First day back at school, and it's time to see him again. Brendan's managed to avoid him all summer. Whenever the boy's come round to the house he's made a swift exit, gone down to the beach with the lads. Even spending time with Malachy and his younger brother Francis is preferable to bumping into him, all gawky angles, full red lips and eyelashes that should belong to a cartoon character rather than a human being.
Almost every day over the summer he's been unable to escape before he's heard the boy's laugh booming out of the living room. It's filled his ears even when Brendan's run down the garden path. It's the loudest fucking sound in the world, and Brendan's strongly starting to believe that it may also be the best.
He's pressed Cheryl on it so many times that he worries she's starting to get suspicious.
"When did you two get so close?"
"He's my friend, Bren! He's in all my classes at school. You should get to know him, he's a nice guy."
Brendan would snort cynically.
"In all your classes? You mean when he's not bunking off and smoking at the pier? Everyones seen him."
"You just don't know him," she'd reply defensively.
"I don't want to know him. I mean...look at him."
She'd square her eyes at him. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
He'd shrug his shoulders, trying to appear aloof. "Nothing. It's just...what's wrong with Lynsey? I thought she was your best friend."
She'd get that smile on her face then, her eyes twinkling. "You sure do mention Lynsey a lot."
Lynsey. The prettiest girl in the whole of Cheryl's year. Brendan had heard the guys talking about her. She may have been a year younger than the lads in his class, but it didn't stop her from being locker room material. Her legs in a skirt. Her milky white complexion which contrasted against her long dark hair. Those compliments were some of the more tasteful ones.
Brendan could barely stand it, listening to the way people talked about her. She wasn't like some of the girls in the school, giving it away for half a kitkat behind the bike sheds. She was good.
He could only imagine what the guy's would be saying about Cheryl if they weren't too scared of what he'd do to them.
The first day back, and it's already like a fashion show. Cheryl wakes up at 6am and starts getting ready. The sound of the shower and her dropping her vast make up collection in the bathroom is enough to wake him from his sleep.
By the time they're ready to leave the house they're already ten minutes late.
"Hurry up, won't you?" Brendan shouts up the stairs.
He knows exactly who Cheryl's trying to impress. He hasn't got the heart to tell her that it's never going to happen, that Malachy sees her like a younger sister. That he's a waste of space anyway, and Cheryl deserves the world.
When at last she comes down, Brendan tries to keep a straight face. Her head of curls are out in full force, and she's wearing the brightest dress he's ever seen, its floral pattern reminding him of particularly unattractive curtains.
She totters down in a large black pair of heels, clutching the banister to keep from falling. She smells strongly of perfume, and her lipstick is the darkest shade of red.
"Do you think they're going to let you into college like that?"
"What about what the girls in your year wear?"
"None of them is my baby sister."
"Bren, I can finally wear the clothes I want after five years stuck in that hideous uniform. Cut me some slack."
Sighing in exasperation, Brendan knows he's fighting a losing battle.
"Fine. Come on then. Lets go."
Grabbing her bag, Cheryl pauses by the door. "By the way, Ste's meeting us by the gates. Be nice, yeah?" She adds warningly.
Brendan immediately feels his stomach tense, and he wishes he'd said no to the fry up his mum had made. It's churning around in him uncomfortably now, and he's scared he'll be sick all over his desk.
Perhaps there's some way he can keep from seeing him. He could run ahead of Cheryl before they're at the gates, or avoid the boy's eyes.
He inwardly curses himself. He's acting like he's scared of some stupid sixteen year old, of lanky Steven Hay, a guy who could be blown over by the wind. Brendan could destroy him with one punch.
Besides, maybe these...thoughts that he's been having recently have gone. A whole three months has been between them since they last properly saw each other. Perhaps Steven's changed since the last time he saw him, losing that golden tone to his skin like he's been dipped in the sweetest, glossiest honey. Maybe he'll no longer say his name in that particular way of his, Brendunnn, that pathetically sends shivers down his spine.
They make it to the gates at last, Cheryl leaning on Brendan for support every now and then when her heels give way.
