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Granddad had succeeded where Paddy's parents and teachers had all failed, and got him to behave. It had taken a number of threats and two new bruises, but Paddy still felt like a failure as he sat quietly in the car, not fighting, not trying to run, not trying to get Ste out, hating that his Grandfather had used him yet again in his campaign of hatred against the man Dad loved.
"Where are we going?" Paddy asked, nervously, after quite a long silence.
Granddad grumbled. "In my day, kids were seen and not heard. They used to beat ht manners into us."
"I haven't done anything!" Paddy protested, then realised he spoke to his teachers like that. Granddad could do much worse than detention though.
"Sit still and shut up or I will start by breaking a finger."
So Paddy did. He was quieter than he'd ever been, even quieter than when the head had told of his class for starting a fight. Quieter even than church. Granddad wasn't though. He fidgeted for a while as he drove, then said "I'm doing this for your own good, ye know."
Paddy didn't answer. He didn't fancy broken fingers.
"I'm helping ye," Granddad continued, "If I let your Dad mess you up any more, you… you'd end up the victim of some gang or something."
Still Paddy stayed silent.
"And it's in the bible," Granddad continued, "God hates that sort of thing. I couldn't let you stay with those queers.
Was he really trying to explain? Was he being honest? It didn't really feel like he was talking to Paddy at all.
"So… why did you bring Ste?" Paddy asked.
Granddad huffed watching the road as Paddy watched him nervously but curiously. "He would have got in the way. When you rang him."
Did that make sense, "So, it was so he couldn't tell Dad what you'd done?" said Paddy.
"Yeah," replied Granddad, with slightly more confidence.
"But he didn't know where we were. What could he have told Dad that he wouldn't know soon anyway?"
Granddad grunted, and Paddy wondered whether Granddad actually had a plan at all.
"A couple of hours, son, they make all the difference in the world," Granddad grumbled.
"But Dad'll notice you've taken Ste."
Granddad growled softly and Paddy couldn't help thinking it was more to do with giving himself time to answer rather than comfort. "Are you going to try to rape him again?" he asked, almost crying a the thought.
"He's not important enough for you to think about him like that," Granddad said.
Paddy frowned, not understanding.
"He's a teaching tool, that's all," Granddad continued, "I'm gonna use him to show you what happens to queers."
"But," Paddy started, still frowning, still confused, "but you just decided that. Just now."
Granddad shifted his hands on the steering wheel.
"Do you…" Paddy tried, then swallowed, amazed he was asking this, "do you love…"
"Men don't love men Padraig!" his Granddad hissed, furiously, "It's disgusting and wrong."
"But you could have just left him. You didn't have to bring him," Paddy knew he was right now, whatever Granddad said now. You didn't react like that if you didn't care.
Granddad was breathing loudly but steadily, trying to get himself back under control. "Maybe I need to put the both of ye in the boot, see how well ye fit," he growled, "And how comfortable will it be with broken fingers, do you think? Eh?"
Paddy carefully put his hands under his legs, and stared carefully and determinedly out of the window. But Granddad hadn't done anything to show him he was wrong. Maybe, if he was right, he might just be able to get Ste out alive.
But what about what Granddad had said about showing him how people treat queers? That did not sound good.
It started to rain as Padraig watched countryside pass by.
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Brendan had driven everywhere Steven could have reached on foot, swearing loudly most of the way. As he lost hope, he lost his temper, and somehow he managed to put the passenger seat headrest through one of the windows without having a single memory of actually throwing it.
He got out of the car, and sat on the curb beside it, breathing deeply. He let his head fall into his hands, knowing he couldn't let himself fall into the despair that was surrounding him, or he might never be able to climb out again.
He wished he'd killed the old bastard when he had the chance. Prison would have been worth if he could have stopped this.
He decided to check the possibility Steven had been mistaken. It was a hope, and though he was worried sick about Steven, the idea of Paddy sat happily somewhere (or even miserably in a French test) would provide some small comfort. He rang Eileen, as casually as he could manage, and asked if both boys were at school as normal. She'd replied with an enormous sigh, "Yes, of course, Brendan. Do you think I wouldn't tell ye if they were off sick with you coming over?"
"Course," he replied, with a forced laugh that sounded manic to his own ears.
"Are you alright Brendan?" she asked.
"Yeah, course… Bye."
He hung up with no further explanation. And rang the school. Then he hung up on the receptionist and drove there.
He marched to the receptionist.
"I need to see Padraig and Declan Brady, right now. I'm their father and it's a family emergency."
The lady looked alarmed, and typed something into the computer. "Er, Declan is in S14, in biology, and Padraig…"
She stopped.
"Something wrong?" Brendan asked, his voice terrifying.
"Er… It seems Padraig's down as an unauthorised absence today. Is it possible he's with his Mam?"
But Brendan was already out of the door. He could hear the receptionist shouting "Mr Brady? Mr Brady? Do you not want me to find Declan?"
When he got off school properly, he kicked the nearby bins over, scattering rubbish about the roads, making passing motorists sound their horns angrily at him. He screamed at them as they drove past, then stormed his way back to his own car, destroying anything in his way. He sat back down in the driver's seat and stared at Steven's mobile. His father had got rid of the phone Brendan knew the number of, he had found that out the first time he'd looked for him, before his life became something he wouldn't risk for all the money in the world. He hadn't tried much since Steven took him back, for that very reason. He couldn't risk jail, not with everyone he loved to think about.
But it had been a bad call. He should have done whatever it took to rid the world of the old bastard.
He called Paddy's number and put the phone to his ear. It rang out and rang out. When it got to voicemail, he hung up and rang his own number, as presumably Steven had that, but that rang out too.
Time to try less savoury means, then. He had plenty of contacts still in Belfast. Someone had to know something, what identity his Granddad might be using, which could help him find any car or house the old man had rented.
He would find them all, and the old man would die.
And then he'd get Steven a better phone. This one was a piece of crap.
