"You're up early."
He doesn't tell Amy that he's never been to sleep. He'd done everything to try and get an early night: come home on time to give the kids a bath and put them to bed. Had a quick dinner, not looking once to see if Veronica had text him. It had been days since he'd gone on the dating site, and he'd pushed it so far out of his head that he wasn't sure if he would even be able to remember his password to log in.
It had been lights out by eleven. Then the waiting game had started, that same game that was becoming a set routine now. He'd kept very still, knowing that if he tossed and turned then he'd never fall asleep. He'd tried to even out his breathing, clear his mind, but it was all wrong. He was all wrong.
He was tightly wound, tension making his body feel primed for action, and there wasn't a single moment when he wasn't aware of it, lying there in the dark and knowing that he'd have to spend the whole of the next day with Brendan.
He makes sure that Amy can't look at him for too long, busying himself with getting breakfast ready. It's only when the kids come through from the other room to see him that he stops pacing. If they see anything in him - the circles under his eyes, the unmasked worry in his face - then they won't know why, and they won't worry. That's what he tells himself as he faces them, as he does Leah's hair in a ponytail for school, as he helps Lucas to get a stain out from his trousers, scrubbing at them with a washcloth. They won't know.
"See you tonight. I'll text you at lunch." He gives Amy a hug - another way to ensure that she won't look at him for too long - and he closes the front door behind him after a last goodbye from the kids. He hopes it'll be enough to appease her, these updates during his break, these reassurances that he's still alive.
These reassurances that he's still alive. It reverberates in his head as he makes his way to the treatment centre, so that by the time he's made it there it seems a miracle that he's made it at all, his legs feeling like they're about to buckle, his eyes twitching he's so exhausted.
He'd been confused when he'd first found out that they were meeting here. He knows it's not close to where they'll be going to work, and it had seemed pointless to come here when they were only going to go back into the village. But now that he's arrived and spotted the group, he sees why. They look like herded animals, distinct in their discomfort. Ste can see it even before he's made his way to them; most of the group aren't talking, instead throwing uneasy glances towards the treatment centre.
A man exits the building, a doctor that Ste vaugely recognises, has seen once or twice before, and Ste watches as some of the rotters flinch at the sound of the sliding doors and footsteps. He doesn't know what they're more afraid of, the possibility of a doctor approaching them or seeing a former rabid who's been reduced to a lifeless form, stripped of their power, dragged away. They must know that something like that would never happen in broad daylight so close to its walls - it's reserved for inside where it's considered normal, but still there are deep frown lines across their foreheads, creasing the cover up mousse that they've laboured to apply.
The rotters who are speaking do so unnautrally; when Ste is in hearing distance he realises how deliberate it all sounds. It gives the impression of casualness, of calmness, but the rotters look like they're barely listening to each other. They're talking for talking's sake.
Then there's Brendan.
Always apart, always the only one in the group who has to be different, difficult. Everyone's dressed informally - even Jacqui's lost her trademark heels, something that Ste's certain is for Tony's benefit, not for his. They all know that there's little point in dressing up; they must have observed the other groups returning from work with mud on their knees and their clothes stained. It's not clean work, what they do, and everyone's dressed accordingly. Except for Brendan. He seems to be under the impression that he's exempt from work if his crisp white shirt and creaseless, spotless black trousers are anything to go by. Now that Ste's up close his shoes appear even more polished than from a distance. He looks immaculate, like he's going into the city. He looks like he should be in charge of them.
Ste smooths down his uniform, gives a nod to Tony who looks relieved now he's here.
"Right, let's do the register."
The register consists of a crumpled piece of paper that Tony brings out from his pocket.
Ste sees Brendan roll his eyes, hears Jacqui say to Rhys "It's like being back at school."
He waits as Tony reads off the list of names, something that feels like a largely pointless activity as Ste knows that all his group are here. It feels like another one of Warren's bright ideas, along with meeting at the treatment centre to spook the rotters. Create a register, call out their names like he and Tony have already forgotten who they've been looking after.
