Bless Me, Father

by pacejunkie

Preisland fic. Charlie has to stand up to his father if DriveSHAFT will ever have a chance.

Title: Bless Me, Father

Rating: PG

Summary: Pre-island fic. Charlie has to stand up to his father if DriveSHAFT will ever have a chance.

Characters: Charlie, Liam, Mr. Pace

Disclaimer: I had a dream that I owned Lost and then I woke up.

Charlie sat on the bed in his cramped room strumming his battered second-hand guitar, paper scattered around him on the blanket. Years of devoted playing had become evident on the tips of his calloused fingers. He hardly felt the strings anymore as he formed the chords. Charlie was immersed in his writing, stopping at each measure to pull the pencil out from behind his ear and make notes. He looked back over what he had written and smiled. He was awash with inspiration and it felt heavenly.

He was in a particularly productive phase, having written almost a dozen songs in the last few months, in various stages of completion and degrees of quality. At the rate he was going, Charlie was sure he would have enough material to put together a decent acoustic demo to offer to record companies. Maybe he could even convince his brother to sing on it.

Liam was the one blessed with the singing voice in the family and a drive to perform--participating in school productions, singing for the relatives at Christmas. Charlie was the writer, more introverted by nature, which usually suited him just fine. He didn't need to be centre stage. As long as he had an outlet to express himself and a way to make his songs heard, the songs could be the stars.

Charlie went back and began playing his work in progress from the top for about the fourteenth time, pleased as punch, when his door suddenly opened. His head jerked up at the intrusion, yanked back into the reality that was his life. He was so lost in what he was doing he never even heard his father's heavy footsteps in the hall.

He stood in the doorway with his beefy arms crossed over a massive chest. He had a voice that was both deep and authoritative, the sort that was accustomed to obedience and expected it. It carried the additional burdens of both a heavy working-class Manchester accent and a hard life. "Charlie, I need you to work in the shop today, one of my useless workers called off sick."

Charlie tried not to show his disappointment. He hated working at his father's butcher shop. Since finishing school, Charlie had worked there part-time along with his brother to earn some pocket money and help out his family. Occasionally, like today, he was called upon to fill in when they were shorthanded.

But every time he was there he felt himself being pushed toward a future in the trade under his father's direction. Charlie didn't have the heart to tell him what he really wanted to do with his life. He wondered whether the man would back off if Charlie declared himself a vegetarian. It would be easier than declaring himself a musician anyway. He already knew how his father felt about that.

He smiled and attempted to be conciliatory. "Okay, Dad. I'm working on a new song, by the way. It's not bad. Do you want to hear it?" Charlie never gave up, even though the results were rarely encouraging.

A faraway look came over the man, as if Charlie had just asked him for a hug. He could feel the additional distance between them as his father grew cold, and Charlie regretted the offer immediately.

With a deep frown and an air of disapproval, Mr. Pace turned to leave. "Just put down your sodding guitar and get going! I have to get to work."

"Right" said Charlie, counting off. "Now have you got it? Start again on four. 1……2……3……"

Charlie strummed the introduction as Liam joined in with the vocal, reading the lyrics off the paper in his hands. He really was a fantastic singer, powerful and charismatic. It gave Charlie a thrill hearing his brother bring his songs to life. The two sat on the floor of Liam's bedroom. Between them was a small cassette recorder, which he used to tape the best take of each song for a demo. It was no recording studio but it would have to do.

Liam was as frustrated as Charlie was with their father's plans for them. He wanted just as badly to break out on his own and music seemed like the perfect key to the gaol that their lives had become. Liam hadn't been much of a student, so after he completed school he took the easy road and went to work in the butcher shop. He had hoped for a better opportunity to come along, but without any other skills, nothing had. Charlie had performed better in school than his brother had, but his father had been so determined to teach his son the trade, that university was out of the question. Their lives seemed to be set on a single track.