"Are they even your size?"
"Yes! Why, do I look...weird?"
Her bottom lip quivers ever so slightly.
"Well when you're managing to stand up you look real..." Cheryl stares at him hopefully. "Pretty."
"Aw, thanks." She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and he smears the lipstick stain away that he knows will be there.
"Right, where's that idiot mate of yours?" Brendan asks, crossing his arms.
"Uh...we're right in front of him, Bren."
Brendan blinks, registering the guy that his eyes had idly travelled over moments before. He focuses properly this time, even though it goes against every promise he had made to himself before. Looking at Steven is dangerous. He came to learn that the hard way, when he'd lie awake at night going over his features in his mind.
He should have recognised him before. He doesn't know why he didn't, because the boy is still in many respects the same, those long sooty eyelashes, the high jutting cheekbones, the light blue eyes. The way he stands is the same, slumping against the iron gates casually, lazily, like he's got all the time in the world to kill.
But he has grown since Brendan last saw him. He still wouldn't come up to Brendan's height, but he's not far off. And he's out of that uniform now which had hidden that skinny little body of his. Only it turns out he's not so skinny and little anymore. He has padded out over the summer, and the boniness has transformed to something more toned, more solid. Brendan strongly believes he could still wrap a hand around the entirely of Steven's stomach, but there is definitely more of him now.
And that skin. He must have been at the pier a lot this summer, or wherever he likes to go and smoke and drink, because his skin's caught the sun, and it's more bronzed than ever. Brendan wonders what it would taste like against his tongue, the smooth slip slide of it.
Fuck.
Steven is dressed casually, almost like he just threw on his jogging bottoms and baggy white t-shirt, but there is a beautiful contrast between someone with such delicate, almost feminine like features wearing something so masculine. He is a strange mixture of toughness and vulnerability. Brendan doesn't know whether he wants to hold his face gently in his hands or push him onto the nearest desk and tear his clothes off with his teeth.
He settles for looking down at the pavement while Cheryl runs towards the boy as fast as she can in her shoes, arms outstretched.
They make fucking cooing noises. Brendan wants to hammer his fist into the wall.
"I've missed you so much!" Cheryl squeals excitedly.
"You only saw him the other day," Brendan mutters under his breath.
They ignore him, hugging and smiling. Brendan glances up and can't help but notice Steven's arms over Cheryl's back. He's got good hands. Strong, hairy. Looks like they could do a bit of their own damage, if put to use.
"Alright, Brendan?" He says, nodding in his direction.
There it is again. Brendunnn. That Manchester accent, unmistakable.
"I'm surprised you're here. Thought you'd already be bunking off somewhere."
"Brendan! A simple hello will do nicely, you grumpy git," Cheryl admonishes.
"Hmmm," he grumbles, shifting from foot to foot. He feels nervous. Nervous. He hates that emotion, wants to beat it out of himself.
"It's alright Cheryl, I'm used to it, aren't I?" Steven says, and there's amusement in his voice. "I think I've had to deal with the fact that your brother just doesn't like me." He sighs dramatically.
He's taking the piss. The cheeky little...
"Not cool enough for you, am I Brendan?" He challenges.
Brendan looks up to meet his gaze. It's like looking at molten lava.
Steven is doing that thing where his bottom lip juts out, and he doesn't look away, doesn't hesitate for less than a second. Barely even blinks. Brendan hates how he does that, how he's one of the only people at this school who isn't afraid of him.
Brendan opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. Everything is caught on his tongue, the overwhelming feeling of seeing Steven again clouding his judgement.
He shuffles past Cheryl and Steven, making sure that not an inch of his skin touches the boy's.
He hears Cheryl shouting bye at him, but keeps on moving. This is exactly what he's been dreading for the past week of the holidays. He had begun to train himself to switch it off, like his feelings were a leaky tap that he could unscrew, but he should of known that Steven is like poison, constantly dripping in his mind.
