AN: Here's the next bit, in case this catches more imaginations. Thanks to everyone who did review, it's always nice to hear what you think.

For those of you who are interested, A House of Pomegranates was a collection of strange stories by Oscar Wilde, something like fairytales, where people cut off their souls and the sons of shepherds become kings and reject all the trappings of wealth. I just thought it was an interesting name. Thanks to Ruthyroo for suggesting using the name of an Oscar Wilde work.

Hope you enjoy!

Ste realised quickly, as Cheryl showed him around the club, that he had completely underestimated Chez Chez. It was massive, spreading over multiple floors of the building. The lower bar, the far less impressive one that Ste had waited in, was the less exclusive part. Normal people went there to dance and have a laugh, though what Cheryl, in her spectacular dress that looked a hundred years out of date while obviously more expensive than all of Amy's clothes put together, thought was normal was a mystery to Ste.

On the floor above, the level where Ste had seen the chandelier, was the place Cheryl described as the VIP section.

"Very important people," she whispered conspiratorially to Ste when he looked at her blankly, "we get all sorts; factory owners, businessmen, the odd member of the aristocracy. Downstairs is more ordinary, but up here we have people who are somebody, you know?" Ste nodded, though he wasn't sure he did.

She pointed at some stairs, "And up there is the most exclusive part of the club. It's Brendan's baby, really, I mean, even I almost never go up there."

Ste found himself staring at the stairs, overwhelmingly curious about what was up there, what secrets the strange, handsome man kept up there.

"But you, Ste Hay," cooed Cheryl, with laughter in her voice, "you will be spending most of your time somewhere far more exclusive."

She led him down some stairs behind the bar. They seemed to go down forever, into the dark depths of the house. There Ste found a cellar. It was clean, but packed full of bottles and barrels, stacked tidily against one wall were a series of wheeled trolleys, and by the stairs were a couple of holes in the walls revealing pullies. Behind the stairs, in another room, was a sink. Ste had only seen a handful before, plumbed into a house.

"So, you'll mostly be working down here, fetching and carrying stuff."

"Fine," said Ste, happily. As long as there was no one taking the piss or pushing him around, he would be happy. And this job looked much easier than the farm. And so far he really like Cheryl. Working for her would be a breeze.

"These are our dumb waiters," she said, tapping the holes in the wall, "they're for taking the awkward things up so we don't have to struggle on the stairs." She laughed, "I say we; of course I mean you!" She looked longingly at one, "but Brendan still won't let me see if I can fit."

Ste laughed, but only because he suddenly really wanted to try that too.

"Jacqui will teach you how to work them," Cheryl assured him, "and that's, erm, that's the club."

"It's great," said Ste, honestly.

"Well, thank you, babe," Cheryl exclaimed, beaming at him, "Aren't you a sweetie? Why don't you get started on that pile of washing up, and I'll send Jacqui down to show you the dumb waiter."

"Thanks," said Ste, and smiled as she swept from the cellar and back up the stairs. He'd done it. He was employed. He'd found a job in a decent place, for money that would keep them all fed and clothed and sheltered, If Amy got one, too, then they could afford decent food and stuff, and maybe even a day in Blackpool.

He whistled as he approached the sink, ready to get his hands dirty and the cups clean. He figured out the plug and turned the taps, almost laughing at the sight of the clean water filling the sink before his very eyes. He'd had to pump to get this at the farm. He found some soap and started scrubbing, enjoying the sounds of the water, the hubbub from above and the feeling of new found hope.

He couldn't believe he'd already forgotten about Brendan. He would have kicked himself had Brendan not already obviously decided to punish him for the over-sight.

The tall frame was suddenly pinning Ste to the sink, hips against his arse. A hand grabbed the back of his neck, another his shoulder, and before he knew it, he was being shoved towards the water. He closed his eyes and tried to gasp in some air before the water cut off his supply.

But the liquid never hit his face, though he'd stood frozen and still for long enough before he realised it wasn't coming. The hold on him was tight, not giving him the smallest space to move, and he found himself staring at the water beneath him.

"Can you see how easy it would be for me to get rid of you, Steven?" Brendan's voice growled, quietly, the hairs of his moustache tickling Ste's ear.

Unable to nod with that grip in his hair, Ste could only gasp "Yes, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" hissed Brendan, "you're sorry now, Steven, but the only reason you're still breathing is them kiddies of yours. I do not take kindly to blackmail."

