CHAPTER ELEVEN

DR. ALEX WILDER

I pour Brian a strong black coffee and hand it to him. He looks like he could do with it. He sips and grimaces. "Sugar," he grunts. I pass him the bowl and watch as he adds several spoonfulls and stirs wearily.

"Let's go through to the lounge," I suggest.

"Not if I have to listen to Leonard Cohen again," he grouses. But he picks up his mug and follows me.

Brian takes a seat on the couch. I take the armchair; I don't want to crowd his space. I'm still amazed that he turned up, dishevelled and unshaven, leaning insistently on my doorbell until I answered. Things must be really bad for him to forsake the clubs on a Friday night in favour of my company.

Before I can say anything, he begins. He's obviously screwed himself up for this, and he keeps his face averted as he starts to talk, rapidly and nervously.

"My family was totally fucked, right? My father married my mother because she was pregnant and too religious to get rid of me. So he punished her by getting drunk with his buddies and his floozies every pay day and saving his fists for us when he got home. First on Mom, then on me once I got older. When my sister was born it got worse, although he never raised his hand to her. She knew how to keep on his good side. I used to get double instead, especially since I couldn't keep from pissing him off. He never let us forget that we'd trapped him, and he took every opportunity he could to pay us back. I fucking hated him."

I blink. "Why didn't your mother leave him?"

Brian laughs; a harsh, bitter sound. "She's a fucking martyr! Every time he hit one of us she'd go to church and pray for his soul to prove what a good fucking Catholic wife she was! For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, whether or not he pisses away his wages and beats the crap out of her son – once those shackles are on then it's 'until death do us part' and that's the fucking end of it." He rubs his hands through his hair. "And now the bastard's dead and she's finally free, she spends her time telling herself and anyone else who'll listen what a devoted husband and father he was! She's so full of shit!"

"Surely someone could have helped … didn't they notice at school that you were being abused?"

Brian looks at me as though I'm an idiot. "He wasn't stupid enough to leave marks on my face, or do serious damage. He never got that drunk. And Mom always did such a good job of playing happy families in public. She thought it was fucking disloyal to do anything else. Nope, it was the Kinney's dirty little secret and nobody else's business. It still is."

He's right, of course. I know better than anyone how cunning abusers can be; like alcoholics, they keep their excesses secret from even their closest friends. And it's always the back-slapping, round-buying good old boy who's the ugliest bully at home.

"What about your friends … did you never confide in them?"

"There was only Mikey. And yeah, he knew most of it. I used to spend most of my time at his place … his Mom used to let me lie low there when things were really bad."

"So Michael provided a sort of surrogate home and family for you?"

Brian nods. "I guess that's what you could call it. They always made me feel welcome. And Mikey's uncle Vic was the first adult I came out to. He gave me a lot of good advice."

Well, at least I understand Brian's attitude to his best friend better now. When I originally saw them together, I'd assumed that it was simply the classic case of an extremely handsome, sexually attractive egotist making himself look even better by hanging out with someone who was neither. But if Brian regarded Michael as a sort of brother by adoption whose family had provided his only real refuge from an unbearable home environment, then that would certainly account for his continuing attachment. It would also account for why Brian has never taken sexual advantage of his friend, despite Michael's only too evident wishes to the contrary.

"Did you ever try to speak to your mother about your father's behaviour?"

"Oh, she made it clear that most of it was my fault. If I'd behaved better, not provoked him by answering back, been more like Clare … if I'd been a good Catholic like Mom…

then God wouldn't have seen fit to punish me. Or her." Brian smiled humourlessly. "My Burden. That's what she used to call me. That's still how she sees me."

"Did you ever tell your parents that you were gay?"

Brian snorts. "And give them more ammunition? What the fuck do you think? As soon as I got into college I walked away from the hell-hole they called a home and I never went back. After that, it was none of their fucking business."

"You had no contact whatever?"