Brendan mumbles an apology to his teacher for being late. Peter has saved him a space, and nods over to him. Brendan sits down awkwardly, is still not used to this, to being Peter's friend again, of trying to act like everything is the way it was. Peter makes it easy on him though, talking a mile a minute and making plans to go to the beach later that day. Brendan is grateful to him for never mentioning that day. It's almost like his friend thinks he has nothing to be ashamed of, which is ridiculous in itself. He has everything to be ashamed of.
During their morning break they sit out on the benches. Peter waves Malachy over, hisses at Brendan to give him a chance, won't you? when he complains, and Francis joins them, tagging along like a bad smell. He doesn't get on well with the people in his own year. Cheryl takes him under her wing at times, seems to have a thing for misfits, but it only makes the other guys tease him more, calling Francis that strange kid, the one who likes to dress up in those girls clothes. Brendan has no idea if the rumours are true, has never seen Francis in anything but his trousers and shirts, but he knows there is something going on, and the way Malachy shields him only adds to his theory.
Francis perches nervously on the edge of the bench while Brendan sprawls out on it, shades covering his eyes.
"We're going to the beach later. Fancy it, Mal?" Peter asks.
"Can't. I've got a date."
Brendan rolls his eyes, glad that no one can see. Malachy's always got a date, can't seem to stop the line of girls he's got queuing up for him. Brendan can't understand why, can't see what's so fucking special about him. He's one of those nosy types, the kind who's up in everyones business, especially Brendan's. Always wanting to know the ins and outs, how Brendan makes the money that pays for his new computer and widescreen tv. Fucking Malachy. If it wasn't for his friendship with Peter and Cheryl's crush on him, Brendan would be tempted to introduce his body to the nearest shallow ditch.
"Who's the lucky girl this time?"
"Lynsey."
Brendan sits up at that.
"Lynsey Nolan?" He questions.
"I don't see any other Lynsey's around here, do you?" Smart ass.
Brendan swallows.
"Something wrong, Bren?" Peter asks, looking at him. Even through his shades he can read him like an open book.
Cheryl will be devastated. Brendan can see it now, her crying on his shoulder about it, ignoring Lynsey for months, calling her every name under the sun. It'll only push her closer to Steven, and then he'll be round at the house even more than he already is...
"When did you ask her?" Lynsey must have not told Cheryl yet. There's no way she'd have been so calm and happy, walking about in her pulling clothes.
"Well technically I haven't yet..."
Brendan can't help but smirk. He pulls his sunglasses off, and surveys Malachy.
"So she hasn't said yes?"
Malachy frowns at him, that tick in his cheek already going off.
"She will, Brady."
Annoyingly, he's probably not wrong. He's seen the way they've talked when they're together, none of that shyness in Lynsey that's always there when Cheryl's around him. Malachy's older than her, and Brendan can just imagine her being flattered to be asked out by someone like him.
He lies back on the bench, letting Malachy chatter on about where he's going to take Lynsey, how he's been after her for ages, how he's not going to play around anymore, that she could be girlfriend material. Brendan drowns the sound of his voice out and starts to desperately think. He can't let Cheryl be hurt like that, can't take the sadness and the tears that are to come. He could tell Malachy about Cheryl's feelings for him. He's pretty sure even a bastard like him isn't heartless enough to act after that. But he knows Cheryl will never forgive him.
Suddenly it comes to him, the solution so obvious that he wonders how he didn't think of it before. He waits till after school and then stands outside Cheryl's classroom, waiting for her to come out. As he expected she's surrounded by Steven and Lynsey, all closely huddled together like they're surgically attached. Ignoring Steven, he touches Lynsey's arm.
"Can I have a word, Lyns?"
She waves off Cheryl and Steven, and he moves until they're in a quiet corner. He's never done this before. Any encounter in the past has been at nighttime, usually on a deserted section of the beach, or better yet, right in front of his mates. Something where he can say to them, look, I did it. I kissed a girl, I'm normal.
But this is the first time he's ever asked someone out.
He's surprised when it comes to him easily.
"Do you want to go out with me sometime, Lynsey?" He comes out with it straight off the bat, no messing around. There's not a hint of nervousness in his voice, and he wonders why the hell none of this matters to him.