Or is this Danny? Is this all him?
Once they've all been accounted for they're off, heading towards the direction of the village as Ste knew they would. He tries to ignore the mutters behind him saying that they could have spent an extra twenty minutes in bed if they'd met where they usually do. He doesn't hear anything from Brendan; when he looks at him the rotter's staring straight ahead, stood apart from the others, hands in his trouser pockets. Ste's surprised he can fit anything in there, they look so tight.
They're cleaning up in the local park today - litter picking, sweeping up leaves, cleaning the mud that's gathered on park benches. It's nothing new for either group, and after the usual grumbling they get to work, using the rakes that have been provided by the council to gather the leaves.
"Is that safe?" Ste makes sure that he and Tony are out of earshot.
"What?"
"You know, the... rakes."
"What do you think they'll do, have our eyes out with them?" Tony laughs. "You're the one with the gun, Ste."
He hadn't forgotten it this time, had made sure to grab it from the back of the shelf first thing when he'd woken up. He wasn't going to take any chances, especially after his last meeting with Brendan.
"Yeah, but..." All it takes is one moment, one single second for him to take his eyes off the group.
"We're fine. Relax. Come on, let's sit down."
Tony nods over to the bench and they sit opposite each other. Ste's been to this park more times than he can count with Leah and Lucas. He doesn't know how he'd feel if he was surrounded by rotters while the kids were here. He's already seen several parents edge away from them, heading in the direction of the bus stop. It's beginning to feel like they've got the whole park to themselves.
"I'm glad you're here." Tony taps him lightly on his outstretched hand on the table, smiles.
"Yeah? Thought you'd be annoyed, having to look after me." He tries to keep it up, but he can already feel his previous irriration evaporating. Whatever's happened in the last few weeks, he's glad Tony's here. It's nice to have the company, nice to know that someone's here who doesn't despise him. "Sorry," he adds hastily.
"No, I'm sorry. I never should have... All that stuff I said, forget it."
"It's forgotten."
They both know it's not true, but Ste can work on it; he can work on forgetting.
"I'm going to be here for you. Whatever happens, whatever Warren does..."
Ste waits, sees if Tony will say anything about Danny, but he doesn't. He must not know. Maybe none of them do.
"Ta, that's... Thank you." He doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to think about it. It happens like this, in stages - he'll feel that fervent rush of needing Brendan gone, of having to do it right now, and then there'll come the quieter moments when he can't imagine pulling the trigger. It seems no more real than a story in his head, a tale so fabricated and far fetched that no one would believe him if he told them.
He can see that Tony's about to say more when they're interrupted; Ste hears shouting and he turns, gets to his feet and they're both over to the source of the commotion in seconds: Brendan with his hands on another rotter's chest, someone from Tony's group who's being pushed back by Brendan, the force of it enough to almost send the rotter tumbling to the ground.
"Brendan!" He doesn't need this, he doesn't fucking need this. Except this is exactly what he does need, isn't it? They haven't even been here an hour and Brendan's already starting trouble. Warren and Danny couldn't have planned it any better.
"What are you doing?" Tony's beside him, always manages to be effortlessly more authoritative than him. Ste doesn't take it as a slight; he wants the backup.
Brendan doesn't say anything, and the other rotter isn't talking either. He looks humiliated, but beyond that is a kind of fear that Ste recognises, that's always present with Brendan. To know him is to feel fear.
"Well?" Ste waits, the entire group coming to a standstill, a path being cleared around them like a no man's land.
"Right, come with me." Tony leads the other rotter off, gives Ste an almost imperceptible look before he turns his back. It could be good luck. It could be this is your chance.
"Come on, come over here." Ste waits until Brendan follows him, makes sure that the other rotters don't use the opportunity of both him and Tony being distracted to do anything stupid. They see him looking, get the message and continue with their work. They look animated for the first time today, and he can sense what they're thinking: something's finally happened.
