2.

"So, how's life on the outside treating you?"

Joel had kindly ventured to the bar for Brendan, bringing their beers out onto the terraced area along the river. Unsurprisingly, due to the weather, the two men were entirely alone, which was just how Brendan wanted it. He took a sip of the beer in front of him and sighed in pleasure. Brendan wondered if he would ever take an alcoholic drink for granted again - the thrill of being able to get drunk and lose control suddenly seemed absurdly exciting.

"It's been...brief so far," Brendan said, taking another glug from his pint glass, "any chance of a whiskey chaser with the next one Joel?"

Joel raised an eyebrow and threw a bag of crisps at Brendan, who huffed a grateful laugh and proceeded to open the bag and dispose of the contents enthusiastically.

"I have to admit, I was surprised when I heard you wanted to see me. Thought Cheryl must be playing a practical joke or something."

"You know me, Joel. I like to let bygones be bygones," Brendan said, crisps flying in all directions as he continued to stuff them unceremoniously into his mouth. He washed the crumbs down with the rest of his pint, before giving Joel his full attention once more. He looked much older than Brendan remembered, hairline slightly receding and a smattering of facial hair on the chin that had once been so baby faced. He remained handsome, but had a haunted look behind his eyes that could not easily be hidden. Joel too wore a leather jacket, but whereas Brendan's struggled to contain him, Joel's was hanging off his slender frame.

Brendan tentatively touched Joel's hand, which was resting on the picnic table next to his pint glass.

"Joel...Cheryl told me...I heard...I know why you sold the club. For what it's worth...I'm sorry."

Joel pulled his hand away and used the other to blot the tears that had gathered at Brendan's words. He looked angry and bitter, and he couldn't meet Brendan's eyes. Brendan did not blame him; in fact, it was a moment where he felt that Joel's suffering might be similar to his own.

"Look Brendan. I don't need your pity okay? And I sold the club because - who wants to own half a club? I said it so many times. When you were put away it was my chance to start again. What happened with...Theresa, well -"

Joel's voice broke at this last, and he turned away hastily. Brendan shifted in his seat and sniffed uncomfortable. He had always been dreadful at consolation. Time in prison had dulled his skills further, rather than improving them.

"Okay," Brendan said quietly, taking his phone out of his pocket as he did so for something to do. Errant raindrops landed on his screen and he brushed them away impatiently. Two missed calls from Joel. One missed call from Cheryl. A missed call from an unknown number. A voicemail message, and a text message from his parole officer kindly reminding him to "check in" tomorrow. Joel had composed himself in the meantime, and was finishing the pint in front of him.

"Want another?" he asked, grabbing both glasses and heading towards the bar.

Brendan nodded absently, "hey Joel, did you leave me a voicemail earlier?"

Joel let out a short bark of laughter, and shook his head.

"Voicemail? What, like a crazy ex girlfriend? Don't flatter yourself Brendan I wasn't that desperate to talk to you. Whiskey chaser, yeah?"

Brendan grunted in response and held his phone up to his ear whilst Joel disappeared into the warm belly of the pub.

"Hey Bren - only me. I tried to call, but maybe you met with Joel already? Listen love, I know you said your therapist feels it's important for you to visit the village - for closure or whatever - and you know I want to support you with that. I'm just worried that this whole thing will open up old scars and undo all of the amazing work you've done. I mean, the village hasn't really got anything left for you now, what with Anne in America and me in Ireland. And I'm sure I told you the other day, Joel's only there whilst he settles Warren's estate, he'll soon be moving on. And then there'll be nothing but ghosts there Bren. I know the real reason you were so hell bent on going there. You think I'm daft sometimes, but I'm not, I know you better than you know yourself. Bren, this is so difficult, but I have to tell you, because I'll never forgive myself if I don't. And I don't want you to find out in some other way. It's Ste. He's -"

Brendan swore as the two beeps that signalled the end of the voicemail rang in his ears. His sister was infuriating, wittering on about irrelevant nonsense, when the only information he truly desired was cut off due to the length of her monologue.

A whiskey glass was slammed down in front of him in what seemed a very timely fashion. Brendan lifted the glass in the direction of an inquisitive Joel.

"Slainte," Brendan muttered, throwing the entire measure of whiskey back in one. No longer adept at drinking hard liquor, Brendan coughed and wiped his watering eyes as the whiskey hit the back of his throat. Joel had the grace to look mildly alarmed, as he swung his legs back over the bench to sit facing Brendan.

"Just a warning Brendan. I ain't carrying you home."

