.  I don’t need any more.”

            “Mum” Danny spoke softly and lifted his eyes to meet hers again.  “I understand that.  But I don’t think I can take his money.”

            She stood up then.  She seemed furious.  She dropped her arms, slapping her hands against her thighs.  “Danny!” she cried in frustration.  “Stop saying that, stop saying it’s his money!  It’s mine!  You must take it!”

            “Doesn’t feel right,” he shook his head at her. 

            “Danny, for Gods Sake,” she turned on him then, hands going to her hips, head cocked slightly and shaking from side to side as she regarded him, sat stubbornly in the chair.  “Don’t you do this,” she warned him.  “Don’t you dare do this.”

            “What?  Do what?”

            “Play the martyr.  Play the victim.  You’ve done that long enough.”

            Danny could not believe what he was hearing.  “What?”

            “You know what I mean,” his mother seethed.  “The court case.  Your bloody guilty plea.  You could have got off.  You could have got manslaughter, or diminished responsibility, but no.  No.  You had to go against all the legal advice, and all our begging, and plead pre-meditated murder.” 

            Danny sucked in his breath and released it again slowly, and carefully.  He felt the urge to stand up, to square up to her, take her on, but he forced himself to remain seated, hoping that was one way to keep calm.  He let her words run through his mind for a moment.  He looked at her and saw her blue eyes darken with anger.  “That’s because it was the truth,” he told her slowly.  “It was pre-meditated murder.  I told the truth.”

            She rolled her eyes and gasped at him.  “You may say that,” she told him, nostrils flaring.  “But I don’t buy it.  I didn’t then, and I don’t now, and you have no idea how frustrating it was to see you put yourself through that, when you didn’t have to!”

            “Mum, I meant to kill him.  I planned to kill him.”

            “You were half crazy with fear, and anger, and drugs!” she shouted back at him, coming a step closer, with her hands till planted on her tiny hips.  “You didn’t know what you were doing Danny!  And if you still believe that, then you need to go back and look at it all again.  You really do.  You need to stop being so ridiculously hard on yourself.  You did it then, pleading murder when you didn’t have to, and you would have got far less than the ten years they sentenced you to, and now you’re doing it again.  Refusing this money,” she nodded at the paper in his hand.  “Exactly the same thing.  It’s like you are determined to keep suffering.”

            “No I am not!” Danny snarled at her.  He held onto the bank statement with one hand, and his other hand dug into the armrest.  He clung onto it, not wanting to let himself get to his feet.  “That’s bullshit, and you don’t know anything!”

            “Take the money then,” she challenged him.  “Take the money and build a good life for yourself.  You don’t think you deserve that?”

            “Not really, no!”  He almost laughed at her, dropping his head into his hand and balling the bank statement up into his fist.  He let it fall to the floor.  She scooped it up instantly and remained crouched down before him.  She placed her hands on his knees.

            “Why not?” she demanded, her tone angry, her eyes fierce.  “Why don’t you?  Why don’t you deserve it?”

            “Why do you think?” he shot back.  “I killed someone.  I took someone’s life.  I don’t really think I should be rewarded for that, do you?”

            Kay shook her head slowly, in utter amazement.  She licked her lips, and then sat back on her heels, keeping her hands on his knees.  “You just spent eight years in jail Danny,” she reminded him.  “Tell me, was that a reward?  What about prison?  Was it wonderful?  Was it?  Was it a happy, joyful place?  Was it great, was it?”

            Danny leant back in the chair, to move away from her.  “Course it wasn’t.”

            “So you were punished,” she told him.  “You punished yourself by making that plea.  You’ve served your sentence now son.  It’s over.  Why don’t you think you deserve the chance of a decent life?”

            Danny rubbed at his eyes with both his hands.  “I don’t know, I don’t know all right?  It just seems wrong to take his fucking money!”

            “And what about what he did to you?” she questioned, her tone softer now.  He kept his hands over his eyes.  He did not want to hear this.  He did not want any of those things to come out of her mouth.  He was starting to wish he had never come.  He wanted more than anything, to just get up and walk out.  “What about that?” she asked him, taking one of his hands and pulling it away from his face.  “Do you ever ask yourself that?  What about what he took from you?  Not just eight years in jail Danny, but three years of abuse and torture!  He took your childhood from you.  They should have been the happiest, most carefree years of your life, but instead they were nothing short of hell.”  Her voice broke on the last word, fresh tears spilled from her eyes, and she closed them tightly, unable to look at him any longer.  “You have to look at it that way,” she said quietly.  “I know you don’t want to think of the past, and neither do I, but you have to remember sometimes, you know, why you did what you did.  Why.”

            “I need to go,” Danny said then.  He blinked away tears.  He would not cry.  He tried to get up, but she held onto his hand, holding him back.

            “Please take the money.  I want you to take it and be happy.”

            “Mum, how can his money make me happy?  It will just make me sick.” He pushed past her and got to his feet, clicking his tongue for Kurt to follow him.  Kay scrambled to her feet, grabbing the bank statement and shoving it into the envelope with the rest of the things.  She snatched his hand and pushed it into it.

            “Take it with you,” she begged him.  “Please, just take it with you and talk to Lucy about it.  Talk to your friends.  That’s all I’ll ask Danny.”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Please, do it for me.  Do it to make me happy.  Do it to ease my guilt just a tiny bit.  Take it and talk it over with them.  They’ve been there with you all along.  They’ll know what to do.  And if you come back in a few days, and you’ve really thought about it, and you still don’t want it, I’ll accept that.”  She dropped her hand, leaving the envelope in his.  “I mean it,” she nodded, folding her arms across her middle.  “I’ll accept it and I’ll never mention it again, I promise.  But you do this one thing for me; you take it and talk it over with your friends. See what they think.  Will you do that for me?”

