Ste

He's always hanging around with that Joel, the one that's meant to be Warren's son. Or Joel's always hanging around with him, more like – with Brendan. I don't get it.

We saw them in the street, me and Doug did. They were talking, and Brendan was right up close to Joel, and I kept walking, ignored them because I couldn't let... But Doug shouted out something, Get a room, and I wish he hadn't cos that's what I was thinking. I mean, Joel's straight, right? But then, so was I until Brendan showed me that I wasn't.

It's obvious, innit? What else would Brendan want him for, even if Joel hasn't worked it out yet? He'll be working on him, like he did with me, and sooner or later there'll be a situation, and Brendan will look at him like he looked at me, and Joel's gonna be blinded by him so all he can see is Brendan, and that will be it.

None of my business though.

I ran into him again that day, Brendan. Basically, he knows me and Doug are trying to do something with my cooking, make a bit of money for ourselves, and Brendan's just dying for it to go tits-up before we've even got anything going. He said he isn't, but he is: it was him that put me out of work in the first place, so he's not gonna be wanting me to be a success, is he. No way. He said something funny, though. If I needed a shoulder to cry on, he said, I'm your man.

Why would I need him, though?

He got his wish anyway. This pizza thing I was trying to do with Dougie, it went wrong before it hardly started, but then something Darren said got me thinking. Dunno why Darren was even bothering with me, it's not like we're even proper mates or anything, but he came up to me and, well, he must've realised I was upset because he was dead nice, and he said my kids believed in me even if no one else did. And he was right, I can't just give up, not if I want to make Leah and Lucas proud of me. So I had this idea. There's this empty shop in the village, just over the road from... my old work, and I thought of what me and Doug could make out of it if we tried hard enough. I believed it so much that I made him believe it too. He's alright, Doug, when you get to know him. I haven't got many mates, me – not the kind you can really talk to – so it's nice that I've sort of got one now. All I had before was Amy, so sometimes I feel a bit... a bit lonely, I suppose.

It was only an idea, a dream, this New York-style deli we were gonna open, but it still felt like we had something to celebrate, so I went to Price Slice to get us some wine. And then Joel came in and started giving it the big man act about what I was buying. Course it was a cheap one, I'm skint aren't I? I'd had enough of him, and I told him Brendan obviously didn't want him for his brains, and I said everyone was laughing at him for being Brendan's mini-me, and then he shoved me. I lost my balance and fell over, and the bottle smashed all over the floor.

I reckon I touched a nerve.

Brendan

I saw them, just happened to glance into Price Slice as I was passing. Fuck knows what they were talking about: me, probably. Anyways, it kicked off and Steven ended up on the floor. I walked away.

It played on my mind though. I couldn't be having that. Joel, he knows me and Steven used to be... he knows it used to be me and Steven. And he's showing the signs of jealousy, like he thinks he's got a right to get in between me and whoever happens to be around. I had to set him straight, so I waited for him to come upstairs in the club.

He was pleased with himself, seemed to think I'd be impressed with what he'd done.

I opened a bottle of Champagne. I was gonna spray him with it, let him know it's me that decides who he goes after. Bit of a waste, but it wasn't the good stuff. So I did it, soaked the kid, and then the next thing I knew I was hanging him over the stairwell, telling him I'll kill him if he ever touches a hair of Steven's head again.

Jesus.

Okay, so I got a grip, let him go, started to walk away, then he made some crack at me. Touched a nerve, did I? he said. Ste can't even stand you – when you gonna realise that?

I went into the office, slammed the door, had to sit down.

See, I thought it had finally gone. I thought I'd buried it, because burying things is what I do. I thought the feelings I'd had and never wanted, I thought they were safely out of the way, with a thick clay of hurt and hate between them and the surface, and no air getting through to give them life. I thought the thing that had made me think for one moment on one summer's day that I could be a different man – I thought that thing was dealt with, ashes into the dirt, so it couldn't come back to haunt me.

I thought wrong.

