Present Day (Day 1)...
The hospital appointment and the bad news it brings almost pales into insignificance when compared with seeing Stephen at Secondo earlier today. That was disconcerting, painful, exciting and bittersweet. It was as though six years evaporated and you felt for him as strongly as you felt then.
Since bumping into him you have to tell yourself to man up and rationalise that seeing anyone from the past is bound to rouse feelings of nostalgia and a sense of longing.
But you can't concentrate on anything other than half-formed plans and ideas that involve seeing him again.
When your son comes to see you at VIBE and invites you to join him and his mates at some dingy pub in Temple Bar you are quick to decline. Declan is a perceptive young man. He has noticed that you have not been yourself recently so you know that his intention tonight would have been to get to the bottom of why you are different. You do not feel like sharing or facing up to what is happening in your life just yet.
So instead you head back to your empty apartment and try to sleep through your night sweats and feeling of restlessness.
XOXO
Present Day (Day 2)...
You wake up feeling unrested. You can't face going into work so you call Nicole and tell her not to expect you. She is sympathetic. She tells you to call her if you need anything and that is when you think that maybe you take her for granted sometimes. You make a note to self that the next time you see her you are going to give her a big hug.
You spend the day in your apartment flitting in and out of sleep.
You try not to think of your leukaemia; the thing inside you that will kill you without medicine that is curative and poisonous in equal measure. You try not to think about Stephen; who disappears from your mind for a time before bursting into your consciousness unannounced but vivid.
You are consumed by thoughts of him. It is pointless. By the end of the day you decide that enough is enough. You need distraction. You need release.
You shower, get dressed and take a trip to The George.
Your purpose is clear.
You stand at the bar nursing a whisky glass dressed in a crisp suit as you scan over the dance floor. It isn't long before someone catches your eye. You observe him, watching his body as it moves to the beat of the loud music with his hands reaching for the ceiling and a smile of pure ecstasy on his face. His skin is flushed from the exertion but he keeps going as if dancing is what he was born to do. His has an energetic glow that attracts you to him like a magpie to gold.
It isn't long before he catches you looking.
This is the important bit. You keep looking at him making it clear that you like what you see.
He smiles at you and then points in your direction with an outstretched arm and indicates for you to join him on the dance floor. His friends who are dancing either side of him glance over at you and encourage you, too.
You shake your head and take a sip of your drink. Something in his manner and the way he moves his narrow hips so unselfconsciously reminds you of Stephen. He used to lose himself on the dance floor in a way you never could.
When this lad continues to dance but fixes you with a seductive stare as if he is moving just for you, you know you have pulled. You will enjoy your night tonight. He strikes you as an energetic fucker, excuse the double entendre.
He may make you forget... everything, at least for one night.
XOXO
Present day (Day 3)...
Your muscles ache when you wake up. You instinctively pull the warm sleeping body that lies next to you towards you, spooning up. You know it isn't Stephen immediately but you try to hold onto the illusion for as long as you can. You run your hands over his chest and feel your bed partner stir awake. This guy is shaped differently to Stephen. You inhale his scent and he smells different. You open your eyes and see dirty blond hair. It is not the same shade. He takes hold of your hand and coaxes it down towards his groin. You try to hold on to your fantasy as you grasp the young man's semi-erect cock and start to pump it. It does not feel the same.
Not at all.
This stranger grinds his arse back into your pelvis shamelessly.
He groans and it isn't a groan you recognise; it is not the groan you crave.
"Morning." He whispers.
You check the wall clock.
Shit. Seven am. He stayed overnight. You fell asleep together. Fuck. He rubs himself more firmly against you and sighs, "You up for another round, big man?"
No.
You take your hands off him and pull away. NO, you aren't up for another round. This guy needs to go.
You are done with him. He has fulfilled his role. The illusion is now broken.
He turns around and smiles at you. He looks nothing like Stephen. It's not his fault. He isn't bad looking. You would give him an eight out of ten any day of the week but his features aren't Stephen's; his face is more round, his eyes brown not ocean blue, his lips less pouty, his lashes not as long.
"It's time to go." You say abruptly.
"What?" His face drops in surprise and disappointment. He doesn't make a move to leave so you lean in and whisper, "Run along. Chop. Chop."
Then you lift an expectant eyebrow until he drags himself out of your bed, self-consciously. He starts throwing on his clothes turning his back to you and says, "Anyone told you that you are an arsehole?"
You emit a burst of dry laughter. "If I had a pound ..."
You get out of bed too and put on your underwear.
He shakes his head and looks you straight in the eye while you pick up a bath towel. You need a shower. You need to cleanse yourself of your nightly activities.
"You were the one coming onto me at the club." He says. "I should have known."
You look blankly at him. "About what?"
"This." He points at the bed. "You. You are one of those guys who can't resist scratching that gay itch once in a while and then feel bad about it afterwards."