"I'm sorry," Ste repeated, heart pounding and breath coming in great fearful gasps, "I just really needed a job! Please!"

"This is just a warning, boy. You have no idea what I am capable of."

Ste tried to fight back the tears sparked by Brendan's words and the images of his dead body floating up river. Or worse.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "I had to get a job."

Brendan still held him, but as he didn't go to actually kill him, or even hurt him, he must have begun to forgive him. "You have one week to show me you're not completely feckless."

Ste, nose still inches from the water, hips pressed against the sink, just managed to gasp out a "Thank you."

But Brendan wasn't done. He pressed his body further into Ste's and growled, "If you even try anything like that again, I'll end ye. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" cried Ste, and hoped Brendan would let him go now. The older man didn't, though his hands seemed to loosen their grip slightly. The hand on his arm even moved. It almost turned into a stroke.

Then suddenly Brendan had let him go. He almost shoved himself away, breathing strangely, then laughing humourlessly. Ste didn't dare turn away from the sink.

"Well, back to work, chop chop," Brendan snapped, before storming back up the stairs, leaving Ste in confusion. Not at Brendan. He really should have seen that coming. It was his own reaction that got him. He was scared, of course he was, but his skin where Brendan had held him felt like it was burning. The hair on his arms was standing on end. And his erection was digging painfully into the sink.

…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…

Cheryl gave Ste twenty minutes to go tell Amy. He practically ran all the way, the journey was more about quarter of an hour each way, and when he got there he was breathing heavily. Amy, who had been sat on the kitchen chair watching the children play with clear exhaustion on her face, sprang to her feet as he came in.

"Ste! I was so worried!" she looked at him with frightened eyes – she still wasn't sure to believe he wouldn't hurt her again. "I haven't got you any tea yet. I can get you something really quick…"

"Nevermind, I can't stay. I got a job!"

Amy's eyes lit up. "Ste, that's incredible!"

"I know," Ste replied, "so there's no need to worry about anything anymore." He got closer to her and kissed her on the forehead, "and I mean anything."

"Oh, I'm so proud of you, Steven Hay," she said, throwing her arms around his neck, and Ste was glad she couldn't see his blush. She wouldn't be proud of him if she knew what he'd done to get the job. And even less if she knew he was already on the wrong side of a man like Brendan.

"Did you hear that, kids?" she sang, "your clever Daddy has a job!" and the kids cheered dutifully, even though Ste was sure they had no idea what a job was.

Ste decided it was better not to mention Brendan at all right now.

"A job I've got to get back to, and now if I want to keep it!" he told them kissing both kids on the forehead. "Be good for your Mum," he added, and darted back out the door, knocking into people as he sprinted back to work. It was knocking off time at some of the factories and the streets were suddenly awash with people. It took him twice as long to get back as it had to get home, and his stomach was beginning to grumble.

He knew he was late when he reached the club because of the sounds coming from inside. There was a tinkling of a piano and a wave of voices. He ran to the door and knocked.

Warren opened and scowled down at him. "He never gave you a job!" he sneered.

Ste didn't reply, but he tried to get around the mountain of Warren's body currently blocking the door. Warren stepped into his way. "I don't think so, rat boy," he jeered.

"I'm late for me shift, Warren," he said and tried to get past the other way.

Warren's response was to grab his ear. "Not this way, rat boy. We've got another entrance for vermin like you."

He tugged Ste by his ear and pulled him back up the path, through the front gate and around the side of the house. There were snickers from passing workers as they trundled by to see Ste being dragged like a child, and he flushed red, trying to shove Warren away from him. The man really was built like a bull, though, and there was no way Ste could do anything except let himself be dragged.

At the back of the house, Warren gave Ste a shove, and watched with glee as Ste stumbled wildly down the six stone stairs that led to a low door. Heart racing with panic, Ste grazed his hands against the floor, but managed to avoid any permanent damage well enough; Terry had pushed him off enough things that he'd learnt how to land.

"Oi!" shouted a voice from the doorway, and Ste groaned.

He could cope with Warren hating him for no good reason and he could cope with Brendan hating him for a bit of a good reason, but if they decided to join hating forces, Ste may have a real problem.

"What do you think you're doing?" shouted Brendan, as he stepped moodily through the door.

Reviews are always appreciated, particularly if they contain constructive criticism!