Charlie was encouraged by Liam's willingness to help. He was an enthusiastic listener and had plenty of his own ideas as well. Liam had not only agreed to sing on the demo, he also thought they should form a full band. Charlie was less enthusiastic about that idea. He had planned on working quietly to sell his songs directly to record companies and music publishers. His own band would be a difficult thing to keep secret.

Liam was frustrated by Charlie's reticence. "It should be us out there playing. Why do you want to let some other band get the glory with your music?"

Charlie patiently tried explaining to his brother one more time, "I don't care about the glory, Liam. It's the songs that should get the attention."

"And they will" countered Liam. "Are you telling me you don't care about being somebody special, someone people look up to?" Charlie shrugged and smirked and Liam slapped his shoulder. "Becoming filthy rich, pulling the birds in every city and making their boyfriends jealous? C'mon, admit it!"

Charlie smiled and slapped Liam back. "Well if I do ever dream of a life like that it's only because it beats being a butcher."

"Charlie, any record company that hears these songs will wonder why you're not out performing them" Liam argued, switching to a more serious tone.

"You know why" Charlie responded, chin resting on his guitar, "I'm just not ready to tell him yet. He's going to be awfully disappointed."

Liam shook his head. "He knows you write music, he knows you play. Don't you think he's going to figure it out on his own?"

Charlie recited the same lines he told himself a hundred times. "As long as he thinks it's just a hobby, it's alright. I'm hoping he'll come around, see that I'm really good at it and then maybe he'll support me."

Liam stared at his brother like he had just sprouted another head. "Are you living in the same house I am, baby brother?"

Demo tapes had been prepared, copied and sent to dozens of record labels large and small. Every day Charlie checked the mail and the phone messages, but after several months there was no response. He next tried to follow each tape up with a phone call, but was usually given the brush off by some secretary.

He told himself that if he only had the money, he'd travel down to London and walk into these places, guitar in hand, and play in the lobby if he had to, but the idea sounded more romantic than realistic. Only Liam would do something like that. Charlie had never even played in front of an audience before.

As Charlie moped about at home and at work, considering his ever dwindling options and feeling more trapped than ever, Liam was losing patience with his brother's half-hearted attempts at a music career. He finally forced the issue out into the open over dinner one night. "Did you call that last record company, Charlie?" he asked casually.

"Yeah" Charlie responded quietly, looking down at his plate, "They're not looking for songwriters right now."

"Look, we tried it your way, it may be time you considered forming a band," Liam told him.

Charlie glanced at his father and gave Liam a hard stare to shut him up but it was too late.

"Who's forming a band?" asked their father.

Liam opened his mouth but Charlie cut him off. "No one, Dad" said Charlie, "It's just some daft idea of Liam's to get my songs heard."

Mr. Pace nodded as he cut his meat, "You boys need to concentrate on learning your trades, not wasting time and money on some rock band."

Charlie prayed that the conversation was over but Liam was just getting started. "Charlie and I have talent, Dad. If you would just let us take some time off from the shop and try this……"

"Every half-witted git with a microphone thinks he has talent these days" he pointed his knife at Liam, punctuating his words as he spoke. "I'm not going to sit by and pay the bills while you two are off living out some fantasy prancing about a stage like a couple of ponces. As long as you live here you're going to earn your keep."

Charlie squirmed and looked over at his mother who was busy arranging her utensils into nice neat lines. He and his mum had learnt their lessons long ago not to get into an argument with Charlie's father, but Liam never seemed to get it. Just as Charlie kept hoping for approval, Liam seemed to keep hoping that one day he would win.

"We're going to do this" Liam persisted, "You can't stop us."

"Oh, can't I?" Mr. Pace rose from his chair, towering over his son, "I can keep you so busy you won't have time to worry about foolishness. Your grandfather was a butcher and his father before him and that's what you'll be! It's all you'll ever be!"

"Well maybe if you gave us some support for once…" Liam shouted, waving his arms demonstratively.

"Support?" he yelled, furious. "I've supported you your whole sodding life with a roof over your head and food on your plate, and this is the thanks I get?"

