Six years ago...
The first thing you are aware of is that you are lying flat on your back on a mattress that has conformed itself to your body. The second is the discordant beeping sounds of machinery, monotonous and never ending. The third is voices. All around you. Above you. Disrupting your thoughts.
But the pain overrides everything else you are experiencing. It is all over. Unrelenting. Merciless. Agonising.
You need pain relief.
Please give me some.
"Stephen?"
Yeah. What?
"Stephen."
What?
"You are right. He is waking up."
Someone is prodding you, pulling up your eyelids. A light shines into your eyes. First one then the other. It's blinding. Your hand held. Why?
"His tone is still poor."
Your knees are knocked with something hard and your lower limbs jerk in reaction.
"... But patellar reflexes are normal. How have his observations been?"
What's happening?
"Fine. His pulse is a little up now which is understandable but other than that..."
"Has he had some analgesia?"
"Yep. Ten of morphine about half an hour ago. He seems comfortable."
No. I'm not. I'm aching all over. Sharp stabs in my legs. A dull pressure in my chest. A thumping burn at the back of my head. My wrist. Fuck. Pounding.
"He won't be comfortable now he is regaining consciousness. We may need to up the frequency and dose of his opiates. Let's play it by ear."
My arse. It feels sore. Why can't I move? Why can't I speak?
"Dr Qwame, the orthopaedic surgeons have already been on their ward round. They are happy with the alignment of his fractures. They wanted us to start him on anticoagulation to reduce the risk of deep vein clots in his legs if we were happy that he wasn't at a major risk of a rebleed into his brain. I didn't know what you thought about it."
"Risk of fatal blood clot in his lungs versus risk of fatal bleed into his brain. It's a toughie. But we are a week out of that subdural. He would be very unlucky to bleed on a prophylactic dose of heparin. I'll have a word with the neurosurgeons but I suspect the balance of risk is in favour of treating him and monitoring him closely. We would need to up the frequency of his neuro obs. And we should let his next of kin know that he is coming round."
"I don't think he has any close family. He lived alone before this all happened. The mother of his kids comes to visit him every day though and stays with him for a couple of hours and she has brought along a guy in a wheelchair and an Irish girl with her a couple of times."
"What about his brother?"
"Who?"
"The silent, brooding type that comes to visit every single night in the dead of the night. You know, the guy that hovers outside. Says he is needle-phobic so can't step onto the ward."
"Oh yeah. The nurses refer to him as tache-man. Irish guy. He has made night shifts popular! But he is a little shifty. Apparently he can't make visiting hours because of his job. He hangs around outside all night pacing and asking for updates on Stephen's progress. I have seen him with the Irish woman. She has confirmed that he is family. I think he saw Stephen as he was when he first came, the poor bloke. That would scar me for life."
Brendan. You try to open your eyes but your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. So you try to speak. That's Brendan you are talking about.
But your effort is futile. It comes out as a groan.
"There you go, Stephen. It's alright. You are just waking up. Take it easy. Everything is fine. Let's get some oxygen on you. There. This guy is a fighter. Right. Greg, will you call his girlfriend or brother or whoever a.s.a.p.? It would be good if he saw someone he recognises when he fully comes round. And let me know when they arrive. I need to talk to them. They need to have realistic expectations of what Stephen might be like after the head injury. I'm not sure they fully appreciate the worst case 'full-time care' scenario, if you know what I mean. At the very least I am expecting some amnesia."
"That might be a blessing don't you think, Dr Qwame. Not remembering everything he has been through."
Been through? What are you talking about? What have I been through?
"Retrograde amnesia is the best case scenario. We'll need to get the neurologists to check for evidence of permanent brain damage."
Is something wrong with me? You try to move but it is as if your brain can't engage your body to act.
"No problem, boss. I'll liaise with them."
"Good. Let's hope we have some good news to tell the family. Who's next?"
XOXO
Someone is crushing themselves to you. Wrapping their arms around you. It fucking hurts. You hear a sniffle and feel warm wetness against you cheek.
She pulls away and stares at you.
Where has she come from? You look around you. Hospital bed. Plastic tubes attached to you at one end and bags hanging from drip stands at the other. Beeping machines all around you. Your cock hurts. You reach down. There is a tube coming out of it. A catheter. There is something in the hand that discovered the catheter. Your right hand. A device with a button. You remember a black man in a suit saying, in a kind gentle voice,
'Just press it whenever you need to. It deploys a predetermined dose of morphine to help with pain. Don't worry about pressing it too many times. You won't overdose. It has an inbuilt lockout system.'
So you press it now.
Amy. That is her name. The girl who was crushing you just a moment ago. You know her. She can be bossy with you. You lived with her. But not now. She is your best friend. Your confidant. You picture a little boy and a girl. Yes. You have children together.
Silly me. How could I forget?
"Ste are you okay?" She says.
You smile. Slightly.
"Yeah, Amy." You say her name to confirm what you know. "I think so. How long have you been there?"
She laughs as if you have said a joke but you are serious. She looks crestfallen when she says. "Don't you remember? About ten minutes. We were talking just now and then you started crying, all of a sudden so I gave you a hug."
"Really?" But actually, now that she mentions it you vaguely remember that. "Sorry."