He watches Lynsey's face, the shocked expression turning to one of delight.
"You mean...as more than friends?"
He nods, and she positively beams at him, as bright as sunshine. He wishes he could feel something, anything, because she's beautiful, and if he could feel something for anyone it would be for her.
"Of course," she says, and Brendan feels guilt in the pit of his stomach at the way she's staring at him.
"I didn't even know you liked me like that," she continues.
Brendan knows that the way he acts around Lynsey is different to other guys. He has come into the kitchen in his boxers while she and Cheryl are making a midnight snack in the past. While she has blushed and looked away, he has carried on talking to them, not even caring when he accidentally brushes up against her skin.
He can talk to her about school, about whatever mind numbingly dull book they're studying in English. She has even asked his opinion on what dress to wear to a party. He sees her like he sees Cheryl, a little sister who needs protecting.
He has never imagined kissing her, or what the taste or smell of her would be like. It wouldn't be that bad though, would it? He's sure he could do that if he had to, if it meant keeping her away from Malachy, and Steven away from him. Lynsey's not the kind of girl who would want more. He's sure of it.
"Well I do like you. For a long time now." It scares him how easily he can lie.
He organises some rough details of his date with Lynsey. Sets a time, pretends that he has some special idea brewing in his mind, although he couldn't even begin to guess what a girl would want to do on a date. Light candles? Get roses? Have some song playing which she can then listen to on repeat? He'll have to ask Peter.
He heads to the beach afterwards. He finds it's a kind of refuge these days, that it gets him out of the house for as long as possible so he doesn't have to see his dad, doesn't have to breathe the same toxic air as him.
Malachy and Francis aren't there when he arrives, and he wonders if Malachy has already asked out Lynsey. Imagining his face at her rejection makes this whole thing worthwhile.
A year ago the chance to be alone with Peter would have both thrilled and terrified Brendan in equal measure. At one point he didn't think he could ever grow tired of simply watching his best friend. Whether he was just lying on the sand or splashing Brendan with sea water, it didn't seem to matter. He was just there, always at the forefront of Brendan's mind, something he wanted so badly he thought he'd choke from it.
Now Brendan walks towards him on the sand with trepidation. Peter is an expert at hiding things, at keeping his cards close to his chest, but Brendan can see from the paleness of his complexion that he's just as nervous as he is.
"Brendan, wait up!"
Brendan turns around at the sound of his sister's voice, and is not sure that he's ever been so relieved to see someone.
Then his stomach drops.
Steven lights up a cigarette as he moves towards him, the smoke blowing in the wind.
"What are you two doing here?" He tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
"We thought we'd join you!" Brendan sees Cheryl looking around his shoulder eagerly.
"He's not here."
"Who?"
"Malachy."
"Oh." Cheryl's face drops.
"Doesn't matter. We can still stay, can't we Chez?" Steven asks, and Brendan could swear that he looks directly at him, as if begging for him to argue back.
Brendan stares down at Cheryl's bare feet.
"What happened to your shoes?"
"Her feet started bleeding. It was proper rank."
Fucking Steven. Always interrupting, and always, always talking.
"Why don't you go home, Chez? Get a plaster or something."
"Sounds like you're trying to get rid of us, Brendan," Steven says, eyebrows raised.
"Come on Bren, there's room for two more! We can't hog the whole beach," Peter yells from behind him.
Brendan clenches his fists, but relents, charging over to Peter. He needs to be away from him, to stop feeling this strange electricity coursing through him.
Brendan sets up a spot near the rocks, laying down his towel and lying on his back. Peter sits down beside him, starting on the stack of homework that he's already received. Sometimes Brendan doesn't know how he ended up with a best friend who does what he's told, who follows deadlines and says his pleases and thank yous. He's grateful to whoever sent him his way though.
At first Steven just sits on the sand next to Cheryl, puffing away on his cigarette and staring out at the water. Brendan tries to look away and ignore the way his arms look when he leans against them, how hairy his legs are with his jogging bottoms rolled up.