Charlie had heard that one before. As the argument raged round in circles, Charlie and his mother watched in uncomfortable silence, letting it play out as it always did until the two tired themselves out and retreated, fuming. Finally it grew so quiet it felt like the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

"Well, then" said Mrs. Pace in her happiest housewife voice, "whose ready for pudding?"

Charlie was up late on a Wednesday night, writing lyrics in his room when he heard the front door open downstairs. It had been open mic night at their local pub, and Liam often liked to go there to carouse with his mates and sing some crowd favourites. He craved the spotlight and often came back with stories about what a hit he was. Liam was always the life and soul of any party.

Charlie went back to his writing but then put down his pen again when he heard his father's disgusted tone rising above the volume of the television. "You're pissed, boy."

"Nice to see you too, dad," came the slurred response.

Charlie went out into the hall and sat at the top of the stairs to listen. He sensed trouble brewing.

Liam was baiting him. "I was a smash tonight. You really should have been there. Folks told me I had stage presence, that I should pursue a music career. They think I've got talent. Trouble is, I think they're right."

Charlie wished he could see what was happening. He heard the floorboards creak and pictured Liam swaggering and swaying like a pirate on deck. He imagined his father turning various shade of purple as he bared his teeth. "You just watch your mouth son. You've always been too cheeky for your own good."

Liam was known to put a few pints away but tonight it sounded like he had more than a few. He must have done to be speaking to their father that way. It was the kind of raw honesty that could only be found at the bottom of a pint glass. "Well I don't care what you think. I'm going to be famous someday, you wait and see. Then you can take your butcher shop and shove it right up……"

Liam never got the chance to finish his sentence. All Charlie heard was a pop and a thud, followed by a low moan. He held his breath and resisted the urge to run downstairs. "Now get your arse upstairs and in bed! I don't want to see your ugly mug again until you've sobered up! You've got work in the morning and you'd better be on time!"

Charlie stood aside to make way for Liam coming up the stairs. With one hand his brother held the railing while he covered his nose with the other. Charlie followed as Liam made his way to the washroom and applied a wet flannel to his bloody nose.

He was stunned at his brother's nerve. "Liam? Are you okay?"

Liam dabbed at his lip and glanced at his brother in the mirror. "It's nothing baby brother, just doing what I had to do. It's not like he doesn't expect it of me anyway."

"What was all that about?" he pressed.

Liam ignored the question and dropped the bloody flannel in the sink. "I'm getting out of here as soon as I can, Charlie boy. I suggest you do the same."

Several weeks later, Charlie and Liam were working side by side in the butcher shop before opening hours, loading trays of cut meat into the refrigerated glass case. As the brothers worked, they spoke about their plans for the future.

Liam was animated. "Your songs are great Charlie, but we need a band. You have that old mate from school that plays drums. Ring him up. I'll find us another guitar player. We can pool our money, buy some studio time and cut a real demo with a full band. We could do this."

Liam's enthusiasm had always been infectious. It was no different than when they were kids and his brother had tried to convince him that ditching school or sneaking into the cinema would be the most fun they ever had.

Still, Charlie smiled despite himself. Regardless of whether he shared Liam's optimism, it felt good just having some support. He had resisted for a long time, but his brother was starting to win him over. "I don't know Liam, we'd need equipment, transport, rehearsal space, and then we'd have to look for gigs. Do you really think we could?"

They were so deep in their conversation that they had stopped loading the trays as their plans took shape. The brothers were brought heavily back down to earth by the voice of their father emerging from the carving room. "What are you two on about now?"

Charlie and Liam looked at each other, but it was Charlie who responded. "Nothing, Dad."

His father's voice rose. "It's the bloody music again, isn't it? Well, put that idea right out of your heads and get back to work. You're butcher's sons, not musicians! The only futures you're going to have are right here!"

Charlie's shoulders slumped. He turned to Liam and saw his brother straighten himself taller in defiance, a study in contrast. Here we go again, thought Charlie. Although it was not the first time Liam and their father had had this argument, to Charlie it seemed as though his brother was finally fed up. Liam went around the meat counter and approached the man.