"I don't feel bad. I just don't want to fuck you anymore. You knew the score when you came. This was a one-time thing." You say.
This one is acting up more than they usually do. Normally, they fuck off quickly because they get how this works.
"The Buzz says you are a closet-case with a poor unsuspecting girlfriend. The one with the Italian name."
You stare at him. You hate being reminded of the unwanted press attention that you sometimes receive.
"You want to be careful." You say slowly with a controlled tone. "Talking like you know me."
The Dublin Buzz has repeatedly portrayed you as a bit of a cad who cheats on his girlfriend with a constant string of guys. It couldn't be more wrong. Since coming to Dublin you have never actively hidden the fact that you frequent the odd gay club. You presumed that would have been enough to make it clear which way you swing. All your family and close friends, even Paddy, know. You certainly don't sleep around anywhere near as much as The Buzz suggests. You are definitely not deliberately denying who you are. You just don't see how it is anyone's business other than those who are closest to you.
"Whatever." The lad says, now fully clothed. "I'm going."
He marches out of the room that leads straight into the large open plan living space, pauses abruptly in the doorway and turns round to you.
"Oh look." He says sarcastically. "Your girlfriend is sleeping on your sofa."
He storms off and you hear the loud bang of the apartment's main door slamming shut.
Nikki is here? You walk across your bedroom navigating round a couple of used condoms to get through to the living room.
True enough Miss Manzoni, bed hair and all, is groggily stretching out on the sofa looking dishevelled and cute as a button yet full of sleep.
What the fuck is she doing here... and is she wearing one of your shirts as nightwear? Her dress and shoes are discarded at the end of the sofa.
She glances at the apartment's door then at you.
"Morning, daddy bear." She mumbles and then yawns. "Was that your bed warmer that just walked out in a huff? Cute."
"What are you doing here, Niks?" You ask impatiently. You wrap your bath towel around your waist. "When did you creep in?"
"Last night after work. I thought I'd check up on you since you refused to answer my calls after everything that happened the day before. But when I got here, you and lover boy were fast asleep." She says and combs her fingers through her wavy long locks. "By the way, this..." She points at the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table with a long painted nail, "... is a little bit predictable, Bren. I mean, really. Drinking heavily and fucking a stranger as a coping mechanism."
You scowl at her.
"You need to be at your fittest before starting chemo. Don't fuck with your body." She says. You see her eyes moisten but she holds it together. Good girl. She knows you don't want tears of pity.
"And Declan expected you at the Foggy Dew. The least you could have done was call him yesterday and ask him how the gig went. He wanted to cheer you up." She says.
Sometimes Nikki does a good impersonation of a nagging wife.
"I cheered myself up. What was I going to do hanging out with my son and his friends?" You ask. You couldn't stomach the thought of having to act happy to hide the fact that inside you were imploding. "I'm sure I didn't miss much at Freddie's gig. A bunch of rowdy drunk students ain't my bag." You drawl.
Nicole looks at you with wide eyes and seems to hesitate over her next words. "Not only students go there."
"Okay..." You say, "Look, I am fine if that's what you were worried about. I am not going to top myself, Niks. If you want I'll be at THE ELECTRIC later so you can check up on me."
"I'm at VIBE today, remember?" She says.
You nod vaguely. "Oh yeah."
"Have you..." She clears her throat, "Uh, since he is in town, have you considered maybe catching up with him? Stephen, I mean. Just a thought. Like, if you could track him down would you want to see him again?"
You are annoyed that she has brought him up again. You told her already that you didn't want to speak about him and you don't need reminding that he is here in Dublin.
You have thought of little else since your lunch at Secondo two days ago.
"No. I wouldn't." You lie and march off to your bathroom. Over your shoulder you say, "And stop using my shirts as night gowns..."
XOXO
Later that day your phone rings while you are walking through the club checking that everything is in order.
"Hey, kiddo." You say when Declan's ID comes up.
"Dad. Where are you?" He sounds urgent.
"THE ELECTRIC. Why? Everything okay?"
"Um, yeah. Yeah. It's just that I thought you were going to be here at VIBE today. I wanted to speak with you."
He doesn't sound like his normal carefree self.
"Shoot."
"Uh. Okay. You didn't come out to the pub the day before yesterday." He says. "You missed a good night out."
You answer. "I was busy. Good gig?"
"Yeah. Great!" He says nothing for a second then, "So like, what did you do instead, meet up with someone nice...?"
There is something in his tone that makes you think this is a leading question.
"How do you mean?"
He quickly says, "Um, no fella on the sly?"
He emits a nervous laugh.
"Are you alright, son?" He is sounding odd.
"Yeah. No. I mean you've been acting really weird lately, dad. I thought you might be hiding some big secret. Like a boyfriend or something."