A nurse in uniform who comes up to you then. "Nothing to feel sorry about, Ste. You are doing brilliantly. You only came round a few hours ago. You have got to give yourself a chance. This vagueness may just be the effect of the pain relief we are giving you so that you stay comfortable."
"Dr Qwame said something about amnesia? Ste doesn't have that, does he?" Amy says. Her voice is all wobbly so you look at her. It is as if she is about to cry.
"Ste, do you remember what Amy did when she came into the ward a few minutes ago?"
You stare blankly at her. You wrack your memory but it feels like the harder you try to remember the more inaccessible the memory is. Then suddenly it bursts forward in your mind and you laugh. The release of mirth is painful on your body but it feels good to your soul.
Amy looks stunned by your reaction.
"She tripped and fell." You say.
Her lips are all wobbly. Just like our Leah when she falls over and hurts herself and has a boo-boo. "It's not funny."
The nurse grins. "Ste thinks it is. And I would say that answers your question about amnesia. But there are two main kinds of amnesia, retrograde and anterograde. At some point over the next few days the doctors will be testing your recollection of the past and the present. It is not unusual, after serious head injuries to lose memories of events either side of and including the event that caused the injury."
You nod initially but then you realise something.
"What event?" You ask.
Amy and the nurse look at you incredulously. Your friend lightly grips your hand in hers and you see tears fall from her red tired eyes.
"The event that got you into hospital, Ste. Into intensive care."
"Oh. I see." You say. But you don't and a part of you, your subconscious, tells you not to enquire further right now. Like an inbuilt protective gauge it tells you that you don't need to know. So you concentrate on what you do know.
"I remember Amy." You say to her and smile. She tries to smile back but sniffs back a fresh wave of tears instead. Why is she so bloody sad?
"And I remember Lucas and Leah. They are my kids."
Amy smiles at you then.
"I live in Hollyoaks and I am a barman. I work at a club there. It is called Chez Chez." Using your brain feels like exercising a muscle. It is bloody sore but the more you do the more you remember. "Chez is the name of my friend and she also has shares in the club. And her brother..."
You feel Amy visibly bristle by your side as if she doesn't like the fact that you have brought him up but you automatically feel elated just thinking about him, like you could burst out of your skin. You are grinning from ear to ear. You are sure of it.
"His name is Brendan."
He is well hot.
"We work together."
You get a flash of an image that makes you blush; you straddling him, both of you sweaty and naked in a bed in a room that is familiar to you. His room at his place. His cock up your ass while you ride him, grinding down on him slowly. It's erotic but more than that it feels precious. Intimate. Incredible.
"Um. Brendan and me... we..."
We are going out. He is my boyfriend.
"It's okay, Ste. You don't need to think on it now." Amy says to you in a stilted tone. "Plenty of time for memories."
You look at her suddenly anxious to see him. "Where is he?"
She looks everywhere but at you. "I-. I haven't spoken to him in a while Ste. I'm not sure."
Oh. Okay. You remember that at one time they didn't see eye to eye, Amy and Brendan, but hadn't things been better recently between them? It is all so vague.
"Has someone told him where I am?"
He would be well annoyed if no one told him. You know.
"Yes, we have." She glances away. "I'm sure he'll come when he is ready."
Good. He'll probably come to see you later. If not you'll ask someone if you can call him.
A black man in a suit walks up to you. He has an easy manner and a kind face. You saw him earlier, you think.
"Dr Qwame. Hi." Amy says.
"How's our champion doing?" He smiles at you. "Have you been using the PCAS the way I told you earlier?"
He points at your hand that is still wrapped around the pain dispensing button.
You nod slowly, hyperaware of every single movement of his. You are on guard.
"Good. I came to answer any questions you might have at the moment. Do you remember what I told you earlier? I am your intensive care consultant. You have been under my care since you came in a week ago. You may have lots of questions or none at all. It doesn't matter. You will have a chance to ask whatever you want whenever you want and we will try to answer to the best of our abilities."
You feel uneasy around him for some reason even though there is nothing particularly threatening about him. But your assessment has concluded that you have cause to be cautious.
He is a man. A stranger. Tall and on the heavier side. You scan down his shirt to his waist. He is wearing a belt.
You feel your breathing speed up and a sweat break out. Your heart is racing. You press on the button to see if that will help.
Dr Qwame suddenly tucks his thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers.
Something in his action reminds of you of another action. A belt unbuckling. A zip being opened. A man. Big. Burly. Oppressive. Kneeling over you.
No. Please, no.
You are naked. He isn't. Or he is? Is it Dr Qwame? No it isn't. It is someone else. White. Not black. Bearded with a wedding band. Married. Of course.
You are trapped. Lying on your back. Pinned down. You feel powerless, in a weakened state. This is not a fair fight. Your legs are parted violently. The stench of his BO fills your nostrils. And he pushes into your unprepared arse. The stretch is burning, searing. The rough surface of the ground grazes against your back, buttocks and tender head as you are pummelled. You attempt to push him off you. You endeavour to scream but you can't.
"Ste?"
You are making a strange strangled sound, trying to fill your lungs so you can scream.
"What is happening to him?" You are vaguely aware of Amy crying by your side.
And out it comes. A blood-curdling scream designed to make it all stop. Your body is tense making the total body pain a thousand times worse but you can't stop yourself.
"Amy I think you should go. I think he may be having an anxiety induced panic attack. We are going to need to sedate him now. Could someone please get me some lorazepam?"