"You can't keep me here," said Liam. "I've a right to my own life. I'm going to be a singer and there's not a thing you can do about it."

His father fumed. Charlie actually believed he could see flames in the man's eyes and smoke come out of his ears. "I'm not going to stand by and watch you throw your life away!" He reached out with both hands and grabbed Liam by the shirt.

Liam wrenched himself free and stepped back. "Get your sodding hands off me." He untied his stained apron and threw it at his father's feet. "I was going to tell you tonight. I've saved enough to get my own place. I'm moving out, so I don't need any more of your 'support'." Liam spit the last word out, turned to give Charlie one last look of apology before storming out.

Charlie's father was still enraged as he turned to look at his younger son, practically daring him to say something, but Charlie knew better. He turned, picked up another tray and loaded it into the case.

Once Liam had moved out Charlie and his mum were forbidden to speak his name in the house. Life at home became much more difficult for Charlie without Liam to spend time with. His mother filled the void by compulsively cleaning and cooking elaborate meals. She grew quieter if such a thing was even possible while his father seemed to be in a permanent state of depression, snapping at anyone who came near. Charlie took to spending more time in his room with his guitar and at his brother's flat when he could get out.

The place was nothing to write home about. Situated above an Indian restaurant, it was two tiny rooms put together, one of which doubled as a kitchen. It had hot water and heat on a good day and the walls were permanently infused with the smell of curry, but Liam had never been happier. Of course, he now had rent to consider, which meant plans for the band were full steam ahead as paying gigs were now more important than ever. Charlie had run out of excuses. He felt his fate being sealed shut at home and it was time to form a band.

As usual, Liam made the first move by chatting up a guitarist in a club the night before who had just split from his band. He told Charlie about the find from his thrift store couch one night over a few beers and a game of cards. "Sinjin's great! I told him about the band. He's heard me sing at the pub before and he's keen to try something new," Liam assured him. Then as if to try and peak Charlie's interest he added, "He wants to hear your songs."

Charlie tried not to sound hurt. "But I play guitar."

"So switch to bass," replied Liam casually with a flip of his hand. "What's the difference? We need this guy, he's brilliant."

"I've been trying to save up to move out like you did" Charlie explained. "If I have to buy a bass and an amp now it'll set me back."

Liam shrugged. "So move in with me for a while, you can owe me the rent. It's not about the money anyway and you know it, you're just afraid to tell him the truth."

"I'm not afraid," Charlie insisted, only half-convincingly. "It's just that since you left, the shop has been short-handed. He's been so moody. It's not a good time."

Liam looked his brother in the eye. "There will never be a good time Charlie. You have to do what's best for you. Stop being a pansy and tell him you're not going to be a sodding butcher already."

When Charlie didn't respond Liam continued, softening his tone. "Look, I've got to start making some money. I need to find myself a band. If you're not on board with me I'm going to have to go out and join someone else's."

Charlie was shocked. Was Liam bluffing to force his hand? "You wouldn't do that would you? You said we were doing this together, to get my songs out there, remember?"

"And I meant it but Charlie I also have to think about myself! It won't help either of us if I end up back in the butcher shop. We need to move forwards. I need a job."

Charlie paused, thinking. Anxious to show his brother he was serious, he put down his beer and picked up Liam's phone. Liam watched with a mild look of confusion.

"Hello Patrick? It's Charlie Pace, how've you been?...Great. Hey, what's your situation? Have you still got that drum kit you had in school?...I've been writing these songs y'see and I'm starting this band up with my brother and the thing is, we could use a drummer……Are you interested?...Aw mate, that's brilliant. Let me ring you back with the details and we can get together at my brother's flat and start rehearsing soon……Alright, mate, we'll be in touch."

Charlie put the phone down, picked up his beer and smiled triumphantly.

Liam smiled back, then he reached out and grabbed his brother roughly around the neck, mussed his hair and kissed his head.

"Ugh, Liam! Get off me, you wanker!" Charlie struggled and pushed his brother away, still grinning.