"No boyfriend. No secrets." You are not enjoying this conversation.
"Niks told me you bumped into Ste a couple of days ago."
Heart thud. So this was what he had been building up to.
"She did?" Your heart speeds up. This feels too much like your past catching up with your present.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I don't see how that's your business, Deccy."
"He was your boyfriend and then suddenly he was hurt and disappeared out of our lives, for like no reason. You never told Paraic and me why. That was kind of selfish, you know. You weren't the only one who cared about him."
You don't know what to say to that. "I didn't want to worry you. You are my sons. It is my job to protect you and keep you safe."
"How was Ste dangerous?"
You pinch the bridge of your nose. He has misunderstood you.
Ste isn't the dangerous one.
"Hey, dad?" Declan says suddenly.
"Um hum."
"Can I come over tonight? I'll make supper."
"Me and you?"
"And Paraic. The Brady boys together. It'll be good. Plus you need fattening up a little." He says.
You look down at your body.
"Huh." You snort. "Yeah fine."
"We'll come over at seven." He says. "I'll get the ingredients."
"I'm not eating any of your tofu shit, son."
He laughs. "Got it."
"I'm serious." You smile. Bloody vegetarianism.
"I'll bring something you like, dad."
"Nice." And you end the phone call.
XOXO
You get back to your apartment carrying some bags ready for the night ahead. You've bought some fruit juice for your younger son, a tub of ice cream to round off the night and a couple of superhero DVDs. You are looking forward to hanging out with your kids. They have their own lives going on and while you see them often enough, sometimes it feels as though you are just getting snap shots of them while they both run full speed towards adulthood.
You get a text from Eileen at seven o'clock precisely,
Have fun with our boys tonight. Please make sure Paraic sleeps early. He has a piano class at nine thirty tomorrow.
Fucking hell. Today, the kid has had football practice all morning and a swimming meet all afternoon and now music lessons! She is driving him too hard, you reckon. You get that he is gifted but this is supposed to be your eleven-year old's summer holiday and yet his schedule is just as tight as it was during term time.
You make a note that you need to have a word with your ex-wife about easing up on him a little. In the mean time you smirk and text,
I'll make sure he sticks to just two beers tonight then...
Her reply lacks humour,
That joke is neither smart nor funny.
You are about to text a comeback along the lines of 'who's joking' but your doorbell rings. There are muffled voices outside; the most distinguishable and prominent is Paraic's animated narrative of some 'sweet' goal he scored during football practice.
You grin as you approach the door ready to welcome your sons with open arms. But when you fling it open you freeze to the spot. Neither of them gets your initial attention. You stare at the person that stands between them. His broad grin converts into a look of petrified shock that must mirror yours.
He begins to take a step back but Declan stops him by placing a firm hand on his shoulder. You notice that your older son is now taller than him.
How time flies.
"Surprise!" Paraic says with a huge grin on his face. "Can you believe it, dad? It's Ste! Amazing, right? Deccy picked me up from swimming and Ste was in the car!"
Declan looks cautiously at you as if trying to read your reaction. The strange conversation you had with him earlier suddenly makes sense. He planned this somehow. He managed to track Ste down and get him to come to your apartment unknowingly.
He says tensely, "Dad knew Ste was in town, Par. They have already bumped into each other."
You remember the man Stephen was with at the restaurant; the blond surfer model guy. You feel like punching something.
"Ste's is here on holiday, dad." Paraic continues impervious to the tense atmosphere. "But he leaves the day after tomorrow. Isn't that a shame?"
Stephen looks at Declan and says in a voice full of disappointment, "You tricked me."
Your older son looks guilty. His face is flushed with shame. "I thought I was doing the right thing."
"It was not your place to make this happen." You tell him firmly.
"Is something wrong?" Paraic asks innocently.
"No." Stephen, Dec and you say in unison.
Paraic smells a lie but like the smart kid he is he works your unwillingness to air your dirty laundry to his advantage.
He plays dumb.
"Good. Because I am starving and knowing Dec it will be midnight before we eat anything! We should get cooking straight away..."
He grabs the shopping bags from his older brother and Stephen and heads towards the kitchen area, leaving you all at the door. He unloads the contents onto one of the counters and keeps his tone light as if all is good.
"Dec's making lasagne, by the way. With minced beef and everything." He says.
"Yeah." Declan says sheepishly. "I'll keep the meat out of mine."
You can't speak to him right now. You know his intentions were good but he made a decision that was not his to make and now you find yourself in a situation that is awkward for everyone involved.
Paraic sighs impatiently at the three of you. "I am literally going to die of hunger any second, dad." He cracks open a jar of olives and tucks in. "Ste, will you help me out here if these two are going to stay by the door all night?"