Ste

Talk about bad timing. There I was, shirt and jacket and tie on, ready to go and see the bank manager and ask for a loan, but no trousers on cos I was ironing them, wasn't I, last minute like. And then Brendan walks in, courtesy of Doug not stopping him.

I could feel him looking at me before I even saw him, like I've got a radar or something, and then he said, Takes me back, and I knew he was thinking of all the times he's seen me – all the ways he's seen me – half-dressed, undressed, on a plate for him. And in that couple of seconds I was thinking about it too, because that's what happens: he comes into a room, and everything sort of shifts around a bit, and I'm not my own person any more, I'm only part of a person because he's got the other part.

I shook it off and concentrated, counted in my head like they make you do in anger management, even though I wasn't angry. I just had to get a hold of myself.

Dougie blabbed about what we were doing – the bank manager thing – and I could've killed him. Brendan stores things up, see, so he can use them, and he's got enough stored up about me already. It was funny though, like that thing he said before about giving me a shoulder to cry on: he said I could've asked him for the money.

I couldn't even start thinking about if he meant it, or what he was after if he did. I told him I didn't want anything off him, ever. End of.

The weirdest thing was what he said he'd come round for. He said he knew what had happened with Joel in the shop, and he wanted to make sure I was alright. I didn't have time to think about it then, I just wanted rid cos I was stressed out enough about the bank thing without trying to work Brendan out. He does my head in.

I woke up thinking about it in the middle of the night though. About him. He'd looked as if he meant it, about seeing if I was alright. Sounded like he meant it too, you know, concerned. I'd tried not to look at him much when he was stood there in front of me; I just concentrated on ironing them bloody trousers and trying not to blush about having me legs out. But I ended up glancing at him, and when he said he was going, he looked... awkward, I suppose. Like an overgrown kid. He looked vulnerable.

But he's not, right? I'm not gonna start giving him the benefit, because for one thing, I bet he sent Joel after me in the first place. Wouldn't put it past him. And for another thing, I can't go back there. I can't. I mean, we've both done bad things, and I should never of believed it was him that killed Rae, because he's a lot of things but he's not a... he's not that kind of a murderer. But he hasn't stopped hurting me. I'm skint because of him. My kids go without, because of him. I'm shit-scared of finding anyone new, because of him. It's because of him that I laid curled into a ball in my bed one night a few months ago, because my stomach hurt if I tried to lie flat, because he'd slammed his fist into my gut instead of talking to me.

There's this thing that happens inside me when he's near me, though. It's like it pushes up from my belly to my chest, and it squeezes my heart; and I can't let it, because I can't chance it. I've got to listen to what my head tells me. I can't love him again.

Brendan

No harm in going round there, was there? I wasn't gonna try and... Course I wasn't. I ain't stupid. Too much water under the fucking bridge, I know that. But I needed to check that he was okay, after Joel's little display. That's all.

Douglas was there when I got there. Fuck. Still, glad he was, in a way, because he let slip that they're trying to go into business, the pair of them, but properly this time, not just arsing around in somebody else's kitchen. Interesting.

I offered Steven the money. Whatever he needs: I meant it. I know times are hard for him, and he's got kids to bring up and no money to do it on. I know what it's like, I've been there. And I know it's my fault he ain't got two pennies. I thought about offering him his old job back, but I could guess what he'd say, I could imagine the set of his jaw, and his bottom lip sticking out like he thinks he looks tough, and all I could think about was opening my mouth over his.

Him having his own business, me investing in it – that's better, isn't it? He'd be independent, making something of his own, and I'd be... helping him out.

Soon as the idea was thought of, he shot it down. Course he did. He's proud, I get that.

I walked away. Not much option. But Jesus, being there again in that flat, it took me back. The sight of him, boxers on; socks. Took me right back.

That was where I had him, the first time, and that was the memory that kept me awake that night – remembering that first time, thinking about how it was, in that shabby flat, in his bed.