I can do this. It's just a...a silly little thing. It's going to go away. Maybe I'll go out with Lynsey, and I'll feel something when I kiss her. It'll make everything okay. Maybe this will be the girl.
Steven abruptly stands up. Brendan thinks he's leaving, and begins to feel the pounding in his heart lessen, but then the boy begins to slowly slip his trousers down, until they're at his ankles.
He must be imagining things. He wants to shout at the top of his lungs, to ask the boy what the fuck he thinks he's doing, that this isn't some nudist beach, that he can't just do things like that. He turns to Peter, hoping to find a similarly appalled expression on his face, but he's still absorbed in his homework, not even bothering to glance up.
It's only when Steven lifts his t-shirt up that Brendan realises he's wearing a pair of swimming trunks underneath. He must have changed into them before he and Cheryl headed over to the beach.
His legs are just as hairy as Brendan has always pictured. He's heard the names his father has called the boy. Feminine. Poof. Queer. But he can't see a single thing that's anything but masculine about Steven now.
When he removes his t-shit the provocative little git actually turns round. Brendan looks down at his bag, concentrates on the straps of his rucksack, but he chances a glance up at the boy like it's gravity pulling him.
Steven's chest is covered by a surprising trail of dark hair leading to his groin. Brendan hadn't expected that, and he finds he can't take his eyes off it. He can also see a peek of the tattoo that he's heard rumours about, the one that Steven had got done after convincing some crook that he was eighteen. It suits him, and as he continues to drag on the cigarette while he straightens out his trunks, Brendan has never seen anything more sexy.
Steven turns back around and pads towards the sea, and also contrary to what his father says, he doesn't run like a girl either. He moves with confidence, his arse swaying the smallest amount, mesmerising.
He continues watching as Steven disappears beneath the waves before emerging again. The boy's crazy. It's September, and despite the sun being out, it must still be freezing in there. But that's one thing Brendan's observed about Steven already. He's fearless. Out in the ocean he looks completely free, splashing about like a kid, not even glancing back at the shoreline like Brendan desperately wants him to do.
Just look at me once.
Brendan shuffles forward on the sand to join Cheryl.
"How was your first day back?"
"The usual. School is school," he replies. "How did the others like your dress?"
She stares down at it, threading the material through her fingertips.
"Why didn't you tell me that I look like a clown?"
He bites on his bottom lip. "Was that not the look you were going for?"
"Oi!" She elbows him in the ribs, and he chuckles. "Remind me to burn this dress when we get back."
"Will do."
Brendan looks at Steven floating on the water on his back, face raised towards the sun. He knows the boy will get even more golden. It's as though all the elements are against him, trying to make Steven as irresistible as possible.
"Cheryl."
"Mmmm?"
"Is Steven your boyfriend?" It's out in a rush of word vomit before he can stop himself.
She baulks at his words. "Ste? My Ste?"
Brendan worries she's just answered his question for him. He's surprised when Cheryl shakes her head.
"God, no! What made you think that?"
Granted, he's never seen them kissing. But the way they are together, watching films spooning on the sofa, constantly giggling and hugging. What is he meant to think?
"So you're not together, then?"
She laughs, and he feels like he's missing a step.
"What's so funny?"
"Uh...well okay, but don't go mad, Bren. I know what you're like about these things."
He frowns.
"Ste's..." she hesitates, not taking her eyes off Brendan, assessing his reaction. "Ste's gay."
"He's gay? Fuck sake Chez, you're hanging around with a -"
"I knew you'd be like this! See, this is why I didn't want to tell you. You're just like dad about those kind of things."
Just like dad. Cheryl has no idea how those words have the capacity to wound him above all else.
"But it's not...it's not normal." He gives himself an A* in terms of effort. He sounds truly disgusted right now.
"Why not?" Cheryl argues back angrily. "He's just the same as you and me. He just likes sucking other guys cocks."
Brendan's eyes widen. "Cheryl!" He has never heard her talk like this. His baby sister.
"It's true! What's so bad about that? I'm so sick of everyone at school whispering about him and Francis, just because they're different. I'd rather be like them than be boring."