"We need to talk," Ste says, does it to bide himself time more than anything else. He knows how to deal with Leah and Lucas when they've done something wrong, but this, now? He hasn't got a clue.
"Sounds ominous."
The more Ste panics, the calmer Brendan seems. His shirt's still spotless, not even a fleck of dirt on it despite the fight. His arms are pale and if you look closely you can see the way the colour of them contrasts with the cover up mousse that's concealing his natural skin texture on his face. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, the hair on his arms visible.
A telling off seems foolish for someone like Brendan. Ste knows that he's unlikely to listen to him, and if he had to guess a response it would be laughter: laughter at him.
Still he tries.
"What happened then?" He crosses his arms; if he's going to feel like a teacher in a playground then he may as well act like one. "And don't leave anything out."
Brendan clears his throat like he's about to give a sermon.
"I was picking up some litter. One of those sandwiches that you get in supermarkets, you know? Brown bread. Looked like it was cheese and ham. It had fallen under that bench over there." At this point Brendan stops and twists his body round, pointing in the direction of the bench. "That one, see it? Right underneath. So I bent down - slowly - to pick up, and -"
Bastard.
"I didn't mean every detail, Brendan. I meant what happened with you and him."
"But you said don't leave anything out. That's what you said, Steven." He cocks his head to the side - a habit of his, Ste's noticed, or something he does to fake confusion when he knows exactly what he's doing - and stares him down. "Are you denying you said that?"
"You think you're so smart, don't you?"
Don't lose your patience. Don't let him see that he's getting to you.
"What did he do to make you push him?"
"He didn't do anything. Why would he need to? I'm an animal, remember?" He's baring his teeth like one; they may not be sharp but he looks like he could happily tear Ste in two.
"I never said that." He has to think for a moment though, has to try and remember everything he's said to him, because Brendan's words don't sound impossible. He's called them animals before, hasn't he? He knows he's thought it, that when he's watched rabids being dragged away there's been a clear divide, them and us. He's thought it, and he hopes Brendan can't hear the hesitation when he speaks.
"He must have done something to piss you off." Ste tries to remember the other rotter's name from when the register had been called. Mark, was it? No, it was something distinctive, something unusual. "Mal - that was the guy you pushed?"
"Malachy."
"Malachy, right. What did he do?"
"Nothing."
"You're not just going to lash out like that for no reason, are you? And before you say anything, no, I don't think you'd do it just because you're a rotter. So just get over it, yeah?"
Brendan looks torn between laughing and hitting him.
"Get over it?" He echoes back, sounding like he thinks the words don't fit, like he must have misheard.
"Yeah, get over it. I don't think that. So let's just move on. Are you going to tell me or not?"
Brendan stays resolutely silent.
"Right. Thought not. Then just... try and not attack him again, okay? Or anyone else. Just go one day without risking someone's life. You might even like it."
"I don't risk people's lives." Brendan's already moving away from him, heading back to the main group.
No?" Ste says.
"No. Only yours."
He's gone before Ste can figure out if he's joking or not.
::::::
He doesn't have a chance to speak to Tony again until they stop for lunch. They all grab something from the cafe in the park, Ste watching as the waitress assesses their group as she serves them, her hands trembling as she uses the coffee machine. She stares at the other staff in what looks like a plea for help. They all stay back, pretending they haven't noticed; Ste sees one of them back away into the kitchen again when she realises that her workplace has suddenly become a hosting party for the undead.
Everyone gets sandwiches except for Brendan. He gets the works - a burger, chips, all of it washed down with a pint of beer. He doesn't seem to care about table manners, a large dollop of ketchup ending up smeared around his lips. Ste watches from another bench as Rhys makes an attempt to steal a chip, only for Brendan to stare him down, intimidating him enough for Rhys to mutter a sheepish sorry mate and give one of the fakest smiles Ste's ever seen. When Brendan finally turns away, seemingly placated - for now - Rhys looks like a frightened child.
