Six years ago...
"I have dealt with the problem." You whisper into the phone without pre-amble or pleasantries the second Brendan picks up.
Two weeks have passed since the incident at the barn.
Brendan says nothing for a while. "You took your time."
"I took care of it almost straight away. You can't leave that kind of unfinished business out in this weather for too long. It starts to gather flavour of the unpleasant kind. I didn't get back to you earlier in case the police were onto us."
"You haven't turned up to work when one of the club's employees has been kidnapped and hospitalised without giving anyone a reason. That looks shady. The police were asking after you."
"I'm sure you came up with a decent excuse for my absence."
"Trip to Thailand to get a sex change op." He says drily.
"Funny. Call me Wendy." You say then turn right back to business. "They haven't got any leads, have they? The boys in blue? About what happened..."
He doesn't answer you.
"I mean they don't even know John was there."
"No." He says with no emotion then clears his throat. "I need to know that this is over."
You aren't sure what he means so you take a guess. "I've learnt from our Danny experience. Believe me, there will be no body cropping up in the future."
You try to white out the visual of amber flames and the smell of burning flesh.
"That's not what I'm talking about." He says slowly, tensely.
His breathing is heavy; an exercise in control. "I'm done with you. You hear? I want you to buy a one way ticket out of the country."
"Ey?" You laugh at the ludicrousness of his request. "I'm not going anywhere. I live here. This is my home."
"Not anymore." He sneers over the line, keeping his voice low and measured. "Because if I ever lay eyes on you it's game over and if you think I'm joking know that I'm not. You've fucked with what's mine, Warren."
"Calm down, Bren..."
"Stephen... he nearly died... you prick..."
He takes a breath. It is exhaled slowly. A tremble marrs it. Jesus. Does he want you to stay away because of your involvement in what happened to his boyfriend? Is he serious?
"Oh, come on! I know you have a soft spot for rat-boy. I can't think of many people who would let themselves be fucked that hard without begging for mercy."
His silence speaks for his embarrassment.
"Yeah, I caught you in the act after hours at the club one night but you can't seriously tell me that you are asking me to leave just because of that scally!"
"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Brendan shouts over the line in a burst of emotion that has been just under the surface all along. You are stunned by the level of grief and venom in his tone.
"Ever! I want you gone, Warren! I am not going to count to ten and I am not going to ask nicely. I need you to fuck off! If I get so much as a hint that you are near a family member of mine... if I find out that you are anywhere near Stephen..."
He draws a shaky breath.
"... You are dead meat."
You shudder.
You believe him.
Brendan Brady has already killed two men for Stephen. He could decide to make it a hat-trick. He is crazy or in love or maybe the two emotions are two sides of the same coin. You certainly found them hard to distinguish when you were with sexy, sultry Louise and then with feisty Mitzeee.
"Okay." You say. "Okay. I'm gone. But my share of Chez Chez..."
"I'll speak to Tony. He has wanted to branch out into the night club business. You can use the money to start a new life. See how nice I can be?"
"I need to say bye to Mitzeee."
"I'll tell her you had to dash. Bye, Warren. See you never."
XOXO
Present Day...
You haven't got an issue with Brendan. Not really.
You just want a guarantee from him...
And maybe an admission of guilt.
Dear Warren,
Yes. Fine. I admit it. I stole your £50,000, and then I gave it to Ste using an inheritance pay out cover story because I felt guilty for what happened to him. Sorry. I should have never laid my grimy, sticky fingers on your shit because it resulted in bad karma.
Your bitch for life,
Brendan
That would be a bonus and make you feel less like the villain of the piece.
But the real reason for being here in Dublin seeking out Brendan is that you want to come home. Great Britain. England. Not Hollyoaks. Manchester. Where you were born and raised.
Call it nostalgia. Whatever. You want to touch the green, green grass of home without the apprehension of knowing that the tache-man still has a bone to pick with you. You are too old for archenemies. You crave a quiet peaceful life, a cold pint and comfortable shoes... for the most part. You can't spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. You need to confront Brendan and lay down some ground rules. Tell him that as far as you are concerned what happened six years ago is water under the bridge.