            Danny dropped his shoulders in defeat.  Nodded, and opened the door.  Pulling it back towards him, he found himself face to face with his older brother, and he felt like sinking to the floor.  It was too much.  He felt his knees wobble a little, and his head was swimming.  John regarded him with surprise, and then smiled warmly and broadly and stuck out his hand. “Not going already are you, little brother?” Danny shook his head.  He could not speak.  He looked back at John.  He saw a man, an adult, tall and heavy set, in good shape.  He looked fresh faced and healthy.  It flashed through his mind how little he knew about him. His eyes flicked momentarily to Kay, stood silently behind Danny.  “Mum,” he nodded at her, and then his jaw set tightly, and he looked back at Danny. “Shall I come in?  Or do you fancy a walk somewhere?”

           

            In the end they went for a walk.  Danny waved at Lucy in her car as they came out of the building and headed towards the beach.  He saw her wave back and then look back at her book.  They walked along side by side, both with their hands in their pockets, as the little dog skipped ahead across the sand before them.  “I’ve got something to give you,” John said eventually, and when Danny looked at him expectantly, he saw his older brother look immediately down at the sand, as if the burden of guilt lay heavily upon him also.

            “More gifts?” Danny mused with a small smile. “It’s not my birthday.”

            “Look I don’t know what to say to you Danny, and you know how I feel about mum, so I’ll be quick about this.  You know I’ve felt terrible, about….” John had stopped walking, and his mouth was small as he looked angrily around at the beach, and then the sky, seeming to find it harder and harder to look at his brother. Danny sighed and decided to make it easy for him.

            “John, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters now.  You had your own life to live, and I didn’t ask for your help.  We can’t change that now, so forget about it.  Please.”  He turned and started walking again.  John caught him up.

            “Okay,” he said. “All right.  But there had to be something I could do to help, or make it up to you somehow, well that’s how I felt when you went to prison anyway.  I wanted to do something but I didn’t know what to do.  I wanted to do one thing, to be a good brother, you know?”

            Danny had no idea what he was talking about.  He only knew that all of this was doing his head in.  He and John had never been close.  Never.  He had let go of any anger he had once held for John for leaving, but what was the use in pretending they were ever going to get on?  John seemed aggravated and uncomfortable walking beside him, and eventually he stopped again and pulled a letter out of his pocket, thrusting it almost impatiently at his younger brother. Danny frowned and took it from him. “What’s this?”

            “I found your dad, Danny.”

            “Eh?”

            “Your dad.  When you went to jail, I started looking.  I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do or not, if you’d even want to see him after all these years.  But I always felt guilty you know?  I had my dad, and you never had yours, not since you were nine anyway.  It wasn’t fair.” He pushed his hands back into his pockets and blew out his breath.  He nodded at the letter. “He lives in Southampton these days, not far from where we used to live before mum moved us here. He travelled around for years, had a pretty colourful life by all accounts, and then he went back there to try to find you. When he’d sorted himself out, you know?  He wanted to see you but we’d gone.”

            Danny stared at the letter in his hands.  He at once wanted to hurl it into the sea and run away from it, and hold it closely to his chest and never let it go.  He did not know what to say so he said nothing.  Just stared from the letter, to John, and back to the letter again.  “He’s been writing to you,” John said. “Over the years. Even before I found him and told him what had happened. He had all these letters for you. He’s got them.  If you want to see them? That’s his address in there for you, and his number.  What do you think?”

            “What do I think?” Danny asked, his voice catching in his throat as he looked up at his brother.  “I think my head is fucked John, that’s what I think.”

            “I know.  I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to give it to you in person, that’s all.  To explain.  And see how you are.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “I know.  I know you are.  I’m proud of you, you know.”

            Suddenly, out of nowhere, John’s arms were around him, and Danny felt himself stiffen in surprise.  His brother had always been bigger built than him, taking after his own father, Kay’s first love.  He felt like a giant now, enveloping him in his broad arms, pulling him into his thick chest.  Just as quickly, John released him and wiped what might have been a tear from the corner of one eye.  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to mess with your head, but it took me a few years to trace him see. I didn’t know whether to tell you when you were inside, or not.  I just wanted to find him for you.  It was about the only thing I could give you back.”

            “Unbelievable,” Danny said to him and forced a smile.  He tucked the letter into his jeans pocket and patted his brother on the arm woodenly.  “Thank you.”

            “You mean it?  You’re okay with it, I mean?”

            “I’ll deal with it when I’m ready,” Danny nodded. “But thanks, and I mean that.  It was a kind thing you did.”

            “About the only good thing I’ve done, for you.” John was staring down at his feet.  Danny thought wistfully of Lucy sitting in her car, and his friends, and the pub and warmth. 

            “You were a good brother John,” he said then and he was not really sure if he meant it or not.  “Before you left, I mean.  You tried really hard.  I do remember that.  Mum put on you a lot, and I was a little shit.  I haven’t forgotten all that.  I never blamed you for leaving, you know.”

            “Well I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, that makes you a finer man than I will ever be,” said John, releasing a sigh and relaxing his shoulders as if Danny’s words had eased his troubled mind just a little.  Danny grimaced as they turned back towards the road, and he thought about his eight years in prison, and all that had gone before.

            “I don’t think that’s true,” he said.