I needed it to be right, that first time with Steven. I knew he'd never been fucked before – he'd had sex, of course, but not properly, you know? Not with a man – I'd found that out, coaxed it out of him cos I needed to know. And the only time I'd ever had a lad who was a virgin before, it was... I didn't want it to be like that again.

That was a few years ago now. Vinnie – Vincent – was eighteen when I hired him, nineteen when I took him to bed. Old enough, but still a kid in some ways. Naive as you like, he was; never even been kissed before I kissed him, I don't think, but he knew what was happening. Christ, I even got him to go and buy the lube, so. And he was ready. I looked after him, got him going, got him open with my fingers and he liked it, he was up for it. I even looked him in the eyes and asked him, so I was one hundred per cent, This okay? And he nodded his head.

I guess it just wasn't what he expected when it came to it: I guess the reality was too much, and Vincent freaked out, and I stopped and got off him. Because that's what you do, when you've got a lad spread out underneath you, and he says no. You stop. If he's new, brand new, and he don't like it, you stop. If he struggles, or if he freezes, you stop. If you see in his eyes anything that isn't wanting you, you stop. If he panics, you stop. If he cries... if he cries, you stop. You put aside what you wanted from him, and you stop, and you let him be.

He said he was sorry. Fucking hell, all the poor little bastard had done was lose his nerve, but I guess when you're a kid you think the one with the power must know best, so you blame yourself. I just shushed Vincent, held onto him til he calmed down; then I put him in a cab home.

I didn't try it on with him again for weeks after that. We messed around, sure we did. He got used to me, used to the idea, and maybe a month later we did it, and by that time he was pretty much begging for it, and it was always fine after that.

Steven was older, coming up to twenty-one and a hell of a lot more worldly, but even so, it's a big thing. So to speak.

I knew he'd be willing – I did a thing or two with him the week before, in the cellar in the club. Salubrious, I know. The way he kissed me back, for a start: you can tell a lot from that. He was hungry, curious. Soon as I'd pulled his Chez Chez T-shirt off him he was unbuttoning my shirt, the horny little fucker, and he didn't stop me when I unzipped him. I slid a hand down the back of his pants and fingered him, and he stopped me then. No, Brendan, what you doing? Good question, Steven. I hadn't expected I'd get inside him, not that day, but you know, worth a try. So instead I sat him up among the crates of beer and I sucked him off. Didn't take long, he was over-excited. His eyes were like saucers.

He tried to return the favour, down on his knees. It wasn't easy for him but he gave it a go, and he was gonna be a fast learner, it was obvious. I remember finding a cloth and wiping his chin, and kissing him again.

So when it was time, when I went to that slum of a flat, and we crossed the line from me playing with his mind, to me and him both wanting the same thing, there was nothing that would hold him back. Still, I took my time, you know, to make sure. There wasn't a bit of him I didn't get my hands on, or my mouth. I stroked him, felt the bones and muscles under his skin. My lips felt the pulses in his throat and his wrists and the hollows of his groin. My tongue counted his vertebrae. I bit hard onto the tattoo on his hip, and lightly on his clavicle; and down his shin bones, where the brown hairs darkened with spit; and into the soft flesh on the insides of his thighs. I kissed the cheeks of his arse, and I rimmed him, and he twisted and giggled. Yeah, giggled: my moustache tickled, he said.

And then I turned him onto his back again, and I watched his face as I pushed my fingers into his hole, and Jesus, he was ready, but I asked him anyway.

I didn't know it could be like that. All the men I've had, and I didn't know it could be like a dream, where you can't tell where you end and he begins, and you feel what he's feeling, and what he's feeling is the same as you.

He cried out at first, Oh, fuck. I guess it hurt, but then he grabbed my head and pulled me down to kiss him, and I was swallowing the noises he made, and his legs were clamped around me like he couldn't get me close enough.

That's what it made me remember, seeing him in his flat again, stood at the ironing board in his boxers and socks. It made me remember what it felt like when he wanted me.