If he decides to be a dick about it because his poor little ex got a booboo then you will show him your ugly side once again because you are not leaving the UK again. Not for that Irish prick.
xo
You stand in front of a pair of glass double doors set in a redbrick building with a large blue neon sign saying THE ELECTRIC on it.
It is still fairly light out in Dublin's city centre despite being seven thirty in the evening.
The club officially opens in half an hour for the early birds but when you push against the doors they open against your pressure.
You are getting used to this. Unlocked premises. Has Brendan gone soft?
You enter and immediately notice the difference between the two clubs. This place feels younger, looser and more accessible. It is cavernous; opening up onto an unpopulated dimly lit large dance floor after passing through an unmanned ticket booth and coat room. Mood lighting flashes across the room bathing the area with alternating colours of the rainbow. It should be garish but it has a mesmerising kaleidoscopic effect. It works.
The floor above is a wide balcony that goes all the way around the perimeter of the club to allow clubbers a panoramic view on the floor that you are on. Jazz house plays in the background from a comprehensive sound system that must blow clubber's ears off when it operates at full capacity.
Right now the speakers are whispering mellow tunes.
There must be someone here.
"Hello?" You say loudly. Your voice echoes through the room.
After a moment you hear a voice.
"Oi, mate. Club's still closed. Come back in thirty minutes, yeah."
You narrow your eyes to focus on a man who is leaning out of a brightly lit room on the other side of the dance floor. You assume it is an office. It emits the only light on that side so that the back lighting throws his profile into relief. A dark mysterious figure.
"You've got to start locking your doors if you don't want people to come in." You say over the music at him, squaring your shoulders.
He stands squarely in doorway of the office. "Yeah well, we all have more important stuff on our minds at the minute. Must have forgotten. Thirty minutes and you can come right back in." He calls over to you and then glances back into the office.
You raise an eyebrow.
Hang. On. A. Second.
You recognise that voice. Don't you? You try to make out the guy's features and take a step onto the dance floor closer to him.
"I'd rather wait here. Thanks though." You fold your arms across your chest. "I'm here to see a friend. Brendan Brady."
It is as though you have said 'open sesame'.
Suddenly he is walking briskly to you while running a nervous hand through his hair and then down his chest as if patting the material of his t-shirt down.
"Who's asking?"
You try to catch his features in the ever changing lighting of the room.
He draws to a stop before you. His jaw drops and his eyes widen. He has recognised you and you have recognised him too.
He still has that bad boy look and classically handsome features. You have enough insight to see what the girls might like in him. Good head of brown hair. Hazel eyes. The body of someone who grafts hard for a living. Tattoos covering his arms. They probably divide opinion. Cool to some. Obscene to others. Direct, penetrating eyes that give you one hundred and ten percent of their attention.
Dangerous eyes.
"Warren Fox?"
Vigilant eyes.
"Fuck me." You say with a grin. "How's things, Paddy?"
"What are you doing here?" He asks. He has that same flat disinterested tone Brendan had. It is as if they went to the same school for Bad Ass Boys.
You and Paddy have history that is seven years old. That is a whole other story but suffice to say that Paddy played his part, following your threats of harm to his family, in briefly orchestrating one of Ste and Brendan's more spectacular break ups. You got him over to Hollyoaks and told him to set the cat out among the pigeons. Ste learned some unsavoury home truths about the guy he was sleeping with so he dumped Brendan. Paddy went back to Dublin. Brendan grovelled with Ste. Ste took him back. Bla. Bla. Bla. Same old. Same old.
Anyway, you have no time to deal with Paddy now. You just want to wait patiently for the big man to arrive.
"Like I said, I'm here to see Brendan."
"Why?"
"You his bodyguard now? I thought you two didn't see eye to eye." You narrow your eyes at him. "And yet here you are in his club, looking all cosy and at home."
He scratches his elbow and then wipes his bottom lip with the back of his hand. He is a rough sort and the moves are designed to look menacing.
"We ironed out our differences years ago. We're mates now."
"That so?"
He nods, jutting his chin at you.
Defiant eyes.
"He is not here."
"I'll wait."
You stare off.