 

            Outside, his mothers building he climbed into the car beside Lucy and shuddered.  She looked at him in concern and reached out to stroke Kurt.  “Okay?”

            “I need a drink,” he told her.

            “Okay,” she said, turning the key in the ignition.  “We can do that.  Let’s go.”

    7

Danny

 

            Dreams had been a problem for a long time.  He had been shocked waking up after a peaceful night at Michael’s place, but had known his luck would not last long.  He just felt relieved that his twisting and wrestling, and his final crash out of the bed, had not woken Lucy up.  He looked up at her from where he woke on the floor, and saw her shift and murmur in her sleep, but that was it.  Thank God.  He could still feel the scream, caught at the back of his throat, and he had to cough twice to shake it away.  He dropped his head into his hands for a few moments, and listened to his heart thumping wildly in his chest.  He imagined his blood racing through his veins, waiting for the signal to calm back down. 

            The dreams varied in their make-up.  Some were horrible, filled with images of blood and terror, some were non-descript, and nothing really happened; yet they still emanated a dark creeping kind of fear.  He would wake up sweating and gasping if he was lucky. Most nights he was woken up by the sound of his own screams.  He rubbed his eyes.  He thought of the dreams as penance.  As punishment.  He had told various doctors and therapists over the years about the dreams.  He had explained how violent they were, how terrifying, and how life like.  They seemed to think it was okay.  That he would work through them in his own time.  He thought of them as his inside scars. 

            Danny glanced at the window.  The face from the dream was still there in his mind, stretched in rage, the eyeballs bulging, saliva looping from the top teeth to the bottom.  He remembered running.  Running, running so fast it felt like his lungs might explode, and still, it was not fast enough, or far enough.  The face was behind him, it was whooshing up upon him, and when he looked back over his shoulder at it he was reminded of that scene from ‘The Shining’, where Jack Nicholson’s crazed face appears through the smashed in door.  Sometimes he knew he had looked into that face and been convinced that none of it was real, that he was not a real person at all, but a monster, a monster like in the films. Danny shook his head, shook it all away and looked around him. The blinds were down, but he could see it was daylight, so he got up from the floor and searched for his clothes. 

In contrast to Mike’s place, Lucy’s flat was warm to wake up to.  He liked the way she had decorated it too.  Each room was simple and plain, yet somehow warm and cosy at the same time.  The bedroom walls were a gentle, sea blue.  The large pine bed matched the huge pine wardrobe and dressing table, which, he noted, was over spilling with various pots and jars of make-up and hair products. The room had that girl smell about it, he mused, as he pulled on his jeans, and found his top crumpled up at the foot of the bed.  She had a tall pine bookcase to one side of the bed, crammed full of books, and to the other side a little bedside table, with a blue lamp on it, an alarm clock, a coffee mug and wine glass.  He smiled at this.  He liked looking around at her flat, piecing back together the parts of her life he had missed out on.

            Like the bookcase, mostly full of teaching books and textbooks.  He still couldn’t really picture her as a teacher.  The thought made him want to giggle.  He imagined she was brilliant at it though, a natural.  He looked at her now, deep in sleep next to Kurt, who had managed to wriggle right under the duvet, with just his tail poking out.  Danny sighed deeply, and allowed himself to feel and embrace the hope that careered through him whenever he was with her.  It had always been that way, he thought.  Life was shit, he felt shit, but then he would find her, and it was like she made the sun come out again, made him feel lighter, not so held down or bound up.  He recalled many nights curled up with her, just like last night, not speaking, just breathing together, just holding on, and every breath he took with her was like being given permission to live.  He looked at her now and thought, I don’t deserve you.

            He went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on.  He intended on making her breakfast in bed.  He felt good, he realised.  Not so churned up, not so fearful.  He did not allow himself to think about yesterday, and the cemetery.  There would be a time later to dissect it with Michael, and he would tell Lucy when things had settled down.  He repeated the mantra he had sold to himself, over and over again in his mind, as he busied around the kitchen; one day at a time, one day at a time.

 

            Lucy set her laptop up for him after they had eaten breakfast.  She set it up on the kitchen table, while he washed up at the sink, and every time he looked at her she was smiling, half laughing, and he was the same.  “Like an old married couple,” he said eventually, wishing it were true. 

            “Look at this,” she said to him, drinking from the second cup of coffee he had made for her.  He dried his hands and came around to the table to see.  “This is my Friends Reunited account,” she said, pointing to the screen. Danny leaned closer. 

            “So people contact you through this?” he asked, and she nodded and ran her finger down a list of names, with accompanying photos on the left hand side.

            “Look, here’s Zoë.”

            “Zoë?” Danny exclaimed with a laugh.  He had not thought about her in years, but at one time she had been permanently joined to Michael’s side.  “Wow, Zoë. What’s she up to these days then?”

            “Look,” Lucy clicked on her photo and brought up her information for Danny to see.  “She’s got three kids and another one on the way,” she said and glanced up at him.  He shook his head, his hand going to his mouth in amazement.

            “Bloody hell, has she? Are any of them Michael’s?”

            It was a joke, but Lucy made a face at him. “I wouldn’t put it past him, would you?  But no, I don’t think so.  She got married really young, like twenty or something. I was chief bridesmaid, no less!”

            “Really?  Oh my God. Where does she live?”

            “Redchurch.  Same as Billy. Some people just stay where they started, don’t they?”

            Danny blew his breath out and shook his head again.  He for one could not ever imagine going back to Redchurch, not for any reason.  Belfield Park was grimy and grotty, nothing much had changed there, but it was the place they had ran to, it was the place they had at least been safe for a while.  “Do you see her much?” he asked Lucy, and she shrugged in reply.

            “Not really, not socially. I mean I see her at school, because some of her kids go there, but I’ve never taught any of them.  We chat on here a bit.  Stay in touch, you know?  You can set up an e-mail account on my computer if you like?”  She looked up at him enquiringly, and he pushed his hands into his pockets.

            “I don’t know.  No point really, eh?  I don’t know anyone anymore.”

            “Fair enough,” she said easily. “What time are you meant to meet your mum?”

            “Any time,” he replied. “I’ve got the address. It’s about half an hour away from Redchurch, Milford something? Down by the sea.”

            “She sold the Cedar View house immediately,” Lucy said then, looking back at the computer screen.  “Did she tell you?”

            “Yeah,” Danny nodded.  His mother had in fact been his most frequent visitor over the last eight years, though he did not feel comfortable telling Lucy this. 

            “She had to drop the price quite a bit to sell it.”

            “I know.” He turned away then, went back to the sink and picked up the tea towel to finish drying the breakfast things.  He had his back to Lucy, waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.  She had never forgiven his mother, like Michael. It was a hatred she seemed determined to hold onto.  He sighed to himself and thought I guess everyone needs someone to blame, and Lucy blames her.

            They were silent for a while.  Danny finished drying the dishes and tried to put them away, but he didn’t know where anything went, so Lucy ended up closing down the laptop and getting up to show him.  She seemed preoccupied, he thought, watching her move around the room.  “Listen,” he said finally, catching her by the shoulder and stopping her.  “Last night was amazing. Christ, how cheesy does that sound?” He laughed at himself and went on. “But I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything, because you don’t, or like you have to tread on eggshells around me.  You know?”  She frowned at him slightly, but nodded. “You can say anything,” he told her.  “You can ask me anything.  I won’t mind.  Okay?”

            “Okay,” she smiled, and stepped forward, slipping her arms around his middle. “It’s okay. I’ll drive you to your mums.  I’ll wait outside though.”

            “You don’t fancy seeing her, do you?”

            “No.  Sorry.  Maybe one day, who knows?  But not today baby.”

            “I understand,” he said, and lifted her chin up so that he could look down into her face.  “And please, anything you are worried about, or want to talk about, we can yeah?”

            “I am single,” she blurted out suddenly, and then instantly covered her mouth with her hands.  He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes at him.  “I don’t know why I said that.”

            “I’m glad you did.”

            “What an idiot I am..what a retard!”

            “I don’t think you’re an idiot. I reckon you’ve had no end of fella’s following you about.  You didn’t have to wait for me or anything, you know that don’t you?”

            “Course, stupid.  Listen, we better go.  We’ll talk more later yeah?”  She fixed him with a mischievous grin, and pulled away to find her bag and keys.

 

            Outside the front door, Danny tucked Kurt under his arm and wished he had asked Michael for some cigarettes.  Lucy came out behind him, looking up and smiling as a young man came jogging along the pavement towards them.  “Hi Carl!” she called out breezily, and placed one hand on Dannys arm.  He looked at Carl, who slowed down and stopped in front of the building, hands on knees as he caught his breath.  He looked up at them both, and Danny half expected a hello, or a smile, or a question, but what he received instead was an extremely embarrassed expression, as the man pointed to the front door they had just pulled shut behind them. 

            “Um…” he said, grimacing and looking like he wanted the ground to open up and pull him in.  Danny and Lucy followed his pointing finger, and immediately they both gasped in dismay.  Someone had used black spray paint across Lucy’s red front door.  The word killer scrawled out in huge, drooping letters.   

           

            The word echoed in his head during the drive over to Milford-on-sea.  Lucy made small talk with him, and kept the radio down low.  She told him about her class at school, and the funny things the children said and did.  He could barely concentrate on a word she was saying.  He nodded and looked her way every now and again, but it was useless. Killer.  All over her fucking door.  He felt sick in his stomach, sick and heavy with guilt.  “Who would do that?” he asked eventually, his voice strangled.  She turned the radio down a bit more, looked at him briefly and shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

            “I don’t know.  I don’t think I want to know.”

            Danny thought of the old man then, the old man in the cemetery, but it did not bear thinking about, none of it did.  He could not bring himself to mention it to her.  Not yet.  This was all too much to deal with.  It was not fair on her, he thought.  Her fucking front door!  Who would do that?  Who would know?  Again, he saw the image of the old man’s burning eyes in his head, and he looked out of the window, biting his lip, feeling the strong urge to whack his own head against the window, just to get rid of the man’s face. 

            “People are idiots,” Lucy was saying, trying to calm him, he knew.  “It’s probably just kids, you know?  Stupid idiot kids.”

            “But who would know?  I mean, except for us lot.  It’s not like it’s all over the papers.”

            “Michael mentioned that reporter was at his door yesterday morning.”

            “Yes, but I didn’t speak to her.  I’ve never spoken to any of them.”

            “You need to put it out of your head,” Lucy said then, with a sigh. “I mean it.  I know that’s easier said than done, but you’ve got your mum and John to deal with now, and then meeting with Billy later.  It must all be so much, anyway.  Try not to think about it for now.”

            He looked her way.  “I’m really sorry Lucy.”

            “Don’t be stupid.  It’s just a door.  Carl said he would have a go at removing it while we’re gone.”

            “That was nice of him.”

            “Yeah.  So put it out of your head, for now.  Can you do that for me?”

            “I’ll have to,” he shrugged, knowing it would be impossible.  “Can’t do anything about it can I?”

            “Just kids,” Lucy said again, and he could hear in her voice that it had shocked and confused her.  Her eyes were darting around, concentrating more than she needed to on the driving, and she kept swallowing nervously.  “Just stupid kids. Word must have got out somehow.  I’ve told people.  I should have kept quiet, but you know, I’m not ashamed of you being here, and I’m not ashamed of why you were in prison.  I’ve never hid it from anyone.”  She smiled bravely at him.  “So it’s probably my fault,” she concluded. “I should have kept my big mouth shut.  Someone has told someone and so on, and some stupid idiots have had a laugh. Tried to wind you up.  We have to ignore it Dan.”  She looked his way again and nodded firmly.  He nodded back, agreeing with her.  What else could he do?

 

            His mother had been living in a third floor apartment with a glorious view of the sea, for most of the last eight years.  As Lucy had reminded him, she had put her Cedar View house on the market shortly after he was sent to prison for murdering her husband in the kitchen.  Seeing her was not going to be as difficult or as emotional as Lucy seemed to envision though.  He had seen her once a month without fail for his entire incarceration.  She had been his most consistently regular visitor.  They had, in his opinion, laid their demons to rest a long time ago.  They had peace, a mutual understanding and respect that he knew Lucy would probably never come to terms with, but that was fine. 

            As far as he knew, his mother still lived alone.  As far as he knew, she had not seen anyone romantically since her husband’s death. But he didn’t know for sure, and he imagined she would not jump at the chance of telling him if she was with anyone new.  Lucy remained in the car, dragging a dog-eared paperback out of the glove compartment and assuring him he could take as long as he needed.  She wished him luck before he set off with Kurt at his heels.  He looked up at the bright white building she inhabited, and then pulled his coat tighter around his body.  It was a cold day, for early September, and the wind whipping up from the beach made him shiver and quicken his step.  His mother buzzed him in, and he took the stairs rather than the lift, hopping up them two at a time, with Kurt now tucked back up under his arm.

            His mother met him on the landing, with the door to her flat held open.  She smiled an enormous, invigorating smile.  Such a smile he had not seen on her face in a long, long time.  During her visits to him inside, she had worn the same dark and pained expression, time and time again.  She had always been a slim woman, but the last eight years had seen her shrink to something close to skeletal.  She still wore her blonde hair long and wavy, and she still dressed well.  Today she was wearing slim fit blue jeans and a navy blue tunic with three quarter length sleeves.  He smiled back at her and thought that even in her late forties she was still very beautiful.  When he put his arms around her, he felt the fragility of her body and was afraid that he might break her.  She had no such qualms about him though, practically leaping at him and gripping his head with both hands, pulling his face down for a kiss.   Then she closed her eyes and buried her head in his chest, and they stood there like that, for what seemed like an age.  “My son,” she said, squeezing him tight.  “My son. You don’t know what this day means to me.  I so wish I could have come to meet you.” She looked up at him then, stepped back and viewed him with shining wet eyes. “But I understand why you wanted your friends,” she said, as an apology, and he sighed slightly and peered past her into the flat.  He wondered if there would ever come a day when she would not feel the need to turn everything into an apology.

            “Lucy brought me,” he told her. “She’s waiting outside.”

            “Oh.” Kay nodded, and then smiled politely, before gesturing him into the flat, which was warm and smelled of lavender.  He went in and dropped Kurt to the floor. His mother closed the door and helped take his coat.  “Of course,” she said, of Lucy. “I understand that.  That’s fine.  Would you like tea or coffee?  If you have time?”

            “Oh yeah, tea would be great. John’s not here yet?”

            She smiled a gracious smile and shook her head as she slipped past him into the kitchen. “No, not yet. He won’t want to speak to me, you understand.”  He followed her into the kitchen, which was square, with a huge window that looked out at the sea.  It was painted white, and had a small round table in the centre.  A wind chime made of shells hung from the great window.  There were fresh flowers in a blue and white striped jug on the table.  She got two mugs down from a cupboard and switched on the kettle.  “So tell me, how’s it been so far?” she glanced at him with a wide smile that touched her eyes.  “It must feel so strange! So unreal!”

            “Yeah,” he shrugged, thinking of the man in the cemetery and the graffiti on Lucy’s door. “You could say that.”

            “So good to see all your friends?  And Lucy!”

            “Oh yeah.  It’s great.  It’s been great. Weird, but great.” 

            “Look, go and sit in the lounge, it’s far more comfortable.  I know I haven’t got you for long, but we can have a quick cup of tea, and I have two presents for you.”

            Danny frowned at her.  “Presents?”

            “Yes!  Presents!  I’ll bring them through.  Go on now.”

            Danny did as she wanted and went back into the lounge, which sported sliding doors that led out onto a small balcony.  He could see a little bistro style table set out there, and one chair.  It certainly did not look like she entertained much company, he thought, looking around the lounge.  There were no signs, no men’s coats or shoes, or slippers lurking around anywhere.  He remembered a time when men had followed her, when every conversation with a strange man had evolved into flirting and proposals. Men had wanted her, he remembered, had wanted to own and possess her. He took a seat in an armchair next to the sliding doors and she reappeared with two wrapped presents, which she placed on his lap, before hurrying back into the kitchen for the tea.  Danny looked down at the gifts.  One was a square shaped box, and the other a flat package, possibly an envelope.  He bit his lip on the inside and wished that she hadn’t.  He blinked away a vivid memory that shot into his head, an image of him on his fourteenth birthday, sat on his bed opening the presents that she pushed upon him so excitedly.  A new Nirvana t-shirt, he recalled.  It had made him smile.  Then his mother had gasped at the bruises to his stomach when he tugged off the one he was wearing, to try it on.  Play fighting, he had told her.  She had believed him.  He looked at the gifts she presented him with now, and a spiteful part of him felt like knocking them to the floor and telling her not to bother. 

            She came back with the tea and a plate of biscuits and set them all down on a small table between them.  She took the other chair; almost disappearing into it, so small and bird-like she was these days.  She perched, and picked up her tea and held it delicately in her hands, grinning at the gifts he held.  “Go on,” she said. “We haven’t got long, have we?  We can’t leave Lucy out there on her own too long and John will be here soon.  Open them!”

            “You didn’t need to,” he told her uselessly.  “I don’t need anything.”

            “Oh don’t be silly. Open the big one first.”

            He opened it and held up the box.  It contained a brand new mobile phone.  He frowned a little and shrugged his shoulders.  “Thanks mum.”

            “You’ll need it!” she seemed to delight in telling him. “Everyone has them these days you know!  You can’t live without them.”

            I’ve managed the last eight years, he thought, but did not say.  He smiled and turned the box over in his hands.  “Thanks.  I won’t have a clue how to use it though.”

            “Oh Lucy will show you!” his mother laughed, waving a hand at him and setting her tea back down again. “Before you know it, you’ll be addicted to it like the rest of us!  Plus, I can get in contact with you.  I’ve put my number in there already for you.  They are great really, Danny. We’ll be able to stay in touch so much better with this.”

            “Okay,” he nodded, unconvinced. “Thanks again.”

            “Now the next one!” she urged, and actually pulled her knees up slightly, rocking back in the chair gleefully.  He wondered distantly if she was all right.  He pulled off the paper and found an envelope addressed to him.  He looked up at her and she nodded at him insistently.  “Open it love.  Open it.”

            He tugged it open and inside he found a bank statement, a chequebook and what seemed to be a debit card with a pin number.  He held them lightly in his hands, not understanding, but she nodded at him, smiling.  “All yours,” she informed him.

            “What?  What is it?”

            “Your bank account Danny. You remember I started them for you and John when you were little?”

            “Sort of, but…”

            “Well I’ve been looking after it for you, all this time.  I’ve been adding to it.  I’ve left you some money.  So you will be okay.  Look!”  She sat forward and thrust a finger energetically at the bank statement.  He trained his eyes in on it, ran them down the entries on the right hand side, and landed on the current balance figure at the bottom.  His eyes shot wide open.  Two hundred thousand pounds.  No way.  It couldn’t be real.  He looked at it again.

            “Holy shit mother.”

            “It’s all yours,” she said then, and shifted forward, even closer to him.  He felt her small hand drop onto his.  He looked from her grave expression, her haunted eyes, down onto the paper.  He shook his head at all of it.

            “No way.  It can’t be.  You can’t.”

            “I can and I have.  Don’t you worry, John is sorted out as well. He wouldn’t take as much.  Well it took me years to convince him to have any, but you know he has a little girl now?  That kind of changed his mind.  Things between us have thawed gradually, since then.” She kept her deep blue eyes on Danny’s.  He wanted to look away, but he was held there, and it was horrible, because he could see everything there in her eyes, the awful guilt, the useless regret, all of it, and he knew he could never take it away for her.  “But he’ll never forgive me of course,” she went on, her voice now tight and small.  “And rightly so.  But he has accepted my help finally.  He accepted it because it is all I can do to say sorry.  It is all I have left to try to make amends.  You need this money Danny.”  He looked down, shaking his head violently, and felt her hand tighten on top of his.  “Look at me,” she said.  “Look at me!” He lifted his eyes; found it torture to meet hers.  “Now,” she said to him. “You listen to me, because I have to say this to you, and then that will be it, because I don’t want to rake up the past, I want us all to move on.  I want us all to have decent normal lives.  But you need to take this money, son.  You have nothing at the moment, and we all know why.  You can take this money.  Start a business. Buy a house.  Whatever you want.  I only ask that whatever you do with it makes you happy, because you deserve to be happy Danny.  Do you understand?”  She was crying now.  Fat diamond shaped tears filled the corner of each eye, before toppling over to spill quickly down her thin cheeks.  She was holding his hand so tightly it was beginning to hurt.

            “Where did the money come from?” he heard himself ask her, his own voice a strangled croak.  She swallowed and lifted her other hand to wipe at her eyes.

            “It’s my money,” she said adamantly. “From the sale of the old house and the sale of the club.”

            Danny gritted his teeth.  He stared down at the cream coloured carpet beneath his feet.  “Then it’s his money.”

            “No,” Kay said quickly, sitting back, but keeping her hand over his.  “No it’s not Danny, it’s mine.  Because when he died everything that was his fell to me.  My house and my club.  My money.”

            “No,” Danny argued, his eyes burning into the carpet.  “His money.”

            “No!” she said, this time louder, angrier.  “Don’t you say that!  It fell to me.  What am I supposed to do with it?  I have everything I need, don’t you see?  I bought this flat, I own it completely.  I have a nice little car, and I have a nice little job as receptionist in a doctor’s surgery.  I don’t need any more.”

            “Mum” Danny spoke softly and lifted his eyes to meet hers again.  “I understand that.  But I don’t think I can take his money.”