"Only when the old man ran out of cash." He smiles bitterly. "He hated the fact that I got away, that I studied my ass off and made a career for myself instead of being stuck in a blue-collar dead end job like he was. But that didn't stop him from standing there with his fucking hand out when he was short."

"So why did you feel you had to help him out?"

Brian stares at me. "Maybe I liked it. Maybe I liked him being beholden. Maybe I just liked it that he had to ask me – the son who was never good enough."

"It made you feel in control of him for once?"

"Maybe that, too." He's silent for a moment, staring at his half-drunk coffee. "Actually, I did come out to him, after he told me he was dying of cancer. Debbie persuaded me to come clean with him, too; to let him know the truth about me before it was too late."

"And what did he say?"

Brian looks me squarely in the eyes. "That I should be the one dying, not him."

I sigh. "Did he tell your mother?"

Brian laughs, a genuine one this time. "No, she found out for herself when she paid an unscheduled visit to the Loft and caught me in flagantre delicto with Justin. As long as I live I will never forget the look on her face."

I can't help but smile back. "She didn't take it well?"

"She should have. It's given her a whole new lease of life. She can't die now until she's saved my soul first. I'm sure God's pretty pissed off, though."

This time we both laugh.

After a moment Brian shoots me a quick glance. "I swore I'd never be like them, Alex," he says quietly. "That I'd never let myself become forced by convention into living a lie. To be miserable for the rest of my life because I'd allowed myself to conform to someone else's fucked up version of morality. I swore I'd never let anybody have that much power over me."

I note his use of my name rather than the usual, sneeringly patronising 'Doc'. I think that's probably a step forward.

"So there you have it," Brian continues. "The fucked up son of fucked up parents. Are we surprised?"

And that's really the problem, isn't it? If Brian's problems are his parents' fault, then who was responsible for theirs? Is the blame to be laid at their parents' door, and so on ad infinitum? Where do you finally draw the line?

"Ultimately," I say slowly, "we're only responsible for our own actions, Brian. We're not Pavlov's dogs, we do still have our reason and our free-will no matter how well we may have been conditioned. And when our behaviour is destructive either to ourselves or to those we care for, then we have to be able to adapt. Unless we want to spend our lives entirely alone."

Brian smiles sadly. "That's just the point, Alex. That's what I was doing."

He doesn't need to add, Until I met Justin

"Brian." I wait until he looks at me, until I'm sure I have his full attention. "I asked you this before; now I want you to think carefully before you answer. I also want you to be completely honest. In order of importance, what are the three things you want most in your life?"

"To always be young and beautiful," he smirks.

"Then you've failed already. You can fight it as much as you want, but you will become old and you will not always be beautiful. That's a fact of life. I want feasibilities, not bullshit."

He looks at his hands. "I told you. I want Justin safe."

"And back in your life."

He sighs. "Yes."

"What next?"

He thinks. "I want to run my own agency some day."

"Third?"

No hesitation. "I don't want to be like my parents."

"Then those are your priorities. Those are the things you need to concentrate on. And you address any issues that detract from your achieving those goals."

He gives me a small smile. "Like fucking and drinking myself into oblivion?"

"That would be a start."

"And how does my behaviour influence whether Justin's okay or not? We already established that's one of my no-control areas."

I shrug. "It can't. But it would mean that if he does show up again, you might at least have a chance of keeping him."

I let him absorb that for a moment, while I think about the last thing I want to say to him. I'm sure he's not going to like it.

"Because what you have to understand, Brian, is that your relationship with Justin was certainly abusive. Just like your parents' was."

His head whips up, but I push on regardless. "You punished him for trapping you, in exactly the same way your father punished your mother."

"What the fuck … " I think maybe he's too stunned to punch me. "I've never hit Justin! What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your mother may never have hit you, but she sure as hell abused you emotionally. And tell me, Brian - which hurt most? Your father's fists? Or your mother's disinterest? Which left the deeper scars?"

TBC.