He blinks first and says, "You be waiting a long time. He is not coming tonight."
This guy has balls. There isn't a hint of fear in his countenance.
"Brendan's colleague, Nicola, said he would be here when I bumped into her earlier at VIBE." You point at him.
"I saw her earlier." He says slowly as if distrusting you. "She didn't say."
"Women. Always with secrets."
He shakes his head. "Whatever. Bren has had a change of plans. Shit happens. Sorry."
His apology sounds like a fuck you.
You put your hand on his shoulder suddenly. He flinches away from you and you realise that the cool customer attitude is just an act.
You smirk. "Don't be sorry. Do me a favour and tell Brendan that I am looking for him, will you? I just want to talk."
"What if I don't?"
You smile coldly. "You'd be making a very big mistake."
You turn to leave and shout over your shoulder. "I'm at the O'Callaghan, by the way."
xo
You decide to have your supper in the hotel restaurant in case Brendan decides to pay you a visit tonight. You take a corner table and work your way through a three course meal and a bottle of wine. You blow out the candle flickering between you and the empty seat in front of you.
Fucking candles.
Sitting here alone reminds you of a time whe you didn't sit alone for dinner. It makes you think of a brunette. A long haired, gobby brunette with a cute round arse and great legs. Maybe a little more rack would have been nice but still, she was near perfect when you put all the elements together. Smart little cookie too.
Six years have passed since you saw her. Brendan isn't the only one you have been tracking over the years.
You figure you may as well have company while you have your after meal coffee so you pick up your phone and look for a number that has been in your phone for years without use.
It probably doesn't work anymore, anyway.
"Hello?"
You automatically smile when you hear her voice.
"Hi." You reply.
"Who's this?"
You grin. "Don't you recognise the voice of an ex when you hear it..."
"Warren."
"Bingo."
The line goes dead.
Bitch ended your call.
You ring her again.
She answers almost straight away in that clipped tone of hers. "I don't have anything to say to you."
She puts the phone down again and you are reminded of how feisty she was.
You call again and the minute she picks up she says,
"Take the hint."
And she puts the phone down.
She answered.
Again.
That's good.
She isn't completely ignoring you. She is intrigued. Curious.
When she picks up for the third time you say something designed to keep her on the line.
"I've heard that you are a stylist to the stars now."
Flattery always worked on Mitzeee. The truth is you read that she helped style a couple of B-list celebrities. They made a few celebrity magazines' worst dressed lists.
You can almost see her hair flick, the backwards tilt of her head, the sniff and the wriggle of her nose.
"Who told you?"
"I read an article in a Chester paper. Congratulations, Mitz."
She sniffs.
"I'm dead happy for you."
"Only my dearest friends call me that now." She says sharply. "It's Anne to you."
"I miss you."
She groans. "Wait. Where's my sick bowl? If that's all then I've got some packing to get back to."
"I mean it."
And you do. Sort of. It is all flooding back now. You had a good run, you and her. How you felt for her reached depths that you hadn't reached even with Louise. You had common ground. Mitzeee could empathise with your working class background. She was a grafter. Shrewd and clever.
You had something good going before Brendan banished you out of the country.
"Are you moving house?" You say.
"Huh?"
"You said you are packing."
"You know what, Warren; I am not having a chit chat with you. You are nothing but empty promises and lies. I love you, baby. Let's build a life together. I'll get out of doing shady business. I'll stop keeping secrets. It's just you and me. It was all bullshit."
Bloody hell. She is starting to sound like Louise and look what happened to her...
You know that there were times back when you were together that Mitz expressed her dissatisfaction at your caginess, secrecy and dodgy dealings but you thought she would understood where you were coming from in the end. You were building a nest egg for both of you to enjoy. The £50,000 was part of that. You had planned to build up enough funds to afford yourselves a comfortable life. Only then were you prepared to get on the straight and narrow.
Ditch the bad and embrace the good.
You would. Eventually.
She just needed to be patient.
"You left without as much as a goodbye." She says quietly. "You and Brendan were like peas in a pod in that respect. Dumping and leaving. See, you did have something in common. You were both assholes."