Brendan snorted and gestured around him. The village was growing darker, although thankfully the rain had largely ceased. There was however still an unseasonable chill in the air, and those entering the pub were doing so huddled in their coats to escape the bitter bite of the wind. Brendan seemed curiously unaffected by the cold, picking up his newly filled pint glass and studying the contents intently.

"Tell me Joel. Where would home be for me exactly?"

"Give over Brendan, you know what I mean. If you're going to insist on being awkward, why meet me in the first place? Sure there are a thousand things you could be doing instead with your first week out."

Brendan couldn't help himself. He let out a loud, psychotic laugh that held no humour in its tone whatsoever. Joel flinched and buried himself into his jacket and beer.

"Ah yes, my first week out. Air filled with leprechauns and rainbows. First I thought I'd take a ferry to Dublin town, see the kids who haven't spoken to me since I was sent down for murdering their grandfather. And then? Maybe a moonlit stroll along the Liffey Bridge with the man whose life I destroyed and then told to forget all about me. Perhaps then we could all hop on a plane and visit L.A and the only friend I have left, who still left me here without even saying goodbye. And what'll be waiting for me on return? That's right, police at the airport, waiting to transport me back to prison for breaking parole. I can hardly wait to get back to my home away from home..."

Brendan's tone was murderous, dripping with frustration and bitterness. All of the places and people he really needed were irrevocably out of reach, and not because of parole constraints, but because of who he was and what he had done. The irony was that now outside of prison walls, he felt more isolated than ever. He let out a long breath and clamped his teeth together.

"I guess being on the outside is really just a bigger prison. The bars are invisible now, but they're still there, you know?"

Joel nodded sympathetically.

"It's not forever Brendan. And look, as far as helping you, you can stay with me. Least then you've got somewhere to go, even if it's not your first choice. I'm subletting an apartment while I'm here. If you want to hang around a while longer, I could even see if Tony will agree to a new tenant in the flat."

A burst of laughter carried from the pub door as a group of people left, huddled together against the chill. Brendan, never exactly one to laugh freely, wondered what everyone had to be so cheerful about. The group turned out to contain some familiar faces, with Myra McQueen calling out a greeting to Joel, who gave a small half wave in response. Brendan pulled the collar on his jacket up, burying his head further in a bid for anonymity. Joel looked on, amusement playing around his mouth.

"If you do want to stay, you're going to have to get used to it. People will remember you Brendan, not as though you can avoid it. New hairstyle and beard aside."

"I know that Joel. Just not yet. Not today, anyway. I can't -"

"Hey, I get it. More than you realise."

Brendan gave Joel a grateful smile. It seemed like another lifetime ago that Brendan had sent Joel into exile, threatening him with death if he ever returned to the village. The things that Brendan had been so angry about had faded into insignificance as the years passed. Joel's failure to kill Seamus, the money for the club - what did any of it matter now? In the years they had been apart, neither had had an easy time of it. Brendan had sensed that Joel would find it in his heart to help him in the first few days, in a way that Cheryl could not.

She had been upset when he had asked her not to meet him on his release. She didn't understand the need for time to adjust, without affection or fuss. Brendan needed quiet, and to be used to quiet once more. Cheryl had accused him of freezing her out, the way he had on his previous release from prison. He had leant against the whitewashed prison wall next to the payphone he was using, pinching the top of his nose with two fingers in an attempt to stifle his irritation. It was the same, but it was different. Back then, he had been wrongly imprisoned and the terror and injustice of the situation had left Brendan feeling as though the walls were closing in on him, rendering him helpless. He had had to re-evaluate his life, as well as the people in it. So few people had believed in his innocence. Cheryl had, of course, and Lynsey -

Brendan took a painful inward breath, and tried to think of a way to explain how he felt to his sister.

"Look Chez. This isn't like last time. All I'm asking for is a few days to get my head around everything. You can understand that can't you?"

Cheryl had sniffed loudly, and Brendan wondered if she was crying. When she answered however, she sounded composed.

"Fine Bren. We'll do it your way. We always do anyway -"

"Chez..."

"No Bren, honestly. It's fine. It's better if you make the decisions for us. My big brother, he always knows what to do," she said softly, the previous composure beginning to crumble.

"Come and meet me Chez, yeah? Give me two days, and I'll meet you off the ferry in Liverpool. How does that sound?"

Brendan always compromised when it came to Cheryl. Now he was back in the village, he wished that he had stuck to his guns and taken more time for himself. He felt as though there was unfinished business all around him, people he needed to speak to, memories he needed to reacquaint himself with. Brendan had nearly been overwhelmed on that first walk through the village. He had to be able to control his emotions better. Especially if he truly did have any chance of closure.