"You're not boring," Brendan replies, gentler now.
"Yeah? Well then why doesn't Mal like me?"
Brendan slings an arm around her shoulder loosely. "Because he's an idiot. I've told you this. You're better off going for a nice guy, someone like Peter."
"I don't want Pete, Bren."
Brendan can't fight her over that. He knows what it's like, not wanting the right person.
"I wish you and Ste could be friends," Cheryl sniffs into his shoulder. "I know you'd like him if you got to know him. He's lovely, not at all like everyone thinks he is."
Steven has built quite a reputation. Everyone at school knows about the absentee father, the step dad who gives him the bruises which cover him, the alcoholic mother who has turned up at parents evening rotten drunk. Everyone knows that Steven is a thread away from being chucked out of school for his absences and smoking on the grounds.
And everyone knows that he's gay. Brendan doesn't want to tell her about the rumours that he sucks mens cocks for money, that he'll go further if the price is right. And besides...if Brendan tells Cheryl he knows, then what does that tell her about him? Will she come to recognise something wrong in him, something that makes him see that in another person?
"You really think I could ever be friends with someone like that, sis?" He dismisses, and feels her sighing against him. He doesn't blame her if she's ashamed of him.
Steven comes out of the sea then. His hair is damp and shining, and water particles drop off his skin. His chest rises and falls as he runs over to them on the sand.
He sits down beside Brendan, barely an inch of space separating them. He takes out a chocolate bar from his bag, unwraps it and starts sucking on the coating.
"It's not fair. You eat rubbish and you stay looking like that," Cheryl complains.
Ste grins at the remark and carries on eating, legs lying flat in front of him, so unself conscious of his body, of who he is. Brendan's never seen anything like it.
"Screw this, I'm sick of dieting to try and impress someone who isn't even here." Cheryl stands up. "You got any food, Pete?" She asks, moving towards him.
Please, don't leave me Brendan inwardly begs. But he can't attract any attention to how impossible this is, how his skin is uncomfortably hot just being in the same vicinity as the boy.
Steven seems as blaséas ever, wiggling his bare toes in the sand, seemingly unaffected by Cheryl's absence. Brendan prays that he doesn't notice what a squirming mess he is beside him.
"I love coming here," Ste says softly after a second, and Brendan almost jumps from the sound of his voice, so low, almost intimate.
"Yeah?" He mutters.
"Especially at night."
Oh yes, Brendan's heard all about what he likes to do at night.
"It's dead peaceful."
That he hadn't expected. He doesn't know how fucking some old guy for cash could ever qualify as peaceful.
"Who do you come here with?" Brendan asks, curious, wondering if Steven will tell him the truth.
"Just me sometimes. I just smoke down here. It's nice, being away from..." He pauses. There's no need to fill in the gap.
"Is it true...about your family?" Brendan has no idea whats led him to ask such a bold question. He's ready for Steven to tell him to fuck off, to stop prying into his life where he's not wanted. To show some of that mouthiness that Brendan has heard on occasion.
But he surprises him by his silence, by the way he looks down at his hands, as if carefully considering the answer.
"Yes. I don't know what you've heard exactly...but yes. It's probably true. All of it."
Brendan imagines Steven's small, skinny body being attacked by someone larger than him. Of having his ribs kicked in, his head bashed against a wall. Of his mother lying unconscious on the sofa, not protecting him.
"I'm sorry." It spills out of him, this ugly truth, ugly because Brendan doesn't want to be sorry for this kid, doesn't want to feel anything for him.
Steven looks him in the eye, no trace of tears, and Brendan knows what that's like. Being so fucked up beyond repair that the tears don't even show anymore.
"You know what the weirdest thing is, Brendan? I believe you."
His face is so beautiful that Brendan almost doesn't believe it could be carved by the hands of God, doesn't see how a God would be that cruel to him, to place a man before him who could tempt him so much.
He looks like a broken little boy, but there is still that familiar toughness there, and when Steven raises his shoulders it's like he's desperately shrugging off his emotions.
He takes a cigarette out of his pocket when he's finished with the chocolate bar.