"Aren't you going to eat that?" Tony's voice cuts through Ste's attempts to spy; there's something endlessly interesting about watching rotters like this. Ste's never understood it - they're already dead, so they have no need for food, but all of them continue to keep up the charade, eating as though they're actually hungry. It's like a game they're all playing: I'll pretend I'm just like everybody else if you will.
"Gone off it a bit." Ste prods at the bread, pushes the salad around his plate.
"Come on, you've got to eat something. Amy will be after me if she sees you all skin and bone."
Ste smiles at that, takes a bite, gives him an eyebrow raise: Are you satisfied now?
"So? How was it?"
"With Brendan?"
Tony nods.
"It was..." He tries to think of the appropriate words for it, but nothing feels fitting except for: "Weird. It was weird."
"Weird how?"
"I don't know, he's just..." Unpredictable. Never on a level, never just so. "How's he been with you?" He needs to know if this is just him - if it's something he's doing, and Brendan's different with everyone else. Ste's already seen how much he can change around Cheryl, drastically so.
"Barely said two words to me."
"Really?"
"Anything he does say is in grunts. Suits me fine to be honest. He creeps me out."
Ste laughs at that. It seems such an understatement for the effect that Brendan has on him; like he's merely an irritant, something unnerving rather than downright terrifying.
"What about with everyone else?"
"Bit of what you saw today. If they answer back he tries to start something, but most of the time he just keeps to himself."
Ste slugs down some water, attempts to get rid of the lump in his throat.
"Do you still think I'm doing the right thing?"
He doesn't know what answer he wants. Yes gives him a reason to go through with this - to kill Brendan, to be free of the HVF, to be rid of it all. No means he won't be a murderer. He won't have to know what it's like to kill someone when they're fully conscious of what he's doing. When they're staring at him with human eyes.
Tony's expression turns grave.
"It's for the best, Ste."
For the best. He's not even sure if Tony knows what that means beyond an empty phrase; words of comfort that he's handing out because he knows he needs to.
"Yeah."
He can hear Brendan chewing from where he sits. Or maybe it's not the chewing but the sounds he's making. He's groaning. When Ste looks the ketchup is gone from around his mouth, and he's finishing the last of the burger.
"It's just... sometimes he seems..."
"What?"
"I don't know."
He does know.
"Ste?"
"Human."
Tony shakes his head at him. Ste's glad for it - he needs it, needs the reminder that he's being ridiculous.
"It's all part of the council's games, remember? Give them cover up, make their eyes just like ours. It's not real, Ste. Remember that. How many times have you thought they're nice, they're just like us, and then a couple of weeks later they're trying to eat you alive?"
"But that's when they haven't taken their medication, isn't it?"
"You really think a rotter like Brendan's going to take his medication forever?"
"You think he'll come off it?" Brendan had seemed wild enough when he'd been in the cage. Ste doesn't ever want to know what he's like when he's in his untreated state.
"He seems the type. I promise you, you're doing the right thing, okay? Just keep doing what Warren says."
"Tony? You know that guy at the meeting a few weeks back? That Danny guy?"
He squirms in discomfort at his own lack of subtlety. Tony must hear it in his voice, how on edge he is, how much rests on his answer, but if he notices then he doesn't draw attention to it.
"Danny? Guy in a suit, looked like he was sucking a lemon? Vaguely. Why?"
If Tony's not in on it then there's a good chance none of the others are either.
"Just wondering where he disappeared to, that's all." Ste eats quicker now, is grateful for the distraction.
"You know how it is. People join then can't hack it. He probably got cold feet."
The idea is laughable to Ste. The man in the basement, the man who hadn't shown one iota of fear, the man who had casually threatened him like it was something he did every day.
"Probably did."
Tony balls his sandwich wrapper up, gets to his feet.
"Come on, let's round the others up."
::::::
Brendan's on his best behaviour for the rest of the afternoon.