You look at Stephen. His uncertainty grows exponentially. You know that he is battling with staying to avoid disappointing your sons and leaving to get away from you. You speak before you can stop yourself,
"I would like it, uh, if you stayed." You look at him. You honestly feel, in the moment, that if he says no you will be impossibly devastated and that you might pounce on him to stop him from leaving. "If you want, that is. I don't want to mess with your holiday plans."
Declan and Paraic look at Stephen as if his answer is life and death. He takes a deep breath in and out then licks those delectable lips of his.
"Okay."
"Yes!" Paraic exclaims and fist pumps the air.
Yes indeed, you think.
XOXO
Six Years Ago...
When you approach Stephen's house you are hoping that he has done something silly like leave his phone on silent so that he can't hear it going off. But when you phone his mobile number as you walk into his home, you hear his ring tone coming from the living room. You call out his name and there is no reply. You pick up his phone which is on the sofa.
"Stephen!" You say louder, anxiety clawing at you when you get no reply. You turn to head towards his room but are faced by a smiling Warren Fox.
This spells bad news but you can't compute why he would want to visit Stephen at his home.
Foxy starts talking about his £50,000 lost loot and how he has Stephen in his possession as his insurance policy. You throw him against a wall and grip a hand tightly against his throat ready to threaten him into releasing the lad. But he cackles in your face without the remotest flicker of fear. He knows he holds all the cards. He has the most precious person in your life in his hands. You feel physically sick at the thought.
You demand Stephen's release, something Warren finds amusing. He tells you to play nice or Stephen gets it so you let him go and listen. He lays down his terms and conditions. He expects to see the money within 48 hours. Cash. He threatens violence against Stephen if you don't do as he says. He talks broken limbs, bruises, cuts, burns.
You wonder how you are going to meet his demands. Your insistence that the theft is not your doing falls on deaf ears. Warren has decided you are the marked man. That is when you realise that this is not about the money. In real terms, it is not a huge amount. This is a lesson he is teaching you. He is making it clear that he is boss.
You have two options. Find the money somehow or find Stephen and get him home safely.
Warren condescendingly pats you on the cheek.
"Understood?" He asks.
You nod slightly.
"Nice one mate." He gives you a quick grin. "Deadline is midday, Monday."
Then he walks out of the house.
XOXO
It is a Saturday so coming across £50,000 cash no questions asked at short notice is no easy task. You try to call in favours from old 'business associates' of yours. They laugh in your face. You go to the bank. They are only able to guarantee a three working day delivery of the funds. That's not good enough but you are able to withdraw all your savings that are not locked up in long-term bonds.
£17, 765.
You try a loan shark or two but they are unable to mobilise enough cash in the space of time you need it.
As night falls you realise that seven hours have passed and you are nowhere near acquiring the cash you need to get Stephen back. You pace your flat and think of other options. Tomorrow you can liquidate some assets. You look at what you have in your home. If you sell everything of value that you possess to a pawn shop you reckon you can probably get £10-15,000 given how stingy they are about parting with money. You decide to make that your first job tomorrow.
You make a phone call. Big Al. Someone you worked with back in Liverpool when you ran that club for Danny Houston. Solid. Reliable. You ask him if he has any jobs that he needs a hand with.
He expresses his surprise at hearing from you. It has been a while since you dipped your toe into seriously shady activity. You tell him that you need to get hold of some cash quickly. He tells you that there is something but it may not yield a large reward.
You drive to Liverpool immediately and buy a stash of cocaine from him at mate's rates before spending the better part of the night selling it at clubs dotted around the city. You feel sick to your stomach that you are reduced to this but it needs to be done. The problem is that coke, like most class A drugs, has devalued over the years. From £300 a gram you are lucky if you will get £40 in today's market. And everyone, even the tweaked out clubbers are cash strapped so for your night's efforts you walk away with just under £3000. Not bad for most nights but it still doesn't get you to your total.
You get home as the sun begins to rise, wondering how Ste has coped with his first day of abduction. If only you could speak with him to reassure yourself that he is okay.
You are tempted to ring Amy and let her know what has happened but she will freak out and at this stage she would be of no use. You think about alerting the cops but you are fearful of what Warren will do to Stephen in retaliation.
So you call Mr. Fox himself. It is six in the morning and you have had no sleep.
When he answers you are straight down to business.
"Foxy, I can give you £35,765 right now so long as you let him go. I'll give you the rest when he is safely home." You say feeling a lump in your throat.
"Morning to you too, Brendan." He mumbles, half asleep.
"What do you say?" You push.
"I guess your English isn't as good as I gave you credit for. I said £50,000 up front. Now don't disturb me until you have something to say that I'll find interesting."
"Let me speak with him." You demand.
There is a pause then a small chuckle that grows into a full blown laughing fit that ends with him putting the phone down on you.
You take a deep breath to suppress you anger and frustration. It doesn't work. The next thing you know, you are ripping your home to shreds to vent your pent up emotions.