Liam sat back on the couch and put his feet on the packing crates that doubled as a coffee table. "Now all we need is a name and some gigs."

They tapped their bottles and toasted their success. Charlie felt so liberated that for the first time he thought he might actually be able to tell his father about his chosen career.

They were finishing a two-week residency at a tired Manchester pub. For their final performance, the crowd of adoring fans consisted of about twenty disinterested patrons, most of whom were so pissed they didn't know what they were listening to.

The worst part was that this was one of their best nights. On weeknights, they were lucky to draw a handful of surly onlookers, middle aged working class slobs tossing their empties up on stage with their epithets. It was anything put glamourous but it paid well enough, and having a steady job was considered a feather in your cap. It would sound good to the next club owner they approached anyway.

Charlie had Liam to thank for it. His big brother could sell snow to the Eskimos. After a string of gigs at church fairs and school gymnasiums that earned them no more than a few hours of attention and a handshake, they were desperate for a paying job of any kind.

Liam struck up a friendship with the manager of his local and after a week talked his way into a job, convincing the man that DriveSHAFT would be the best thing that ever happened to him. After a fortnight the manager still wasn't convinced of that, but he didn't mind it. He had taken pity on the four skinny boys and had let them stay on anyway, since they were cheaper than a new jukebox and the thing hadn't worked for months.

At the end of their first set, the four sat down at the bar and plied free drinks from the barmaid. Charlie was feeling jubilant. With two weeks of straight performances, they were sounding tighter than ever. He had even managed to pick up playing the bass rather quickly, but he was in the perfect environment to make a few mistakes without anyone noticing. The audiences may not have seemed to appreciate them on the whole but they were gaining valuable experience and managing to pick up bits of individual praise from the occasional visitor who bothered to listen.

They sat discussing their prospects for their next gig when they were approached by a man who appeared too well dressed for his surroundings. "Evening, lads. Buy you another round?"

Liam smiled, "We wouldn't say no."

The man ordered a round of pints with a raised finger while Liam decided to strike up a conversation. "You been enjoying the show, then?"

"Oh, aye" said the man, "In fact, I was going to ask you what you were playing in a place like this for. Your songs are quite good."

Charlie sat up a bit straighter and began to listen more intently, wondering for the first time who this bloke was.

The stranger put out his hand to Liam, "The name's Martin Stone. I manage bands like yours. I can give you some polish," he looked around the room with disdain, "find you better gigs, maybe even get you a recording contract. If you're interested we can sit down and talk about it sometime."

Charlie was skeptical but Liam didn't even wait for his response, "Of course we're interested! I'm Liam, this is my brother Charlie. He writes the songs." Charlie stuck out his hand with the others who went round and introduced themselves.

Then Charlie whispered to his brother, "Liam, maybe we should talk about this first, as a group. We don't even know this guy."

"Trust me, baby brother, I'm getting a vibe here" said Liam. "This bloke could be our ticket to stardom. No harm in a meeting is there? We're not going to sign anything unless we all agree, alright? Just stop worrying."

They exchanged phone numbers and planned to be in touch to set up a meeting and talk business. After he left, the barmaid gave them another round of drinks to celebrate before heading back onstage for their final set. Liam gave the performance of his life. It was a shame so few people were still awake to hear it.

Charlie tried to be happy. After all, it was what they wanted. Now all he had to worry about was what he would say to his father.

Six months later, Charlie turned his key in the lock and crossed the threshold of the quiet house shortly after two a.m. on a Sunday morning. He was tired but exhilarated, awhirl with adrenaline. It had been another successful gig, a small local club but a trendy venue and a packed house. Martin had really come through for them. Charlie had his reservations but he now trusted the man implicitly. They were getting attention in the local music papers, and were starting to gain a real following of fans who came to see them everywhere they played. They were going to be successful, Charlie was sure of it.

Before they broke for the night, the band had planned to meet at Liam's flat the next day to rehearse some new material that Charlie had written. He was already thinking ahead to the first songs they would arrange as he stumbled through the sitting room in the dark.