His best, Ste comes to understand, means doing very little. It takes him a few hours to realise that Brendan only acts like someone who's working: walks around the park, holds the rake in his hands like he's using it, wipes his brow like he's sweating.
It's all for show. He yawns a few times, stretches, leans against the side of the bench when he thinks no one's watching.
It's preferable to causing trouble, but he's not pulling his weight. Not even close. For all of their complaining and procrastinating, the rest of the group have barely stopped and it shows; the park looks noticeably better, the footpaths cleared of leaves, the benches as spotless as the old wood that's worn through the years will allow. Everyone's a little worse for wear, their hands darkened by mud, some of their faces too.
Brendan's suit still looks like it's just been picked up from the dry cleaners.
Tony gathers everyone at the end of the day.
"Well done. You've all done a really good job."
They all look surprised. Tony does too, as though the words have slipped from his grasp without his permission. He covers it with a muffled see you tomorrow and stands by to make sure that everyone hands in the equipment. Maybe Ste's earlier fear about the rakes hadn't gone completely over his head.
Ste refuses his offer of a lift. He needs the walk home to clear his head; he's aware that he's hardly done anything resembling work today, but the simple act of watching them all makes him feel exhausted. It's the sense of always having to be on his guard, always being aware.
It's dark out but his steps are quick, the gun strapped to him a constant reminder that he's armed. Home is already calling him, with its warmth and familiarity, with Amy and the kids. His house key is in his pocket, and he secures a hand over it, touches it once, takes in the knowledge that he's nearly there.
The quiet is comfortable at first; there's a safety about it. He's walked home with Leah and Lucas this way, taken this exact route, and he tells himself that the only difference now is that he's alone and it's dark, and things look different in the dark; he remembers when he was a kid and things in his room would take a different shape, would become monsters in his imagination, something simple transforming into something terrifying, contorted. There are things now - a car he passes, an empty water bottle rolling in the wind - that could startle him if he let them.
His breathing sounds louder.
He doesn't know when he becomes aware of it, but once he starts thinking it he can't stop: A certainty that he's being followed.
When he turns around there's no one there. It's not unlike the night weeks back when he'd killed the rabid - that sense of being watched, of knowing that someone's there - but he's aware that this time he could be dragged into the park. He's gained distance from it, but not enough that a rabid wouldn't be able to isolate him from the houses with their lights and people inside.
No one will think to look for him in the park. If they do then he could already be dead.
He turns around, spins abruptly in the hope of catching them off guard.
It's not a person on foot. He sees it now. It's a car.
The headlights blind him. He closes his eyes on instinct, then realises how foolish it is - he needs to see who's there, even if he doesn't want to - and opens them again, squinting, a hand shading his eyes as though it'll make it better.
Thoughts rush through his head: What if he's run over? What if the person's been following him all day, watching him in the park? But who would have that kind of vendetta? Who would want to scare him that much?
Danny.
He freezes, fear gripping him, his hands going stock still.
He doesn't want a repeat performance of what happened at Warren's house. He can't be alone with Danny again. He had made Ste uneasy before he'd even said anything; it was something about him, something about his presence that made him want to get as far away from him as possible. If he gets in his car then he knows that'll be it. It won't be up to him to decide when to get out.
He turns around again, and this time he runs. It's like in his dreams; he can't run fast enough, and it feels like there's no one else alive to hear him if he tried to call for help. He doesn't call - he still has some semblance of pride, and there's a part of him that hopes this is all in his head. He knows how weak his defense would sound: I saw a car.
He's not looking where he's going, keeps staring back to see what the car's doing, to see if it's following him - it is - even though he knows that he has to keep going, has to keep running.
He trips, hands scraping against the pavement to stop his head from taking the fall. There's a moment when all he can think about is the pain, then his responses take over and he's scrambling to his feet again, cursing that he's robbed himself of those few seconds.
It's too late. There are hands on him, hands lifting him upwards. He can still see the bright lights of the car shining on him. Danny must have left them on, must have not had the time to properly pull over before grabbing him.