"Jesus, you do know those will kill you, don't you?"
Steven looks at him, fag hanging out of his mouth, it moving while he speaks.
"I like having something in my mouth," he says, then lets out that laugh of his.
Brendan feels heat spreading to his cheeks, looks down at the sand while the boy continues to laugh, the filthy fucker. Why isn't he hiding it? Why does he make comments like that, comments which would have Seamus putting a noose around his neck if Brendan would dare to speak them at home? He can't understand it, how someone like Steven, someone from his background, could possibly flaunt who he is like that, like he hasn't got a single fear. It's unnerving.
Brendan makes sure to move not so subtly away from him on the sand, to let him know that he's not having any part in this. Steven can keep his fucking oral fixation to himself. He's not like him.
Brendan's relief is palpable when Cheryl comes back to sit beside them. He moves back towards Peter, thankful for his friend's easy company. Maybe they really can get past what happened between them.
It isn't long before the sun begins to go in and they start packing up their things. Brendan thinks about what's to face him. Another night at home, his mum a silent presence in her bedroom, his dad taking up the whole house without even saying a single word. He keeps his mind and his eyes focused on Cheryl, on the fact that she'll be there, that he has to be around to look after her.
It's when they're half way down the beach that he spots him. He can practically sense Cheryl tense from beside him, her excitement building. She hurriedly pats down her hair, asking Ste a thousand times if she looks okay, and I knew I shouldn't have eaten those bloody crisps, thanks a lot Pete.
Brendan knows what's coming, can almost feel the anger crackling in the air. When Malachy finally reaches them he doesn't even make an attempt at any words, instead charging straight for Brendan, his fist coming up.
Brendan ducks, missing his punch by mere inches. Malachy tries again, but there's shouting this time, Cheryl's confused screech filling his ears. Hands reach out to block Malachy, Peter trying to drag him away while Malachy protests and fights him furiously.
Brendan would gladly have it out with him, has been waiting for this day for what feels like years, wishing for the time when he'd be able to give the bastard exactly what he deserves. But Peter's hands are holding Malachy in place, and the strength of him stops him from doing any damage.
"What the hell are you doing?" It is Steven who yells out, and Brendan momentarily feels like the breath has been kicked out of him. There is concern in his voice, concern for him, and the unmistakable sound of anger.
"You're a fucking idiot, Brendan," Malachy spits, and Brendan finds himself smiling, quite enjoying the sight of him struggling in Peter's firm hold.
"I don't understand. What's he done?" Cheryl implores.
Brendan knows now that it's going to come out one way or the other. That Cheryl's heart is about to be crushed into a million pieces, and he can do nothing but stand by and watch, and try to put it back together again.
"You knew I liked her. You knew I was going to ask her out today."
Brendan pretends to look dumb founded. "Sorry mate," he says the word like it's acid. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Lynsey! I just called her, and it turns out she's already been asked out, by a guy she really likes apparently. A guy called Brendan!"
"Funny that," Brendan says, over enunciating every word.
Malachy makes another futile attempt to lunge at him.
"I don't..." Cheryl whispers beside him. "What...Lynsey?" Her mouth opens like a gawping fish, tears filling her eyes.
Malachy stares at her, and Brendan can see it beginning to click into place for him. Their friendship. The way she acts around him. Why it's hurting so much now.
"Cheryl, I..." The anger has left Malachy's voice, and he looks like he wishes he could be swallowed by a black hole.
"I have to go," she says, and pushes past him.
"Chez!" Brendan calls, but she ignores him, running across the sand.
"Cheryl, do you want me to come?" Steven shouts to her, but she's already gone, up on the pavement quicker than lightning.
"Get off me, Pete," Malachy growls.
"Only if you promise not to go crazy."
He sighs. "Okay, I promise." Peter reluctantly lets him go.
Brendan braces himself, but Malachy merely stares at him.
"Why did you do it, Brendan? Was it to get back at me for something?"
Fucking drama queen, as always.
"I like her. I wanted her. I got her," he says, like it's a simple equation.
