AN: So I had a random and slightly experimental idea for an AU. The year is 1895, and Ste, a former farm hand, has brought Amy and the kids, for reasons that will become clearer if I decide to actually finish this one (which I do currently intend to do), to Liverpool, where he is currently looking for work.
The barriers between Ste and Brendan are more than the psychological ones of canon. Though they are still part of it, there are also the barriers of society, class boundary and the law. The year is significant, as it is the year the Irish play-write Oscar Wilde was imprisoned for sleeping with the man he loved. (OK, for a large number of sexual acts with prostitutes and men young enough to be his son, but most of that he did with the man he loved, so we're not going to judge him.)
…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…
Ste looked at the miserable, cold, grey building. It didn't seem like anything out of the ordinary. It was just another anonymous town house, four stories high, made from neat stonework that had probably once been clear bright white, before the black smoke tumbling heavily out of the monstrous factories that invaded Liverpool had overtaken the speed of the house painter. If Ste hadn't had the piece of paper to check the address, he probably wouldn't have thought to step inside the gate, let alone knock, politely but nervously, on the black front door.
After a few moments, a man with short brown hair and the body of a steam engine opened the door, looked at Ste as though he were a turd on the pavement, calmly but firmly said "Fuck off!" and slammed the door in Ste's face.
Ste flinched. That was another rejection, then. He checked down at his clothes. Maybe there was something about the way he dressed that made people take an instant dislike to him. Or maybe it was just his face. He knew he was skinny, and maybe men like the great bolder he'd just met assumed that meant he was a weakling. Maybe he was; the other boys on the farm had always seemed to find everything easier than him. But that didn't mean he wasn't a good worker. He always carried his weight.
He just needed someone to give him a chance.
He turned to leave. Obviously he wouldn't get that chance here. The money he'd nicked from Terry would get them through a couple more days, and maybe Amy would have had more luck. But Ste doubted it, with a toddler on each arm.
A muffled sound behind him stopped him. He glanced back over his shoulder as he heard the door open.
"Oi! Stop where you are and get your skinny arse in 'ere now!"
He'd recognise that voice anywhere. He'd heard it piercing through the walls as the owner's unfortunate husband bore its brunt. Jacqui McQueen, the woman you didn't start a fight with if you ever wanted a peaceful day again.
"What d'you think he's gonna do, Jacs, the washing up?" moaned the boulder sarcastically, clearly already annoyed by the overbearing young woman who'd forced the door open.
"That's not for you to decide, though, is it Warren?" she argued, not giving an inch, "come on love, get in here."
"You watch who you're talking to, love," growled the boulder, Warren, in a voice that would have had Ste running for the hills if it had been directed at him. It didn't bother Jacqui.
"If you want me to put in a word with our Theresa for you, we'll have less of that, thank you. What you waiting for?"
The last words were directed at Ste, who stood watching from the path, probably looking like a rabbit that knew it was about to be shot, and thought it was obvious he was waiting to be sure Warren the boulder wasn't going to kill him. "Er," he said, looking nervously at the huge man, knowing that this guy would happily squash Ste with his thumb with very little encouragement.
"Well, get in if you're coming," grumbled Warren, and thought had for a moment before adding "ratboy."
Ste could live with that. He'd had worse nick names from his step-dad. He darted through the open door, feeling Warren's derisive gaze on him the whole way, and only narrowly avoiding the door that was slammed shut tightly on his heels.
He'd stepped into a small hallway with a wide staircase against one wall, and double doors to the right. They were nothing special, but the room was clean and pleasant, lit by gas lamps along the walls. He could just about see, at the top of the stairs, a part of a chandelier and the beginnings of a much grander room. Jacqui turned to him.
"Right, I'm gonna go find Cheryl, why don't you wait in there?" She pointed at the double doors. As Ste stepped towards them, she spun back to him. "Oh, if Brendan turns up, just… stay out of his way, yeah?"
"Brendan?" asked Ste.
"Cheryl's brother," Jacqui explained, "owns half this place. You can't miss him. He's tall, dark, handsome, with a tashe to rival Kitchener's and the presence of … well, you won't miss him."
"Right…" said Ste hesitantly. The woman who had failed to even mention Warren the yeti felt the need to warn him about this Brendan. Either she had her priorities completely messed up, or this guy Brendan was a total nutter. Ste resolved to find a corner to stand in and be totally silent.
He opened the double doors.
Inside was a bit of a disappointment really. The way Jacqui had described 'Chez Chez,' as the most exciting night spot in Liverpool, just didn't seem to tally with the dingy bar and handful of morose looking men sat about in a room that was clearly designed for many more people than currently occupied it if its size and the number of chairs and tables around the place were anything to go by. There was also a small raised area against one wall, presumably where a band might play, and a battered looking upright piano in a corner.
Ste decided not to be snobby. A job was a job, and Ste Hay, son of a drunkard and brought up by a farm labourer with a temper, didn't have the right to be snobby. He could worry about losing a job if a place went out of business, but right now he had four mouths that needed feeding, and he would make do with pretty much anything. He stepped quietly to a table beside the door, so Jacqui would find him easily when she came back with Cheryl. He almost changed his mind about the whole thing when he heard a raised voice coming from a door behind the bar.
"Get the fuck out of here, ye little queer!"