Ste wriggles, lets out a chorus of get off me, fuck off, elbowing the figure holding him as hard as he can. He hears a muffled Ow, then you little bastard in what's very much not Danny's east-end accent.
Ste doesn't know whether he's more or less afraid now that he knows who it is.
They're both panting, the figure bent over and clutching the side of his stomach. When he straightens up he stares at Ste, eyes blazing. He's let go of him but he's still close, and in the scuffle his white shirt has come untucked; it hangs freely over his trousers now, the first time today that something's been out of place.
"What the fuck's wrong with you?"
"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Ste says, is half tempted to use Brendan's own car as an escape route. He doubts the rotter had a chance to take the keys with him when he'd got out. It's appealing, the idea of getting out of here as fast as possible.
He stays. He hasn't got that much of a death wish.
"Why were you running?"
Ste waits, sees if Brendan's joking. He's not.
"Wouldn't you, if you had some psycho following you?"
Brendan repeats the word, says it in a kind of stage whisper. Psycho.
"Who says I was following you?"
Ste shakes his head, incredulous.
"Okay, so I was." He doesn't look even a bit sorry. "I was going home, saw you walking here."
"So?"
"So, it's not safe at this time of night. Any time of night. You never know who could be out there." He says it without a hint of irony.
"You did it for my safety, then?" Sarcasm is dripping from his every word.
Brendan scratches his head, chews his gum. It's another thing Ste's noticed he does, and it's crossed his mind, the idea that he might be doing it so he doesn't smell dead. He wants to ask him, wants to fire shots, but the need to go one night without his life being threatened is stronger.
"Why didn't you get a lift with Antony?"
"Who?"
"Tony," he says, as though it's patently obvious.
"Wanted a walk."
Something must be funny about it - something unknown to Ste - because Brendan laughs; that same laugh, always, with the manic edge that makes Ste grow more afraid the longer it goes on.
"Wanted a walk, the boy says." He looks to the sky like he's talking to someone else.
"I did," Ste says, defensive now. "Or have I got to get your permission first?"
"Come on, I'll give you a lift." Brendan's already heading back towards his car. The intensity of the headlights don't seem to effect him.
Ste stays still, waits for Brendan to catch up and realise he's not moving. When he does he appraises Ste, his features drowned out by the lights.
"I won't bite."
"Very funny." He still doesn't move.
"You're not walking home." There's a finality behind his words that gives no room for argument. Still Ste tries.
"I haven't got far to go. Just..." Just leave me alone. He's not entirely sure now that he received the better trade off, that it wouldn't have been better if it had been Danny waiting for him.
"Steven. Get in."
"I don't get you." He doesn't mean for it to come out, or for his exasperation to be so evident, or the trickle of a laugh that's more like a protest. "First you threaten my kids, now you're..." He waves his hands in the air to signify whatever it is he's doing. He hasn't even begun to understand it himself. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
There's a flicker of something on Brendan's face - some emotion, something that Ste can't read, something that's even more inscrutable with his features being blurred by the headlights. Then it's gone.
"You're scared."
"What?" He's too shocked by it to remember that he shouldn't be replying. Don't engage: that's what he should be doing. That's what Warren and Amy and Tony and everyone in his life would tell him.
"Who did you think I was going to be?"
"No one." He hopes Brendan can't see his face clearly in the dark; hopes that his voice has learnt how to lie.
Brendan touches the side of his stomach, lays a pale hand against it. "You've got a good aim, I'll give you that. Didn't think you had it in you."
Ste ignores the insult.
"I told you, I thought it was some psycho. Looks like I was right."
Brendan doesn't react, not this time.
"Get in," he repeats.
"You're gonna block all the traffic."
"What traffic? It's dead round here."
Ste resists the easy joke. He feels steadier now, or he's trying to feel it, and he hopes it's the same thing. He's got his gun. He's got his phone. Amy knows what time he's due back from work, and he's told her that he hasn't got to patrol tonight. She'll start to be worried about him if he's any later, and if she doesn't hear back from him then she'll call Tony and the others. There'll be a search party. Something will lead to Brendan.