If things continued to improve, Charlie would soon have enough money to move out on his own, although he knew Liam was right and that money wasn't the reason that he stayed. Charlie was still working at the butcher shop by day while he played the clubs of Manchester by night. It was a grueling arrangement, but Charlie was still trying to keep everyone around him happy. It seemed to be just enough to keep peace with his father, allowing him to tolerate Charlie's musical sideline, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to keep up the schedule for much longer. The late nights and early mornings were beginning to take its toll. His time was running out.

Liam never cared about keeping the peace. After their last row at the butcher shop almost a year before, his brother had walked out of the house they grew up in and never looked back. Charlie knew he should have followed shortly after but he couldn't. He kept hoping against hope that his father would approve of his choice. Until that day came, he bided his time, waiting for the right moment to take the next step in the direction of his music career and away from the butcher shop.

Charlie entered the kitchen and groped for the light switch. When it came on he jumped. His father had been sitting at the kitchen table in the dark. Charlie stared as the man barely reacted to the intrusion but just sat, looking at a small piece of paper that he turned slowly in his hands.

Charlie let out the breath he had held and crossed over to the cupboard for a glass. "Dad, what are you doing up?"

His father's voice was slow and steady, and yet seemed strangely under restraint. The air felt like the calm before a storm. "Got a message for you. Came while you were out. Some manager named Stone. Says he wants to talk to you about coming down to London and signing your band to a label."

Charlie began to smile, elated, but suppressed it immediately when he saw the look on his father's face. He filled the glass from the tap and responded casually, "Oh?"

His father rose up from his chair. His voice trembled slightly. "Are you planning on moving out Charlie? Leave the trade like your sodding brother did?"

Charlie stood speechless as the last grain of sand in the hourglass fell. Liam had gone through this and now it seemed it was his turn, a bizarre rite of passage for the Pace boys.

He looked down at his glass and stammered, "Dad, we were just talking……"

"Talking about what?" His father challenged, voice rising, "About abandoning your responsibilities to your family? About chasing after some pie in the sky dream with nothing to fall back on?" He stepped closer to his son, fists clenched in a losing battle with control, "About disrespecting your father?"

Charlie flinched at his words and then looked up. The time had come and there was no way out. He tightened his grip on the glass to stop his hand from shaking as he stood up to his father for the first time in his life.

"We have this manager and he says we're really good. He's been helping us. Dad, I'm never going to be a butcher. I'm a musician and it's something I have to do."

Charlie's feeble attempt at diplomacy only enraged his father further. He poked at Charlie's chest with his finger as the accusations flew. "Something wrong with being a butcher, lad? Not good enough for you, eh? So that's the truth is it, you're ashamed of your old man!"

"NO! I……" Charlie expected to dodge words but not fists. All at once his father flew at him, grabbed him by his t-shirt with one enormous hand and connected with his face with the other. The glass fell from Charlie's hand and he heard it shatter on the floor. Before he had time to react he was coming at him again, and then a third time. Charlie saw stars and tried to keep his feet but the room spun and he hit the floor, cutting his arm on the shards of glass beneath him. He felt the sting as blood poured from an open throbbing wound on his cheek.

His father looked down on him with disgust before turning and walking away, switching off the light in the kitchen as he left.

Charlie lay in the dark for a full minute, coming to his senses. As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight that came in from the kitchen window, he saw a dark puddle of blood under his arm. Bits of broken glass swam in it, twinkling, refracted by the light. Charlie carefully sat up and reached behind him for a clean tea towel from a drawer. He wrapped his arm as tightly as his shaking hand would allow, grabbed a second cloth for his face and staggered out the back door.

The streets were thankfully empty at that hour. Charlie assumed he looked like he'd been in a bar fight but he didn't want to attract any unnecessary attention. He reached the corner and the pay phone he had been heading for. He sat on the small seat inside and caught his breath before picking up the receiver and phoning his brother with a blood stained hand.

"Hello?" he answered sleepily on the fifth ring.

Charlie took a deep breath and felt lightheaded. "Liam? I need your help."