"Yes, doctor."
Soon you feel an injection in your buttock and warmth that spreads through your body and then all is calm, quiet and dark once again.
XOXO
Present Day (Day 4)...
You wake up when your phone beeps. It's a message.
10.17 am. From Declan Brady:
Great to see you yesterday. Lasagne was killer. Sorry I didn't give you that lift back to the hotel but had to leave while you were sleeping. I'm sure dad sorted you out. Hope to catch up with you soon. Don't be a stranger, stranger.
Dec.
'I'm sure dad sorted you out'... Cheeky fucking teenager! He left you alone with his father deliberately.
Eventually you reply.
10.35 am. To Declan Brady:
I got a taxi back to the hotel in the end. It was good to catch up with you and Paraic. I can't believe how grown up you are (and you've ditched the Bieber haircut!) Good luck with the rest of your vet course and all the best in the future,
Ste.
No mention of Brendan. How can it be any other way? Yesterday proved that you can't ever run the risk of facing Brendan again because you put yourself into a vulnerable position. He wronged you and yet you let him kiss you again in a pattern that was a signature of your early relationship.
You can't repeat that self-destructive cycle. So you throw your phone over to Martin's side of the bed, which is empty and unused, and curl up away from it in the vast king-size bed in frustration.
You stare blankly at the cream walls, angry at yourself. You should have never come to Ireland. Amy and Martin had warned you against it. They knew you wouldn't cope. You should have listened. And why did you put yourself in a situation where you were close to Brendan when you could have turned around and walked away? Why were you so easy last night? Why did you kiss him back?
Such a pointless thing to do because Brendan made it perfectly clear six years ago that he didn't value you anywhere near as much as you valued him. So why are you torturing yourself all over again now?
It doesn't matter that you still harbour strong feelings for him after all these years.
He doesn't feel them for you. Get that through your thick skull. Yesterday was nothing more than a trip down memory lane for him. The two years you shared weren't the happiest period of his life even if they were yours.
The problem is that you never figured out a way to deal with the fact that Brendan left you. You did exactly what Alfie, your psychotherapist, said you shouldn't do when confronting your PTSD; you avoided the issue. You hardly talked about him during therapy and you avoided anything that reminded you of him; steering clear of Hollyoaks, poisoning your good memories of him with the early bad ones and his departure. You walked away from any reference to him. You got so good at blocking him from your thoughts that you thought you were cured.
That he couldn't affect you anymore.
How wrong you were. One look at him four days ago and everything flooded back into your consciousness.
Suddenly he was the most important and precious man in your life again. Irreplaceable because as far as you were concerned there was a depth to what you felt for him that no one on the outside could ever understand.
But it was all one way. What you felt for him. The love. Because he didn't feel it back.
Yet he always made a good act of it; acting like he loved you. Like yesterday. The way he looked at you like he didn't want you to go. He stalked up to you in his apartment with fiery intent in his eyes. His scent was musky, feral and undeniably his. It made you want to take a bite out of him. His breath caught in his throat and his feet shuffled to a stop millimetres away from you so that you could feel his body heat and the warm moist air of his breath. You remember his dilated pupils, the fatigue in his eyes and the bags under them. Like he was exhausted. You wanted to ask him why but then his hands gripped your hips. Your hands moved up onto his elbows to push him away but he pulled you to him. That was when any willpower you may have had vanished. Your fingers played with the dark hairs on his forearm and you offered zero resistance when he touched his mouth to yours. His lips. The scrape of stubble and moustache. His tongue was possessive. It made you whimper.
You go red and stuff your face into a pillow when you recall how you clung to him, pushed yourself into him, giving him your all until the intercom did what you were unable to do; stop you.
You showed him how weak you are because you wanted him despite what he had done to you. And all for what?
Your life is in tatters now. Everything was going fine before coming here. You had it together. A job. Beautiful kids. Loyal friends. A great man...
You were happy.
Martin made you happy, makes you happy, because you genuinely love him. You aren't lying when you say those words but you have always known that it is a different love to the one you had for Brendan. Had or have?
You can't compare the two men. They are chalk and cheese.
Now you have betrayed Martin with a kiss shared with the same person that has driven a wedge into your five year relationship and put a halt on your engagement.
You sit up and stare at your reflection in the mirror; cross-legged and dressed in shorts and one of Martin's old university t-shirts. The thin barely perceptible scars on your arms and legs act as a bookmark separating two distinct times in your life. Before and after abduction. Brendan knows the unscarred yet more submissive you. Martin knows the scarred yet more autonomous you.
You crawl over to the edge of the bed, closer to the mirror and see a dark area over your shoulder. It is tender to touch. A bruise.
You get tingly and warm remembering how you got it. How Martin had sucked and bit down on you there as he fucked you a couple of days ago. For ownership? For proximity? For fear of loss? Like an animal marking his territory he 'took' you.
But there was none of his usual warmth and tenderness.
He was distant. Even as he thrust up into you, fighting the rhythmic expulsive contractions of your anal muscles as you came all over him while riding him. Even as you kissed him when his cock pulsed hot jets of cum deep inside you. Even as you ran your hands over his face, shoulders and chest, sliding over smooth firm muscular sweaty plains of flesh and remained fully seated on him in order to keep him buried to the hilt. Even as you looked down into his brown eyes with their dilated lustful pupils and said, 'I love you, Martin' and leaned forward to press your lips against his.