"I want my shirt back."
He doesn't know why he says it. It's the most insignificant, unimportant thing he can think of.
Brendan frowns, looks like he doesn't have a clue what Ste's talking about, and then slowly it begins to register.
"Your shirt?" He echoes, only highlighting the ridiculousness of the request. "Remind me what it looks like."
"It's yellow, it's -"
"Good for crossing the road when it's dark? I think I know the one."
"That's one of my best shirts."
"Wore it for a special occasion, did you?"
Ste looks away. "Can I have it or not?"
"Lost it."
"What?"
"I lost it," Brendan says, louder this time. "Cheryl must have misplaced it."
"No, she..." He thinks of the woman who'd invited him in, who'd made him a cup of tea, who'd given him her brother's clothes, who'd allowed him to sit on her sofa. A stranger who'd made him feel like he had a right to be there. "She wouldn't."
"You calling me a liar?" Brendan steps closer.
"No, I'm..." Yes, he thinks, yes I am. He doesn't say it. He can't, not when Brendan's looking like he wants to kill him for it. "You better give me the money."
"How much do I owe you?"
"A hundred."
"Fuck off."
Ste manages a smile at that; they both do.
"Thirty five I think it was."
"You got ripped off, mate."
"Have you got the money or not?"
"Don't carry that kind of cash around with me, Steven. Not with this crowd. Never know where Jacqui McQueen's hands are gonna go."
"Tomorrow then."
"Impatient, aren't we?"
"You're the one who lost it. Or sorry, your sister did."
He's broken one of his rules: never say sorry to Brendan Brady, no matter what the circumstances, even if he's taking the piss.
"My vest."
"What?" Ste says, momentarily forgetting that he still has something that belongs to him.
Brendan waits.
"Lost it." As he says it he imagines the vest in the drawer where he put it, stuffed behind the rest of his clothes at the back. "Misplaced it, didn't I?"
"Right."
Ste waits. "Not going to charge me, then?"
"No, you're alright." He looks at Ste, looks as if he's expecting something.
"Am I meant to be grateful?"
"A thank you would be nice, as it goes. You could let me give you a lift."
Ste shakes his head, starts walking. He should have done this from the start.
"Steven."
"Go away, yeah? Leave me alone. What are you even doing here, acting like we're... What are you doing here, Brendan?"
"I told you, I was -"
"Worried? That's a joke. And I'm not your mate, alright?"
He's pulled back, a hand tugging at his arm, its grip strong. He yanks himself free, tries to run properly this time, but Brendan isn't letting him.
Ste turns, so close to Brendan that he can smell his aftershave now, and the mint of his gum, and something that's just him. His breath is hot on Ste's face.
"You're hurting me."
Brendan lessens his grip but doesn't let go.
"Going to add more bruises to the list, are you?"
He takes his hand away, steps back.
"What do you mean?"
"If it's not Warren then it's you, isn't it?" He's shouting now; it still feels like they're the only two people on this street, the only two people in the world, like everything around them has come to a standstill.
"Warren? Has he..." He shifts from one foot to the other; his fingers are moving frantically like he has no control over them. "Has he hurt you?"
"No."
"What does he do?" The way he's saying it, it's making Ste feel like he can't not tell him.
"Nothing, he..." He considers if for a brief moment, thinks about letting a detail slip, something that would make him feel lighter, like he doesn't have to carry everything on his own. Even though Amy's seen what Warren's like, Ste's never given her the full story. It's not about loyalty; it's about imagining her worrying every time he leaves the house, imagining what could happen at work that day. He can't do that to her. It has to be his burden alone.
Brendan stares at him expectantly. Hopefully.
Ste shakes his head. "Nothing."
He sees Brendan release a breath. He looks disappointed, unmistakably so.