Liam suddenly sounded fully awake. "Charlie? Is that you? Where are you?"

"I'm at the pay phone on the corner of our street. Just get here." It was all Charlie could manage to say before dropping the phone down. He felt drowsy and closed his eyes. He remembered nothing until he was shaken awake by Liam.

"Charlie! Wake up, it's me! What the hell happened to you?" he cried, looking down at the blood soaked towel in his brother's lap.

Charlie opened his eyes slightly, just enough to recognize his brother, and then closed them again as he spoke. "I told him, Liam" he said proudly. He tried to smile but his swelling jaw made it difficult. "I told him I didn't want to be a butcher."

Liam's voice trembled, "So the bastard made mincemeat out of you instead, is that it? C'mon, let's get you to a hospital. Can you stand up?"

Charlie nodded and his brother pulled him up. The hospital was several blocks away and Liam flagged a cab to avoid the walk. Charlie dozed off again in the back seat.

After a two hour wait in the emergency department, upon which Liam demanded his brother be seen to or they'd be responsible for his bleeding to death, Charlie was finally given a shot of pain relief and had his arm and face stitched up. He felt groggy and exhausted from both the medication and being up all night. He barely remembered the trip back to Liam's flat.

He must have looked awful because Liam put Charlie to sleep in his own bed and he took to the couch. Charlie was too drugged to protest.

The last thing he recalled that night was his brother's voice as he pulled the blanket over him. "Charlie, you do realize you can't stay there any longer. You need to move out."

"I know" muttered Charlie, already half asleep.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Liam asked him.

Charlie sipped his tea. After sleeping half the day and taking two pain tablets he felt a bit better, though his face still felt sore and misshapen. He tried a piece of toast but his teeth hurt too much to chew so he dipped it in his tea to soften it. "No, I'm alright. He should be at work. I'll just get my stuff and be back here."

All Charlie had with him were the clothes he had worn the night before and his jeans and t-shirt were stiff with blood stains. At the very least he had to go back for something clean to wear.

Liam nodded. "You'll have to explain to mum what happened."

Charlie put down his cup. "Assuming she saw the kitchen this morning I think she'll have figured it out. Still, it was hard for her when you left. I know this will make it worse."

Liam looked hard at his brother, "You're not having second thoughts are you? I mean look what the git did to you……"

Charlie put his hand up. "Relax, Liam. I'm not having second thoughts. It's done. It's just hard that's all. I wish it didn't have to be this way. All I ever wanted was his blessing."

"Yeah, I know" said Liam.

Charlie finished his breakfast and caught the bus back to his parents' house. His mum was already at the front door as he came up the walk, as if she had been waiting for him. He could tell she had been crying.

As soon as he came within reach she embraced him in a hug, fresh tears flowing at the sight of him. "Charlie!" she cried.

"Ow! Careful, mum" he said, leaning back slightly as he entered the hall.

She pulled back and looked at him again, gently touching the good side of his face. "I'm so sorry."

The apology angered him. "Why? This wasn't your fault. Did he tell you it was?"

"You have to understand" she explained, "how disappointed he was. He didn't mean to do it, he was hurt. Your father has only tried to do his best for you boys."

Charlie backed away, "Don't mum. Don't make excuses for him. I'm going to stay with Liam for a while, until I find my own place. I just came back to see you and to get my things."

His mother nodded. Charlie thought she seemed older, worn out. He felt sorry for her but he had to look after himself. He was relieved that she didn't try to convince him to stay. She followed him upstairs and watched while he packed as much as he could into two bags, and collected his guitar. The bass was already at Liam's with the rest of the equipment.

She sat on his bed and gazed around his bedroom wistfully, "I've watched you grow up in this room, love. Climbing out of the crib we kept over there, playing with toy soldiers on the floor there, running down the stairs Christmas morning with your brother. Your father worked hard for years to make sure you had everything you wanted. He loves you Charlie."

"I really want to believe that Mum," he said, fighting back tears. "I'm going to be a success, you'll see. Maybe one day he'll wake up and realize he's proud of me."