Ste almost leapt out of his seat. He'd been called that before on the farm when he'd dropped something or couldn't make the horses do what he wanted, and a couple of times by his step-father without any real provocation. He breathed deeply. The shout hadn't been directed at him. It was probably directed at the mousy lad currently darting out of the door, almost falling into the bar in a rush to get out of there. He managed to get most of the way across the room, before falling over a chair and landing spectacularly on the floor by Ste's feet.
Ste offered him a hand which he gratefully accepted.
"Are you alright?" Ste asked. The guy, who was about the same age as him, was currently trying to keep his freckled face down.
"Yeah, thanks," the lad replied, in an accent Ste thought he hadn't heard before, "just… you know."
Ste wasn't sure he did.
"Well, I best be… you know…" the lad added, and nodded towards the door.
"Are you sure? You're not hurt?" Ste asked, worried.
"No, I…"
The shouty voice boomed across the room again, making a number of the morose looking men flinch, "Macca, I told you to get lost." A man followed the voice out from behind the bar and added, more calmly, "You know how I hate to repeat myself."
The young man, Macca, paled a bit, but also looked a bit lost. Ste wondered at the mix. If that voice had been directed at him, he would have happily run a million miles in the opposite direction.
"Gotta go," muttered Macca, and dodged past Ste, darting out the door. Ste couldn't not steal a glance at the man who could evoke such a reaction.
He saw the thunderous blue eyes, the tall muscular physique, the striking facial hair, and couldn't take his eyes off of the creature before him. Handsome was an understatement for that man. He could have been a prince from the fairytales Leah liked, except for the expression like a storm cloud that would have fitted better to the dastardly villain. He realised too late that this was obviously the man Jacqui had warned him about. He'd already stared too long, and the man had already spotted him.
"What are you looking at?" the man snapped. What had Jacqui said his name was? Ste searched his memories. Brandon? No…
"Brendan," he said aloud as he remembered, then regretted it. Brendan's face darkened to hear his own name from a stranger, and he marched around the bar. Not a single chair or table found itself in his way, even though he never took his eyes from Ste. When he reached Ste, he invaded his space, stood over him, and stared down at him. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded.
"I'm no one," replied Ste, automatically and meekly. It was his standard answer to big threatening men, but he knew that wouldn't do. "I mean, my name's Ste… er… Steven Hay, and I er… I need... I'm looking for a job."
Brendan snorted. "No chance," he growled and turned away just before an overgrown butterfly flew into the room.
"You must be Ste," the butterfly greeted, and Ste managed to see just enough through all the colours, frills, lace and heaving bosoms, to realise that this was a young woman with blond hair, "Jacqui told me all about you. Oh, and I see you've met Brendan!" Her accent was the same as Macca's, though Brendan's was slightly different, which was strange as Ste was sure Jacqui had said he was her brother.
"Well, I'm Cheryl," she confirmed, "and this is my little club, a little place for everyone to let their hair down and have a little fun."
Jacqui, who'd followed Cheryl in, took one glance between Ste and Brendan, and muttered, "Sorry kid," before wondering off to the bar.
"Chez, you're taking on more staff?" asked Brendan, his voice suddenly so different to the shouts and growls Ste had heard up until then. Now it was gentle, though a little exasperated.
"Well, he's a friend of Jacqui's, Bren, and he's got two little kiddies at home."
Brendan's previously hard glance wavered a little, but not enough, "We've got too many already, Chez. And what would he do anyway? We've already got Warren on the door, we've got enough bar staff, you want him to do housekeeping?"
"Oh, Brendan, we can't just turn him away."
"You're too soft Chez, of course we can," Brendan dismissed, turning his back on Ste.
"Oh, love," said Cheryl sadly, turning back to Ste, "he's right, we've only just taken on Macca, and…"
"Macca, the guy who just ran away?" Ste interrupted.
Brendan gave him a sharp look.
"Macca ran away?" Cheryl asked, surprised.
Brendan's look turned into a glare, that disappeared the moment Cheryl turned to him, "Yeah, some problem at home, had to get back to Ireland…"
"Oh, was that what it was?" Ste asked, staring at Brendan. Even if the man wanted him to think there was no job here, Ste could at least see a way he could make one.
"Yeah," replied Brendan, eyes narrowing on Ste, who suspected he was now suddenly Brendan's least favourite person. "Yeah, something to do with his Ma or something."
"Well, is he coming back?" asked Cheryl, distressed.
"Nope," replied Brendan, putting his head to one side, "but we can do better than this streak of…"
"Now, I'm not sure it was his Mam, actually" Ste interrupted. "Now what was it he said?" he put his head on one side as though he were thinking, and maybe he was wondering why he wanted to work for this man who looked ready to punch him.
Brendan snorted, "While you think on that, little Steven, maybe Macca's departure means there is something you can do for us." He said the words with a smile, but Ste could read 'If you shut up, I might not beat you to a pulp,' between the lines.
"Yeah, you're right," said Ste, taking whatever he was offered, "it was his Mam, now I think about it, and I'd be grateful for anything you can offer me. I've got kids, me."
"Yeah," replied Brendan, and turned to storm back to the bar.
Cheryl grinned at Ste. "I think that means you're hired!"
Ste returned the smile, though worried about what on Earth he'd just let himself in for.