Ste
"Repeat after me: I will not have sex in your office again."
Ste fidgets in his seat. Perhaps if he focuses on a spot on the wall for long enough, then he'll be able to block Tony's words out, and the way that they're making him blush all over at the memory of what he's just done.
"Tony, we didn't even...I mean we didn't even go the whole way -"
"Steven!" Brendan's raising his eyebrows at him, sitting stiffly in his chair. The whole thing smacks of humiliation for him. He'd tried to make his escape when Tony had come into the office, but he'd cornered the both of them, and Ste's affection for the man had won out.
"Regardless of what you did, it's not appropriate. Not in here." Despite his professional stance, he looks like he wants this whole discussion to be over. He's focused on Ste the entire time; perhaps he thinks it's safer, the less likely of the two to cause embarrassment.
"I'm already in enough trouble as it is, allowing you two to be here alone together. I've got my boss and the press breathing down my back about Simon Walker, and then I come in here and find you two -"
"We were just kissing." Ste's protest sounds feeble; he knows what his hair must look like, Brendan's hands raking through it. Knows that his tracksuit top was pushed up over his stomach, knows the way Brendan had been looking at him, making his intentions clear. There's no mistaking what Tony saw. Brendan's not trying to make excuses, not trying to get out of anything. He's waiting for this to be over; twitching in his seat, long fingers flexing, drumming against the arm of the chair.
"Repeat after me -"
"I will not have sex in your office again." They say it together, voices monotone, Ste deciding it's better not to point out to Tony that it's impossible that they'll have another chance like this again. He doesn't know when he'll next be able to touch Brendan, when they'll have more than hands brushing across the table, legs pressed against each other, a hug at an end of a visit. His skin feels hot all over, desperate to retain the memory of what's just happened, terrified that he might forget.
"Can we go now?" Brendan asks, patience waning. It's evident that he's had countless practice at this, whether in prison or back when he was a kid, called to the headmaster's office.
He's doing this for me, Ste thinks. He's stayed here, put himself through this conversation, for me.
"You can. I want to talk to Ste."
Brendan looks between them, frowning.
"Steven? Why?"
"He started a fight. He needs to know that's not acceptable."
"He knows. Can you spare him the lecture so he can get out of here?"
"Bren. It's okay. I understand."
"No. He didn't touch the lad, did he? No punches or bruises?" Brendan demands.
"Well no, but -"
Brendan cuts over Tony, voice as sharp as ice. "Then there's no problem. And if you need to talk to Steven, about anything, then I'll wait here."
Ste expects Tony to back down, but he surprises him.
"Brendan, if you don't leave then I'll have to call someone. I want to speak to Ste alone."
Brendan stares at Ste, eyes swimming with doubt. Ste nods at him encouragingly, trying to smile, and it appears to be enough; Brendan moves from his seat, his hand reaching to rest on the back of Ste's chair. He can feel the warmth of Brendan's skin through it.
"Can I say goodbye?"
"Of course. I'm not leaving though." Tony wrinkles his nose, looks over towards the wall, seems to be recalling exactly what happened the last time he left.
They move towards the door instead, try to get as much privacy as possible.
"You like this guy? Really?" Brendan jabs a finger in Tony's direction.
"He's done a lot for me. He cares about me." Ste strokes his arm, can feel Brendan calming down from it.
"I know. You do have awful taste though. Douglas, Tony..."
"True. I mean I chose you, didn't I?" Ste grins. He's sure that if they were alone Brendan would kiss his smile.
"Watch it." His expression loses its playfulness. "We're okay now, yeah?"
"You promised me nothing happened with Kevin, so..."
"And you believe me, don't you?" Brendan's hand goes to his face, his thumb smoothing across his cheek. "You know I'd never -"
"I know."
"Good. Let me sort that little bitch out."
"Don't do anything stupid, right." He's not going to pretend that he didn't want Kevin hurt before. The only thing that stopped him from doing any damage was being pulled away. But it doesn't matter about him; hurting Kevin could have been his ticket back into here, and he could live with that. But Brendan -
Brendan matters.
"Please, Steven. Let me. I'd enjoy it."
Ste elbows him. "You better be joking."
"'Course." He's not. They both know he's not. "I'm sorry about your interview."
"Where did that come from?"
"Since you told me, I've just been..."
"Forget about it," Ste says. "I wouldn't have got it anyway, would I? I think I always knew that, I just...I was kidding myself."
"You will get something, Steven." He says it with all the conviction that Ste needs. It's impossible not to believe it when Brendan's so certain. It's the moments away from him when he begins to lose all hope.
"I'm sorry too. About your Cheryl. