This story takes place in 2009 and 2010, before Brendan Brady moved to Hollyoaks.
The final straws had been stacking up for a while.
Danny Houston had been dropping into the Liverpool club more often than usual. He had every right: he owned the place. But Brendan didn't need him breathing down his neck; he liked to run this place his own way and if Houston didn't like it, well, he shouldn't have hired him. Brendan wondered if word had reached his boss that Houston's drugs were not the only ones being sold on the premises. But the Irishman figured that as he was the one taking all the risks – Danny always kept his own hands clean – then it was only fair that he should take a slice of the market for himself.
Then there was Vinnie, one of the young barmen, who was becoming a problem. Things had started as Brendan had planned. He'd watched the lad, assessed him, worked out that he was likely to be compliant. Seduced him. Knocked him about a bit so he'd know who was boss, who called the shots. Sex with intimidation.
Vinnie could have quit if he didn't like it, but he stayed, and did everything by the rules. He never approached Brendan or touched him without Brendan initiating it. Never challenged him. Never said no. So Brendan found that he could leave out the intimidation and still have the sex; he found too that he couldn't get enough of the boy, longing for closing time so they could be alone. They would fuck on a red leather sofa in one of the booths, and sometimes they'd have a few drinks too, and chat and have a laugh. They started going back to Brendan's flat, but there were rules there too: Vinnie knew not to outstay his welcome and would leave without any fuss when Brendan fell asleep or went to have a shower.
Once though, Vinnie broke a rule that he didn't know existed: he told Brendan that he loved him. The response was a punch that sent him flying. Vinnie learnt this new rule, and was eventually coaxed back into Brendan's bed.
Brendan tried to keep Houston and Vinnie separate. Houston was perceptive, and sly. One day he showed up at the club and, in the middle of a business conversation said, "I was going to drop round at yours last night, Brendan, when I got back from London, only I saw you had company."
"Company?" Brendan tried to appear composed, but he could feel prickles of sweat.
"Yeah, that skinny little barman, what's his name, Vinnie?"
"Vincent."
"You and him were going into your block and I thought, I dunno, three's a crowd."
"He needed a... a place to stay. Got locked out or something..." Brendan was aware how lame this must sound.
"None of my business. Long as this place keeps running how I like it." Then Houston returned to the accounts, or the order books, or whatever it was that they'd been talking about: Brendan could only hear the pounding of his own heart.
The last of the last straws came a few nights later. Brendan had locked himself and Vinnie in the club (he didn't take him home any more) and Vinnie was naked by the time Brendan arrived in their usual booth. Brendan laughed at the boy's eagerness and kissed him softly, his hands caressing his now familiar body. Then Vinnie pulled away, looked up into his boss's eyes and said, "I know you don't want me to say it, but..."
"Vincent, don't."
"It's okay Bren, it's not a bad thing, it's a good thing." He swallowed, gathering his courage. "I'm in love with you."
That wasn't how this was meant to work. It was an arrangement, gratification; they were both men, how could it be anything else? Brendan grabbed hold of Vinnie and threw him out of the booth onto the cold, hard dance floor, strode over to him and aimed a kick at his stomach. Vinnie doubled up and let out a cry of pain. He heard Brendan walk away, then heard his footsteps return a moment later. Desperate, he scrambled to get away, but all Brendan did was throw his clothes at him.
"You had to, didn't you? You couldn't keep your stupid mouth shut." Brendan was shaking. "You're okay, yeah? Course you are. Get dressed now and I'll get you a cab."
That was when Brendan decided to leave Liverpool for good and go home to Belfast.
He made plans quickly, while Vinnie was off work sick and Houston was in London. He arranged for the deputy manager, Deborah, to take over for the next few days, telling her that he was going home to visit his wife and kids. He cleared his desk, made sure the books were up to date, secured his set of keys in the safe, and left during the Friday evening. He drove to his flat, picked up his stuff and posted the keys through the letter box.
Heading out of the city centre, he took a route that passed the student house where Vinnie lived. He stopped. The light was on in Vinnie's room (Brendan had been there, once, when the other students had all gone home for Easter. They'd fucked on the single bed, then Vinnie had cooked them some pasta, then they'd fucked some more.) For a moment Brendan thought he would knock on the door, ask for Vincent, and tell him that he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to hurt him, that he cared about him in his own way. All these things were true, but he knew he would never say them. Could never.
He started the car and drove, too quickly, out through the Mersey tunnel and on to the ferry port.