            She stood up then.  She seemed furious.  She dropped her arms, slapping her hands against her thighs.  “Danny!” she cried in frustration.  “Stop saying that, stop saying it’s his money!  It’s mine!  You must take it!”

            “Doesn’t feel right,” he shook his head at her. 

            “Danny, for Gods Sake,” she turned on him then, hands going to her hips, head cocked slightly and shaking from side to side as she regarded him, sat stubbornly in the chair.  “Don’t you do this,” she warned him.  “Don’t you dare do this.”

            “What?  Do what?”

            “Play the martyr.  Play the victim.  You’ve done that long enough.”

            Danny could not believe what he was hearing.  “What?”

            “You know what I mean,” his mother seethed.  “The court case.  Your bloody guilty plea.  You could have got off.  You could have got manslaughter, or diminished responsibility, but no.  No.  You had to go against all the legal advice, and all our begging, and plead pre-meditated murder.” 

            Danny sucked in his breath and released it again slowly, and carefully.  He felt the urge to stand up, to square up to her, take her on, but he forced himself to remain seated, hoping that was one way to keep calm.  He let her words run through his mind for a moment.  He looked at her and saw her blue eyes darken with anger.  “That’s because it was the truth,” he told her slowly.  “It was pre-meditated murder.  I told the truth.”

            She rolled her eyes and gasped at him.  “You may say that,” she told him, nostrils flaring.  “But I don’t buy it.  I didn’t then, and I don’t now, and you have no idea how frustrating it was to see you put yourself through that, when you didn’t have to!”

            “Mum, I meant to kill him.  I planned to kill him.”

            “You were half crazy with fear, and anger, and drugs!” she shouted back at him, coming a step closer, with her hands till planted on her tiny hips.  “You didn’t know what you were doing Danny!  And if you still believe that, then you need to go back and look at it all again.  You really do.  You need to stop being so ridiculously hard on yourself.  You did it then, pleading murder when you didn’t have to, and you would have got far less than the ten years they sentenced you to, and now you’re doing it again.  Refusing this money,” she nodded at the paper in his hand.  “Exactly the same thing.  It’s like you are determined to keep suffering.”

            “No I am not!” Danny snarled at her.  He held onto the bank statement with one hand, and his other hand dug into the armrest.  He clung onto it, not wanting to let himself get to his feet.  “That’s bullshit, and you don’t know anything!”

            “Take the money then,” she challenged him.  “Take the money and build a good life for yourself.  You don’t think you deserve that?”

            “Not really, no!”  He almost laughed at her, dropping his head into his hand and balling the bank statement up into his fist.  He let it fall to the floor.  She scooped it up instantly and remained crouched down before him.  She placed her hands on his knees.

            “Why not?” she demanded, her tone angry, her eyes fierce.  “Why don’t you?  Why don’t you deserve it?”

            “Why do you think?” he shot back.  “I killed someone.  I took someone’s life.  I don’t really think I should be rewarded for that, do you?”

            Kay shook her head slowly, in utter amazement.  She licked her lips, and then sat back on her heels, keeping her hands on his knees.  “You just spent eight years in jail Danny,” she reminded him.  “Tell me, was that a reward?  What about prison?  Was it wonderful?  Was it?  Was it a happy, joyful place?  Was it great, was it?”

            Danny leant back in the chair, to move away from her.  “Course it wasn’t.”

            “So you were punished,” she told him.  “You punished yourself by making that plea.  You’ve served your sentence now son.  It’s over.  Why don’t you think you deserve the chance of a decent life?”

            Danny rubbed at his eyes with both his hands.  “I don’t know, I don’t know all right?  It just seems wrong to take his fucking money!”

            “And what about what he did to you?” she questioned, her tone softer now.  He kept his hands over his eyes.  He did not want to hear this.  He did not want any of those things to come out of her mouth.  He was starting to wish he had never come.  He wanted more than anything, to just get up and walk out.  “What about that?” she asked him, taking one of his hands and pulling it away from his face.  “Do you ever ask yourself that?  What about what he took from you?  Not just eight years in jail Danny, but three years of abuse and torture!  He took your childhood from you.  They should have been the happiest, most carefree years of your life, but instead they were nothing short of hell.”  Her voice broke on the last word, fresh tears spilled from her eyes, and she closed them tightly, unable to look at him any longer.  “You have to look at it that way,” she said quietly.  “I know you don’t want to think of the past, and neither do I, but you have to remember sometimes, you know, why you did what you did.  Why.”

            “I need to go,” Danny said then.  He blinked away tears.  He would not cry.  He tried to get up, but she held onto his hand, holding him back.

            “Please take the money.  I want you to take it and be happy.”

            “Mum, how can his money make me happy?  It will just make me sick.” He pushed past her and got to his feet, clicking his tongue for Kurt to follow him.  Kay scrambled to her feet, grabbing the bank statement and shoving it into the envelope with the rest of the things.  She snatched his hand and pushed it into it.

            “Take it with you,” she begged him.  “Please, just take it with you and talk to Lucy about it.  Talk to your friends.  That’s all I’ll ask Danny.”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Please, do it for me.  Do it to make me happy.  Do it to ease my guilt just a tiny bit.  Take it and talk it over with them.  They’ve been there with you all along.  They’ll know what to do.  And if you come back in a few days, and you’ve really thought about it, and you still don’t want it, I’ll accept that.”  She dropped her hand, leaving the envelope in his.  “I mean it,” she nodded, folding her arms across her middle.  “I’ll accept it and I’ll never mention it again, I promise.  But you do this one thing for me; you take it and talk it over with your friends. See what they think.  Will you do that for me?”