Malachy shakes his head disgustedly, then turns around and walks away.
Peter stares at Brendan. "I can't fault your taste, mate. Lynsey...well chosen."
"Thanks," Brendan says, as if this means anything to him. He is being congratulated on wanting something he doesn't even want.
Peter continues looking at him, and Brendan knows exactly what he's thinking. Please, please don't say it.
"I better go and check on Mal, though. You know what he's like."
They wave their goodbyes, and it's only when he's gone that Brendan remembers Steven by his side, unmoving, like a silent, beautiful statue. Right now it feels like they're the only two people on the beach.
They pick up their rucksacks again, and continue their journey along the sand.
Brendan doesn't know what to talk about, couldn't even imagine what it is that Cheryl and Steven gossip about every day at school. Somehow he thinks football won't cut it, and he can't stand the thing himself, can't play worth a damn.
He doesn't know what music the boy's into, although could wager a bet that it's that dance or RnB crap, what with the way he dresses. He can't bear to start up some mindless conversation about it.
"So, that was awkward back there," Steven says suddenly, breaking the silence.
Brendan grunts. Awkward's one way to put it. He won't forget the way Peter looked at him for a while.
"Lynsey's a really pretty girl."
"Wouldn't have thought she'd be your type," Brendan says before he can stop himself. He half expects Steven to deny it.
"Just because she's not my type, doesn't mean I can't see she's gorgeous. My vision hasn't been affected you know, Brendan."
Steven's doing that thing again. Pouting.
"Alright, alright! Jesus." He holds his hands up in defense.
"Anyway, she's a really nice girl. A proper friend."
"I've know her longer than you, Steven. She's been Cheryl's best friend since they were in nappies."
Steven moves in front of him, stopping him from walking. Brendan knows he could push him aside easily, but part of him wants to hear what the boy has to say.
"She likes you, you know. I can tell, from the way she talks about you. In a more than just a friend way."
"Well, now her wishes have come true," Brendan says, his voice light.
Steven shakes his head, those eyebrows of his creasing together.
"You better not be messing her about. She doesn't deserve that."
He's getting annoyed now. He's not about to let Steven tell him what to do.
"Get out of my way, won't you? I need to go back home."
"Oh yeah? You sure about that? I would have thought you'd do anything to stay away from the place."
Brendan stills at his words, at the implication behind them. "What are you talking about?"
"I know what your dad does to you, Brendan." It comes out in one angry burst, a jumble of words which floats in the air between them.
Brendan laughs it off, laughs till there's nothing that could possibly be that funny, till Steven gets that look on his face, a look full of pity that rips at Brendan's insides. Anything but that.
He knows this isn't going to go away with a brush off, so Brendan gets right up in his face, shoves him against the railings and all but bashes their foreheads together.
"You don't know anything. You're just some fag friend of Cheryl's. Stop sticking your nose into my business."
He expects the boy to cower against the force of him, to apologise and run. Yet another person who he's managed to push away.
"You going to beat me like he beats you, then?"
Brendan comes close to it, close to beating the shit out of him, to smashing his head against the railings, to making him into dust with his hands. He has no idea what stops him. He doesn't want to know.
"Brendan, I know. You forget, I've been there. I am there, exactly there. I'm not going to accept all those shitty excuses like everyone else does, that you walked into a door or fell on the pavement. Your dad hits you, just like my step dad does."
Brendan moves away from him, away from his words. No one has ever said this to him before. It has been something unspoken between him and Peter over the years. Brendan knows his best friend's not an fool, that he must know exactly what's going on. But it's one of the things Brendan has always respected in him. He doesn't push it, has never tried to pick at that scab, start the bleeding all over again.
Steven is not just picking at it but rubbing salt into it, making it hurt all over again.
"Please stop," It's one of the only times he's begged for anything in his life.
"No one knows, do they?"
"Why are you doing this, Steven? You don't even know me. I've always been horrible to you." A rare moment of honesty.
Steven weighs him up, eyes trailing over Brendan's face, his own drawn and sad.
"Sometimes I think I know more about you then you do, Brendan."