You don't argue her point. She'll only bite your head off. "I was thinking that we could catch up."
She laughs like you have made the best joke ever. "I'm sorry. Did you hear the part where I called you an asshole?"
"I could probably fly out to Hollyoaks the day after tomorrow." You say. "When I'm done here."
"You're more than welcome. I'm going to Spain tomorrow for a long weekend, so."
"Oh yeah? Who with? What's the occasion?"
"None of your business. Where have you been for the last six years?"
"The States. Boston."
"Why?"
"Change of scenery."
"There were rumours that you were involved in Ste's kidnapping what with the suddenness and timing of your departure. It's the kind of thing that makes a man look guilty."
"I didn't do it. Why would I?"
"Then Brendan left and people started pointing the finger of blame at him."
"He didn't. He wouldn't."
"Ste never thought he did. He wouldn't hear it and the cops found no evidence." She sighs. "And I'm with Ste. Brendan is a lot of things but I draw the line there. He could never have done that to weasel-face. Never in a million years. He loved that boy in his own warped kind of way. Or at least I thought he did until he split."
"Some crimes remain unsolved."
"I don't understand why. Why did it happen to Ste of all people?"
You clear your throat and hope that it doesn't come across as an admission of guilt. "Sometimes things don't make sense."
"Like this phone call." She says."Why are you calling, Warren?"
"I was lonely and I thought of you. I'm having supper alone at a restaurant... in Dublin."
You drop the location in deliberately.
Mitzeee baits. "Brendan's in Dublin."
"I know. That's who I'm here to see."
"I didn't know you were in touch. You never saw eye to eye."
"I'd like to think we've both grown up." You say.
"Pete says he owns a couple of successful night clubs out there. Hangs out with his kids. Still the eternal bachelor sawing his wild oats though. I'm not sure how grown up that is."
"Is that what Pete's saying?" You ask. "They talk?"
"You'd have to ask Pete. I try not to waste my breath talking about Brendan."
"I read somewhere that he keeps getting papped with guys hanging out at gay bars."
"You've been reading a lot." She says sarcastically.
"I'm just saying times have changed. The guy is obviously more comfortable with his sexuality. Who knew we would see the day. Maybe he and rat-boy would have-"
"He was fine about being gay in Hollyoaks in the end not that you would have noticed. Not that it matters."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"For Ste. Their relationship ending had nothing to do with Brendan being a closet case and everything to do with him being an insensitive and unsupportive prick when Ste got hurt. Guess that's something you didn't read. Brendan left Hollyoaks while Ste was still in hospital." She says.
"Whatever, Ste's moved on. He's engaged to be married to one heck of a great guy. And soon they'll be starting a new chapter in their lives..."
While Mitzeee drones on things slot into place in your mind.
You read about Ste getting engaged in that food review for his bistro PECKISH!
At the time you were more caught up by the realisation that the start up money he used for his eatery came from the £50,000 Brendan had owed you.
'... a rather nice looking tall man enters and approaches us. Hay introduces him as his fiancé and for the first time I notice the tell-tale ring on his finger as they hold hands.
He is shy in his confession, 'Martín is my fiancé. He is finally making an honest man of me!'
Martin= English.
Martín= Spanish.
The acute accent over the eye can't be a typo.
You tune back into Mitzeee's rant.
"... And I hope you have learned how much it hurts to be lied to, kept in the dark and treated like shit. I hope you have had a good long look in the mirror and realised that people will hit back if they are treated like scum."
You don't get her anger. You wish you could tell her about the £50,000 and how it was the foundation of the fortune you planned to amass for both of you but you can't. You are six years too late and there are more pressing matters.
"Did you say you are off to Spain?"
"Did you hear what I just said?"
"Ste's bloke is Spanish, isn't he?" You press on with your line of enquiry.
"This is relevant how exactly?"
You grin and say, "It's been nice chatting, Mitz. Sorry. Anne."
You end the call and kiss your phone because you are pretty certain your ex has just admitted that she is attending Rat-boy's wedding to some Spanish guy in Spain over the weekend.
Today is Thursday.