            Danny dropped his shoulders in defeat.  Nodded, and opened the door.  Pulling it back towards him, he found himself face to face with his older brother, and he felt like sinking to the floor.  It was too much.  He felt his knees wobble a little, and his head was swimming.  John regarded him with surprise, and then smiled warmly and broadly and stuck out his hand. “Not going already are you, little brother?” Danny shook his head.  He could not speak.  He looked back at John.  He saw a man, an adult, tall and heavy set, in good shape.  He looked fresh faced and healthy.  It flashed through his mind how little he knew about him. His eyes flicked momentarily to Kay, stood silently behind Danny.  “Mum,” he nodded at her, and then his jaw set tightly, and he looked back at Danny. “Shall I come in?  Or do you fancy a walk somewhere?”

           

            In the end they went for a walk.  Danny waved at Lucy in her car as they came out of the building and headed towards the beach.  He saw her wave back and then look back at her book.  They walked along side by side, both with their hands in their pockets, as the little dog skipped ahead across the sand before them.  “I’ve got something to give you,” John said eventually, and when Danny looked at him expectantly, he saw his older brother look immediately down at the sand, as if the burden of guilt lay heavily upon him also.

            “More gifts?” Danny mused with a small smile. “It’s not my birthday.”

            “Look I don’t know what to say to you Danny, and you know how I feel about mum, so I’ll be quick about this.  You know I’ve felt terrible, about….” John had stopped walking, and his mouth was small as he looked angrily around at the beach, and then the sky, seeming to find it harder and harder to look at his brother. Danny sighed and decided to make it easy for him.

            “John, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters now.  You had your own life to live, and I didn’t ask for your help.  We can’t change that now, so forget about it.  Please.”  He turned and started walking again.  John caught him up.

            “Okay,” he said. “All right.  But there had to be something I could do to help, or make it up to you somehow, well that’s how I felt when you went to prison anyway.  I wanted to do something but I didn’t know what to do.  I wanted to do one thing, to be a good brother, you know?”

            Danny had no idea what he was talking about.  He only knew that all of this was doing his head in.  He and John had never been close.  Never.  He had let go of any anger he had once held for John for leaving, but what was the use in pretending they were ever going to get on?  John seemed aggravated and uncomfortable walking beside him, and eventually he stopped again and pulled a letter out of his pocket, thrusting it almost impatiently at his younger brother. Danny frowned and took it from him. “What’s this?”

            “I found your dad, Danny.”

            “Eh?”

            “Your dad.  When you went to jail, I started looking.  I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do or not, if you’d even want to see him after all these years.  But I always felt guilty you know?  I had my dad, and you never had yours, not since you were nine anyway.  It wasn’t fair.” He pushed his hands back into his pockets and blew out his breath.  He nodded at the letter. “He lives in Southampton these days, not far from where we used to live before mum moved us here. He travelled around for years, had a pretty colourful life by all accounts, and then he went back there to try to find you. When he’d sorted himself out, you know?  He wanted to see you but we’d gone.”

            Danny stared at the letter in his hands.  He at once wanted to hurl it into the sea and run away from it, and hold it closely to his chest and never let it go.  He did not know what to say so he said nothing.  Just stared from the letter, to John, and back to the letter again.  “He’s been writing to you,” John said. “Over the years. Even before I found him and told him what had happened. He had all these letters for you. He’s got them.  If you want to see them? That’s his address in there for you, and his number.  What do you think?”

            “What do I think?” Danny asked, his voice catching in his throat as he looked up at his brother.  “I think my head is fucked John, that’s what I think.”

            “I know.  I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to give it to you in person, that’s all.  To explain.  And see how you are.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “I know.  I know you are.  I’m proud of you, you know.”

            Suddenly, out of nowhere, John’s arms were around him, and Danny felt himself stiffen in surprise.  His brother had always been bigger built than him, taking after his own father, Kay’s first love.  He felt like a giant now, enveloping him in his broad arms, pulling him into his thick chest.  Just as quickly, John released him and wiped what might have been a tear from the corner of one eye.  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to mess with your head, but it took me a few years to trace him see. I didn’t know whether to tell you when you were inside, or not.  I just wanted to find him for you.  It was about the only thing I could give you back.”

            “Unbelievable,” Danny said to him and forced a smile.  He tucked the letter into his jeans pocket and patted his brother on the arm woodenly.  “Thank you.”

            “You mean it?  You’re okay with it, I mean?”

            “I’ll deal with it when I’m ready,” Danny nodded. “But thanks, and I mean that.  It was a kind thing you did.”

            “About the only good thing I’ve done, for you.” John was staring down at his feet.  Danny thought wistfully of Lucy sitting in her car, and his friends, and the pub and warmth. 

            “You were a good brother John,” he said then and he was not really sure if he meant it or not.  “Before you left, I mean.  You tried really hard.  I do remember that.  Mum put on you a lot, and I was a little shit.  I haven’t forgotten all that.  I never blamed you for leaving, you know.”

            “Well I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, that makes you a finer man than I will ever be,” said John, releasing a sigh and relaxing his shoulders as if Danny’s words had eased his troubled mind just a little.  Danny grimaced as they turned back towards the road, and he thought about his eight years in prison, and all that had gone before.

            “I don’t think that’s true,” he said.

 

            Outside, his mothers building he climbed into the car beside Lucy and shuddered.  She looked at him in concern and reached out to stroke Kurt.  “Okay?”

            “I need a drink,” he told her.

            “Okay,” she said, turning the key in the ignition.  “We can do that.  Let’s go.”