Even then he felt distant. Emotionally. He looked up at you like he didn't believe you. He didn't say he loved you back the way he normally does. Instead he rolled you over onto your back without pulling out only to push your legs up, withdraw and watch as the warm trickle of his cum ran out of you. It was strange because normally you would have been turned on. But not with the cold look on Martin's face. It was almost as if he was reminding you the extent to which you had committed to each other. The level of trust you had built up to that you had betrayed.
You silently got out of bed to clean up while he silently run a hand cloth over his chest and stomach, rubbing your cum off him. When you returned, he lifted an arm out to you prompting you to slip in next to him. He spooned up behind you and wrapped an arm around you; his thumb drawing wide circles on the damp, warm skin of your stomach. His breathing evened out cooling the nape of your neck.
He must have mistaken your state of stillness for sleep after a while because he melted into a show of affection that he hadn't shown you while you were having sex. You felt a run of light kisses in your hair, neck and shoulder and the gentlest of caresses over your arm before he whispered into your ear,
"I love you, Ste."
You stand up all of a sudden and mentally tell yourself to snap out of this pity party.
Right.
You need perspective.
You walk to the hotel room window and draw the curtains back to stare at the view of Dublin city centre. People are milling around going about their daily business seven stories below you. They are strangers. This place is foreign to you. This corner of the world is not where your life is set.
Your life is back in Chester with your children, Martin, Amy and PECKISH!
Four days away cannot change five years. So it is decided.
You are going to be just like you always are when you travel with Martin on one of his work trips. You are going to get up and have a shower. Then you are going to take your Lonely Planet Guide and explore Dublin; the tourist Dublin you haven't seen before. You are going to buy cheesy presents for your loved ones and tonight you are going to join Martin at the ball and tell him how much you love him.
When he forgives you neither of you will look back at what happened on this trip. Instead you will go back home and regale your children with stories of your adventures that will leave them wide eyed while Martin playfully dispels them as gross exaggerations.
There.
That's what you will do.
You get up with a determined spring in your step and hop into the shower. You hum a tune or two while there. You consider calling Martin to tell him jokingly how stupid your tiff has been because really all the drama was for nothing now that you have got it all in perspective.
Brendan is nothing.
You hear your mobile ring in the bedroom and quickly jump out of the hot spray of water. You grab a towel, run into the room, dive onto the bed and reach for it before it goes to answerphone.
You are disappointed when the caller ID says it's Amy and not Martin.
"Hello?" You say.
"Hello, daddy!"
It's Lucas sounding very excited.
"Hey champion!" You say smiling instinctively, forgetting all your woes in an instant. "Does mummy know you have her phone?"
"Yes. Leah and me were like, we should call daddy because he is in Ireland and he is probably missing us and stuff."
"Oh yeah?" You say, amused. "And what did mummy say?"
"She said that you were on holiday with Marty and that we should leave you in peace."
Your heart thuds. Your kids and Marty get along really well. What if you find yourself having to explain how you fucked things up with him to them? No. You won't have to because everything will be fine. This is just a blip in your relationship. Everyone has them.
"But you miss us right?" Lucas says.
"Of course I do." You say. You miss them incredibly.
"So what are you doing in Ireland?"
"Oh, you know, sightseeing and stuff."
You can hear Leah giggling and muttering something in the background.
Lucas's laughter is embarrassed.
"Ew, gross! No they're not!" He says to her.
"What is your sister saying?" You ask curiously.
"It's embarrassing!" Lucas says.
You hear you daughter shout merrily, "Dad is having alone time to kiss and cuddle Marty!"
"See! What did I say, gross!" Your son says to you.
"Let me speak to dad!" Leah shouts.
"No!" Lucas shouts back and then, "So daddy, are you and Marty going to be back in time for your birthday?"
"Yeah. We'll be back tomorrow so-"
"Cool!"
There is a pause then your daughter's voice.
"Lucas wants to know if you have got him any presents from Dublin."
"No I don't!" Lucas says. "I don't care about presents."
"Yes he does!"
"Mum! Can you tell Leah that she can speak to daddy when it is her turn please?"
You hear Amy calmly say, "How about I speak to him now? You guys go and play and we'll pick dad and Marty up from the airport tomorrow. Okay?"
You hear disgruntled 'yeses' and the stomping of little feet away from the phone then,
"Hi, chef."
"Hi. How's Chester?"
"Surviving. No catastrophes. Bistro is holding up."
"Good. Are the kids behaving?"
"Yeah. They are just missing their dad." She says. "So what were you up to yesterday? You didn't call."
"Um. I was busy. I mean, we. We were busy. Martin and me."
You are not good at lying.
I bumped into Brendan a few days ago. I didn't tell you because I thought I'd never see him again but then I wound up having dinner at his place yesterday and that ended with us kissing. Like a full on 'rip my clothes off kiss'. Oh and Martin thinks I am still hung up on him, by the way, so he has taken off his engagement ring and given me an ultimatum to choose between him and Brendan.
But you can't say the truth. Amy will have your balls for breakfast if she finds out. She would never understand how you could compromise what you have with Martin, whom she adores, for Brendan.
So you say, "Doing stuff."
"Yeah? Care to share?"
"Nothing exciting, just, you know..." You are struggling here.
She drops her voice. "You dirty dog! Getting it on all day? That's plain greedy!"
"What?" Then you get what her dirty mind has assumed. "Oh no! Not that!"
"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Ste, not now he is making an honest man of you!" She laughs lightly. "You sound worn out. Martin must have put the moves on you."
"Amy!"
"Let me have a word with your Adonis then."
Your heart skips a beat. Why does she need to speak to him?
"He is at the conference."
"Oh yeah."
"Why do you want to talk to him?"
"None of your business. I'll get him on his mobile."
Shit!
You can't let her call him. She'll find out the truth. "Look if this is so that you can organise a surprise birthday party for me, don't bother, yeah."
"Who said anything about birthday parties?" She says but you know her well. You have guessed correctly.
"Seriously Ames, don't bother calling him today." You say with anxiety creeping into your voice. Your throat is closing up. Your heart is beating fast. "His phone is on silent now anyway. Then we'll be busy at the ball tonight and we are seeing you tomorrow anyway."
"Ste, is something wrong?"
"No, why?"
"You're not sounding right."
"I'm fine." You walk to the window and stick your head out of the crack to inhale fresh air and calm down. Fucking hotel windows with their safety catches.
Breathe in and count to ten then breathe out.
"Are you guys having problems?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Don't know. But now I am worried."
"Don't be."
"I knew this would happen."
"That what would happen?"
"This. The way you are acting now. Strange and on edge. I knew you shouldn't go to Dublin."
"It's been fine."
"You have a connection with that place. I was worried this trip would set you back."
"I am not a baby, Amy. I can handle it!"
"Most of the time you can, but that doesn't mean that there aren't going to be times when you feel vulnerable. And let's face it, Dublin carries memories for you. Going back was always going to be a bittersweet experience. I don't get why you are acting like it wasn't going to be hard."
She is right you have been in denial.
"Okay. Fine. It has been hard but I thought I could get over it." You say. "I took Marty to Secondo when we arrived. You know the Italian restaurant that-"
"-That Brendan took you to? That doesn't sound like one of your better ideas."
"Yeah, I know that now." You grip your phone tightly and clear your throat. "But I, um, I thought that I could desensitise myself from him, you know?"
"Like what you did for the kidnapping?"
"Yeah."
"How did it go?"
"Not good. Kept thinking about him and how he left-"
You clear your throat again. You are tearing up for fucks sake.
"And?"
"And I couldn't eat my meal. I freaked out a little. Kept thinking about the hospital and stuff."
"It's fine. You're coming back tomorrow and everything will be back to normal."
You take a deep shaky breath and sniff back tears. "It won't, Ames. You're right. Coming back here wasn't a good idea."
"Why?" She sounds really concerned. "Did something else happen?"
"I saw him." You whisper him.
You wait for it to sink in.
"BRENDAN?"
"Yeah."
"Oh my God!"
"I, I-I had supper with him and his sons last night."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"And we kissed at the end." You exhale. "After dinner... when his kids were gone... obviously. When I was about to go..."
"You. Kissed. Brendan." She says really slowly.
"He kissed me."
She stays silent.
"Say something, Ames."
"What do you want me to say? You are engaged to be married to Martin and you kissed Brendan; the arsehole that left you when you were still recovering from life threatening injuries in hospital."
Bingo.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you let him kiss you?"
"I don't know."
"Did he explain why he dumped you?" She asks cruelly.
"No."
"He has no right to do this! Swanning in like it is his God-given right." Her hate for him hasn't dampened even a little bit. "Does Martin know?"
"No. It was a stupid moment. It was nothing."
"It's always something where Brendan's concerned. How did you even manage to sneak away for a meal with your ex without Marty knowing?"
"He hasn't been staying at the hotel. We had a small tiff."
"Shit."
"It's okay. I'm sorting it tonight."
"Is it related to Brendan?"
Your silence speaks volumes.
"Are you having second thoughts about Martin?"
"What? No!" You say too quickly.
"Because this is what always happens." She's upset. "Brendan waltzes in and throws you a bone and you take it."
"Not this time."
"Please don't fuck up what you have with Martin, Ste. Not for Brendan Brady."
XOXO
Seven years ago...
It all starts with an innocent enough conversation during a lull in service at the club. You are washing glasses when Brendan casually walks up to you at the bar and leans on it, crossing his arms across his chest.
He smiles at you so you smile back.
"Alright?" You say when he doesn't speak straight away.
"I was thinking about flying out to see my boys. Check out where their ma and that fellow of hers have relocated them."
"Oh yeah. They've finally made the move to Dublin, haven't they? You must be well chuffed that they are in your hometown now."
"I want to show them where their papa grew up." He says. "I was thinking this weekend. Leave Thursday. Get back Monday evening."
You are disappointed but you don't let it show because it is right that he see his kids. It is just that you are off this bank holiday weekend too and Amy is taking your kids to their grandfather's so you thought that Brendan and you could enjoy some time together without interruption.
"That sounds like fun. Make sure to say hi to them for me."
"Yeah." He sighs and looks like he is about to say something else but he is cut off by new punters coming up the stairs.
You turn your attention to them.
While taking their orders you are vaguely aware of Brendan slipping an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and placing it on the bar counter before going to the office.
You quickly serve your customers then rip into the brown paper that has your name on it in his handwriting.
You smile. It is a plane ticket with your name on it; Liverpool to Dublin for this weekend. There is a post-it note on it that says,
How about it?
You don't act cool about it. You run into the office and throw yourself onto him, straddling him on his chair and kissing the living daylights out of him.
When you allow him to come up for air he says,
"So this is what it takes to get felt up at work."
You grin. "No. I'm cheap. I'd do so much more for so much less for you."
He buries his head into your neck and breathes you in rubbing his moustache and lips lightly over you.
"Declan will be made up. He keeps going on about you. When is he going to see you again. Etcetera. Had to shut the kid up somehow." He gives you a wry grin.
You say, "You do realise that you will need to give me the day off on Thursday."
"Shit! In that case, trip's off. You're needed here!"
You give him a shove and then another kiss at his teasing.
xo
You and he stay at a hotel during your visit to Dublin. Brendan says it's because there isn't enough room at Eileen's but you know that it is because he freaked out when she set the two of you up a room right next to the bedroom she shares with her boyfriend, Michael. It was a little too close for Brendan's liking.
Still you hang out with the boys and Eileen a lot during the four days you are there and while you get along with his sons as always, it takes a little longer to warm to Eileen.
She is full of questions.
"So you're dating? Like boyfriends?" She asks in her flat Ulster accent.
"Um. Yeah. I guess. For about a year."
"My kids adore you and they are a good litmus test."
"They are great fun. They remind me of my own."
She laughs incredulously, "You have kids?"
"Yeah. Two under fives. Bren didn't say?"
"Brendan never says."
"Me and their mother have a system going. It works, like, ninety percent of the time."
"So you have been with women?"
Nosy little cow.
"I was with their mother for some time, if that's what you mean. We still care for each other."
"So that makes you bisexual?"
"I'm gay." You say abruptly.
She nods then crow bars in, "Doesn't the age gap bother you? Bren's much older than you."
"It's never been an issue. I think we learn from each other."
This feels like a police interrogation. You want to get away from her.
"He is less of an eejit now that's for sure. You must be a good influence on him." She grins at you and that is when you think you begin to like her.
You remind yourself that Eileen was the victim of Brendan's treachery and he knowing Brendan he probably did a really shitty job of explaining that every wrong he committed to her during their marriage was a direct result of him trying to hide his sexuality. He probably never even apologised.
"He can be a right grumpy sod sometimes." You say with a conspiratorial smile.
"Aye, that he can! I'll let you into a secret. He is rarely happier than when he is right and when he has a belly full of good food!"
You laugh. "So true!"
You could grow to like her. She has punch.
"I hope he treats you right, Ste. He can be so hard to penetrate." She says. "He must be changing though, because tonight isn't something he ever did for me."
"What's happening tonight?" You ask.
She refuses to tell you more but winks like she has a secret.
Soon after Brendan pulls you away from her, clearly annoyed that she has leaked part of the surprise.
He whisks you back to the hotel and tells you to, "Dress up," and "not like a chav".
Your curiosity is peaked.
He takes you to a posh Italian restaurant in the city centre and you have a little panic. This is a date. Brendan has taken you on a date. A Brendan date. You should be ecstatic but you have experienced Brendan dates twice before and neither time went well.
The first time, he ran out on you at a gay bar within fifteen minutes of arriving. He flew off to Belfast, where Eileen and the kids were living at the time, because he couldn't handle the whole being 'out and proud' thing. It's never great for the ego when you scare someone out of the country.
The second time was at a restaurant back in Hollyoaks. He barely spoke or looked at you despite sitting opposite you and in the end you were so fed up with his discomfort and internalised homophobia that you stormed out half way through your meal. He ran after you, pleading with you to forgive him,
'I'm just not ready yet! Fuck, Stephen. Everyone was looking!'
They weren't, it was all in his head so you said,
'You know what, Bren, fuck you! Fuck off home to your closet and your self-loathing and don't bother come looking for me tomorrow because I won't want to know!'
But he did come looking and you did want to know.
Tonight is attempt number three and you aren't holding your breath over it being a success although you must admit that he has put in more effort this time. The venue. His clothes.
Brendan's suit is banging. Slick. Fitted. Perfect.
During your starters and main courses, he periodically cuts through his discomfort at being out on a 'gay date' to engage in conversation that ranges from flirty and fun ('They say oysters are an aphrodisiac' to which you reply, 'That is the cheesiest chat up line, Bren') to sweet and serious ('You like Dublin?' to which you reply, 'Very much' and he says 'I've liked having you here, Stephen').
You are having a really good time and you don't want it to end but you also know that there is a limit to how much Brendan can take. He keeps tapping his fingers on the table and looking around you. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead. Between courses his jaw works furiously on his gum. What a crime against the palate. The flapping of the tablecloth tells you that his knee is probably jerking as well. He is one big nervous twitch.
You should quit while you are ahead and get him back to the hotel and show him how proud you are of him for making this gesture tonight. Leave before he fucks things up and spoils what has been a perfect evening.
Your affable and cute waiter clears your plates away.
"Did you enjoy your meal?" He asks you. "The saltimbocca are filling and satisfying."
You nod and smile at him. "It were lovely. Thank you."
Brendan grunts his approval.
"Would you gentlemen like to see the dessert and coffee menu?" He turns to you again. "Our special today is cannoli with a creamy ricotta filling, dark chocolate shavings and gold dust. They melt in your mouth."
"No. Thank you." You say, seeing Brendan tense up even more. "I think we'll take the bill."
At the same time Bren says, "Yes. We'll have a look at the menu."
You lift a surprised eyebrow at him. "Are you sure you don't want to go?"
"Thought you had a sweet tooth, Stephen. What's the rush?" He holds his hand out to the waiter to receive the dessert menus while looking at you determinedly but the waiter deposits the two menus into your palm.
"I'll give you a few minutes." He says before leaving.
You pass Brendan a menu then open your own but don't look at it. Instead, you lean back in your chair and observe his jitteriness. You play with your empty wine glass. The licks of the candle flame in the middle of the table reflect on his face.
"What?" He says when he catches you looking.
"You look really uncomfortable, like you are about to be shot."
"I'm fine."
"No one's looking at us like we are freaks, you know."
"I don't care if they do."
You smile and look at the dessert menu, ignoring his blatant lie. You do have a sweet tooth but it is the combination of sweet and tart that really gets your taste buds singing.
"I wish they had lemon drizzle cake."
Brendan raises an amused eyebrow at you. It is your favourite and he knows it.
"I take you out to a posh Italian restaurant and make myself all pretty." He points at himself. Then he lowers his voice and gives you THE LOOK. "And you make yourself look foxy and cute and all you want is lemon drizzle that you can get for two quid at a corner shop?"
You nod.
"Fuck me, you're a cheap date." The minute the words are out of his mouth you see him blanche.
Your smile practically splits your face in two but you know better than to say anything. Date. His words.
Boss.
He snaps open his menu and suddenly says,
"What about the lemon polenta cake with limoncello syrup?"
"What's that?"
"Fuck if I know but it's a dessert and it's got lemons in it." He smiles at you.
You get a wave of emotion that you try to suppress because otherwise it comes out as words that are too touchy-feely for Brendan's liking.
"I don't think I can have the whole thing." You pat your bloated stomach that is approaching 'Christmas-level full'.
Your waiter sees Brendan's raised finger and weaves his way to you.
"So we'll share." Brendan says casually.
"The limoncello cake." He tells your waiter. His tone is clipped and he is throwing the poor guy dagger eyes. "One, please, to share."
"Certainly, sir." The waiter never takes his eyes off you even while addressing and being addressed by Brendan. "An excellent choice. I am sure you will love it. The syrup is divine."
You watch Brendan clench and unclench his fists. His knee jerking reaches epic proportions and he looks like he going to punch someone.
Your waiter leaves again with your order.
"'I'm sure you will love it.'" Brendan perfectly mimics the waiter. "'Cannoli filled with cream. They melt in your mouth'."
"What are you doing?" You ask looking at Bren as if he is deranged.
"Come off it, Stephen. That guy! He may as well cum all over you and get it over with!"
WHAT?
"The waiter?"
"He has been coming on to you all night!" He hisses with a hint of sulking. Is that what his tension has been about? The twitchiness?
Brendan's jealous?
You smile. "I didn't even notice."
Genuinely.
He scoffs. "Course you didn't. You never do."
"So what?"
"So I'm right here. What about when I'm not?"
You laugh. What does he mean? Does he think that you would do anything? Cheat? Get felt up? What?
"It doesn't matter, Brendan. I'm sure guys come on to you all the time."
"Not like that!" He points at the waiter who is in the distance still looking at you. How could you have not noticed before. "Fucker!"
"Okay." You say calmly trying to lower his tone and reach your hand across the table to grip his fist.
He jumps in his seat but doesn't pull away.
"Seriously, Bren. I am having a great time with you. Forget that guy." You take your hand from his and give him a wink.
"I have been really patient with that twat, Stephen. Didn't want to ruin our evening. But if he uses one more innuendo on you, we are going and you owe me one position of my choosing at a location of my choosing."
You get a little hot under the collar. You almost wish for a pun or innuendo. "Deal."
XOXO
Present Day (Day 4)...
Your taxi drops you off outside the hotel's doors. You have had a bite to eat at lunch and done some shopping; a scarf for Amy, hair accessories and bright neon pink and blue clip-on extensions for Leah, a toy car for Lucas and a unique key-ring for Martin's collection.
You have a couple of hours to kill before the ball. There is no question that you are going to go. You are prepared to do whatever it takes to get Martin back especially after your conversation with Amy.
You use the stairs to the seventh floor out of a need for exercise and take your key card out when you get to your landing ready to collapse on your bed for a few minutes kip before getting ready.
You are surprised at who is before you; blocking your way to your room. You stop in your tracks, drop your key card and shopping bags in shock and take a step back.
"Hello, Stephen."
Brendan is leaning on your door but straightens up quickly to pick up your belongings.
"Declan told me you were staying here."
You snatch the bags out of his hands and indicate for him to give you back your key but he holds onto it.
How long has he been waiting here anyway?
"Go away." You say without looking at him.
You want to crumble in despair. Why is he here?
"We need to talk."
"No. No we don't. I have somewhere to be."
"The ball tonight? Don't worry, you'll get there on time. You've got ages."
"How do you know about it?"
"It's at one of my clubs. Your boyfriend's name is on the guest list."
You square your shoulders up to him.
"He is my fiancé. We are getting married." You show him your ring. "Didn't you spot it yesterday."