"Go on then," he goads, takes a step closer to Brendan so he's in the firing line again, exposed, vulnerable. "Do whatever you want. It's why you came her, isn't it? Why you followed me?" It has to be. The idea of Brendan actually wanting to drive him home is laughable. "Go on," he repeats, vicious now. Is this what asking for it feels like? "You've been fucking up my life ever since we met. Now I'm right where you want me."
"Fucking up your life?" Brendan says each word slowly. Ste hears it back, hears the accusation behind it, the boldness of the claim.
I should have kept running. I should have kept running. I should have kept running. The thought's so loud that it feels like it's going to burst through his skull.
"You stole my instructions." He says it - the most inconsequential, childish thing he can think of - because he can't say what he wants to: that he wouldn't have to be dealing with Danny Houston if Brendan hadn't come to town. That he would never have to kill a rotter if it wasn't for him. That he never would have been put in these situations; trapped in a cage, followed home, fearing for his safety. It all never would have happened.
He can tell that Brendan doesn't know what he's talking about. It only makes Ste angrier. Has he forgotten everything else too, every hurtful thing he's said, everything that he's ever done to him?
"The first meeting we had. That one in front of the poxy council." He waits, watches as the clarity returns to Brendan's face. "First chance you got you humiliated me. Thought you were funny, didn't you? Thought that it was all a big joke, making me look stupid."
It's as though he's back in that room now, in front of Rhys and Jacqui and the rest of them, looking down at the piece of paper and realising how unprepared he was, how he didn't even know where to start. Then Brendan interrupting, showing him up, proving to everyone what Ste already knew - that he wasn't capable of being in charge, and he never would be.
"I didn't think it was a joke." He says it seriously; somberly, even, but Ste cuts across him, unable to stop now.
"You must really hate me. Showing me up like that, making the others laugh at me. Wanted to impress Jacqui McQueen did you? Thought she'd like it, you making fun of me, throwing your weight around? Well I reckon you're well in, cos she loved it. Every single time she sees me she acts like I'm dirt, like I'm some kid that got made to look after her. So congrats, mate - you did it. You won."
All he can hear is the sound of his ragged breathing. He feels incredible - he doesn't know if it's the adrenaline or if it's just him, just him finally saying everything he's wanted to say, robbing Brendan of a comeback for the first time. It's as though he's drained the rotter of all his energy; he looks deflated, defeated.
"I'm just gonna..." The rotter turns to leave.
"What's wrong? Got nothing to say?"
Ste doesn't let him go; he's in his face, mirrors Brendan with his movements when he tries to dodge past him. He knows Brendan could easily push him aside if he wanted to, but he doesn't.
"That's not like you. Come on." He's angling for a fight and he doesn't know why. Brendan's given him a way out. He's walking away, and Ste knows he should walk away too.
"Alright, Steven." He nods, considers him, eyes travelling over his face. Ste's expecting an onslaught - stinging words, a punch even, something that will make Brendan have the upper hand again. "You're dyslexic."
Ste blinks rapidly, feels like his heart's in his mouth.
"What?" It's so cold that he can see his breath in the air.
"You're dyslexic," Brendan says again, and it hits Ste harder this time, doesn't lessen in its impact.
He feels like he's drowning.
"I knew you couldn't read the instructions. I thought you'd rather I took them, caused a scene, did... did something, then you wouldn't have to..." He shrugs his shoulders awkwardly, rolls his gum around in his mouth.
Is he meant to say something? He's not able to; he opens his mouth and tries to think of the words, but they're stuck. He shouldn't be here. He should have accepted Tony's offer of a lift. He'd be home right now, safe. This conversation never would have happened.
"You want a lift?" Brendan asks, breaking the silence.
Ste's surprised when he manages to shake his head; surprised that he can move at all. He's sure he sees Brendan glance down and look at his gun.
"Right, I'm gonna..."
He heads back towards his car. Ste can't read the expression on his face once he's inside. The engine starts and he drives away, neither of them looking back at each other.