So Brendan killed two men and gave £50K to his ex in a presumed act of love and yet Ste is about to move on and 'start a new chapter in his life' with another bloke in a few days time.
This information is priceless. You shall relish telling Brendan.
To celebrate you order a second dessert.
XOXO
Six Years Ago...
It's Friday late morning. You are in the office at Chez Chez when you realise the time.
You have to go. There is a fair amount of prep work ahead for you before tonight. You have to get supplies for the barn, do a dry run, buy a vaporising anaesthetic drug (you have a contact who asks no questions) sort out your alibi (a quick appearance at the SUBAR) and then get the job done.
You quickly grab your keys and check your pockets to make sure you've got your wallet and walk out of the office into the main room.
As usual rat-boy and tache-man are within feet of each other. They aren't even interacting. They are probably just enjoying the proximity. How gay. Like now, Brendan is perched on a stool at the bar reading a newspaper while Ste and Jamil wash and dry glasses, respectively.
As Ste leans over the sink you catch a flash of a gold chain and a cross. Brendan's crucifix. You never noticed the change of ownership before today but sure enough Brendan's neck is free of accessories.
You briskly walk across the dance floor towards the stairs and tell Brendan. "Hey, you're on your own tonight."
You throw him a salute.
Brendan asks, "Where are you going?"
He doesn't bother looking up from his paper.
"Meeting up with Mitzeee then I've got a couple of appointments in Chester. I'll be back in the morning."
He glances at you. "It's Friday. I need you here. The place is going to be heaving."
"I've sorted it. You'll have Jacqui, Rhys and Ste working behind the bar."
You glance over at his boyfriend. You know that his ears are locked on your conversation even though his hands work furiously through the soupy suds in the basin. Ste has been watching you closely for weeks now. It is as if he knows that there is trouble on the horizon.
Poor lad. He has no way of knowing he is at the centre of what is to come. Never mind. He will be back to his normal life within three days as long as Brendan plays nice.
Brendan looks over at Ste and then at you. His low tone belies his disapproval. "You can't expect him to work for fifteen straight hours."
"It's okay, Bren. I asked Warren. I need the money."
He turns to Ste in disbelief. "It's not okay. Jesus, Stephen, I told you I'd help you out if you needed. You're going to work yourself into an early grave."
Fucking hell. They are like a proper couple.
"I could do it if there's a problem." Jamil says helpfully.
"Thanks, Jamil, but it's fine." Ste replies then turns to Brendan.
He gives tache-man a small smile that has a dollop of pride, a splash of smugness and (shitting hell) a truck load of tenderness.
"And I won't die from a bit of extra work, Bren, but like thanks...for caring."
Brendan rolls his eyes heavenward.
The lad gives Brendan a cheeky wink then gets back to his washing up.
"Great. That's that then." You say and slap your hands together decisively.
Brendan stares at Stephen, clearly not happy with the arrangement, but he mutters.
"Looks like it."
"Good." You raise your hand in a wave and head down the stairs. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow."
XOXO
Present Day...
It's Friday early morning. You have been lounging in your hotel bed with little to no sleep for the better part of the night so the wakeup call from reception at six am followed by the mistaken room service of a full English breakfast half an hour later seriously piss you off.
When your hotel room phone starts ringing at exactly seven thirty you groan. If this is another unnecessary interruption you are going to kick up an almighty fuss with management and then give a shitty review of the hotel online when you leave.
"Hello." You mutter.
"Mr Fox. This is reception calling. Your taxi has arrived."
You feel your blood begin to boil. "I didn't order a taxi."
"No. Mr Brady did, sir. I believe you have a meeting with him this morning."
You sit bolt upright. "Mr Brady?"
"Yes, sir."
You are wide awake suddenly. "Did he order the wakeup call and breakfast too?"
"He couldn't have, sir. Only you could have done that from your room or reception."
He is fucking playing games with me. He is already trying to establish his authority. Does that mean he was here at the hotel? How the fuck did he do that?
You release a forced laugh. "Oh yeah. Must have forgotten." You take a whiff of your armpits. You'll need to take a quick shower before you go. "I'll be down in fifteen minutes."
Let's rock and roll.
"Very well, sir."