There is a tick in his cheek that tells you he is far from happy with this news. He has always been territorial with a tendency towards jealousy. You know it's not about affection. It's about possession.
"I was too busy concentrating on your tongue down my throat." He says harshly.
Touché.
He must read your embarrassment because he adds. "No I didn't notice it. I've been ... under the weather, so to speak." He leans on the door again, heavily. "Your engagement ring must have slipped my beady eye." He looks you up and down. "You were always going to be snapped up. I suppose I should say congratulations."
"Only if you mean it."
"Then I hope you aren't offended if I don't. So where is Marco?"
He is deliberately acting like he can't remember Marty's name. "Martin."
"My bad. Martin."
You suddenly feel very exposed. It's just you and Brendan here and he has your key. How are you going to get rid of him? "He's presenting at the conference."
Brendan gives you a small smile that doesn't meet his eyes.
"Perfect."
With that he slots the key card into the door, opens it and marches into your room without invitation. You pause long enough to decide that leaving him alone in your personal space is far worse than you being in there with him.
You keep a wide breadth of him when he sits on your bed. You stand, arms folded protectively across your chest near the windows.
"Say what you need to say and then go."
"Do you have something to drink?"
"I told you yesterday I don't drink much anymore."
"I mean water."
"Oh." You shuffle around him to get to the bathroom pour him some tap water and give it to him. "I don't know if it's drinkable."
"It's fine." He says before downing the whole lot. "Cheryl found me at work to tell me that I should come and see you."
"You do everything your sister says?"
"Only when she is right."
"Well she is wrong. I don't want you here."
He rubs his forehead and you clock the beads of sweat on it. You remember that he is unwell with an unspecified illness so you soften just a little.
"You have five minutes." You look down at your feet to avoid eye contact.
"She told me this story about a Knight that changed a King. I thought that you might want to hear it. You see this King, which Chez called Brendan, lived most of his life in fear, a half life, because he held a secret." He points at his chest. "In here. And it chewed him up every day. He felt trapped. Couldn't breathe. But he thought that it was the way it was supposed to be. He thought that keeping his secret made him stronger. Then one day he met this Knight. Chez called him Stephen."
You look at him. He is looking right back at you; baring his soul. Brendan has never been so frank. It is disconcerting.
"This Knight was a cocky little fucker but strong, agile and hotter than sin. He challenged the King's way of thinking. He didn't have secrets. Everything was out in the open for him and the King had a hidden respect for that. He liked this knight. A lot. More than he was prepared to admit even to himself. He respected him and cared for him, you know."
He clears his throat.
"He, uh, the King thought that maybe he could tell the world his secret because it would be worth it, to have this knight in his life. He could do that for his knight. But it was hard to change the habits of a lifetime at first. It took time for the King to change and he was thankful every day that his Knight had patience."
"Stop." You say weakly. Why is he saying all this now?
"You said five minutes." Brendan's eyes are crystal clear as they look at you. "I'm barely over one."
You bite your inner lip in frustration while he continues,
"The King never told the Knight that he meant everything to him. And it wasn't a good thing, Stephen. Not for someone like the King because it made him vulnerable and anything that made him vulnerable made the people he cared about vulnerable too. He was a bad man with enemies who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted from him."
He shakes his head at you.
"I should have kept things under wraps. I shouldn't have been so obvious with you. I should have known that it would end up the way it did. You were my weakness, Stephen, and he took advantage of it. Weaknesses are always attacked."
Your eyes widen as they connect with his. He can't be saying what you think he is saying. Your mouth feels dry. You feel tears spring in your eyes. You are shaking like a leaf.
"The kidnapping." You say it so softly it is barely a sound.
"They used you to get to me, Stephen. What you went through, all that pain and torture, was my entire fault. They hurt you because of me."
He stands up and walks to you, trapping you between the windows and his body. His eyes are bloodshot. He is crying but it is silent like the years of grief and guilt have all but exhausted him.
"Who?"
"It doesn't matter. The point is you were innocent in it all. You didn't deserve what happened to you."
Brendan knows who attacked you?
"I didn't leave you because I didn't care." His hands trace over you with a feather light touch. "I cared. I left you because being with me is dangerous and I couldn't be selfish and stay knowing that the next time you could wind up dead because of me."
His arms wrap around you. You don't push him away or protest but you don't return the embrace either. You let it happen, hearing the thud of his heart against your ear.
You feel numb inside. You don't know what to think.
"You don't remember me at the barn, do you?" Brendan says into your hair.
You shake your head against his shirt. No. You don't. There were inevitable holes in your memory of events which the doctors said were understandable given your head injury.
"No." He squeezes you so hard that you almost think he is going to suffocate you. His sniff makes you look up to see tears streaming down his face, snot collecting at his nostrils. "I can't get it out of my head. How you looked. Still and unmoving. Like you were dead. I thought I lost you, Stephen. I thought you were gone."
He looks at you with watery red eyes as if it is a miracle that you are standing before him.
He kisses you under each eye and that is when you realise that you are crying too. It is oddly soothing when he then licks your tears. It almost makes you smile.
He releases you from his vice-like grip only to hold your face between his hands. He searches your eyes, sighs and sniffs.
Then he whispers words that you never dared hope he would say to you. And he says them with such a depth of feeling that you are sure that your heart explodes out of your chest and fills your soul so completely that you radiate pure white.
"I love you, Stephen."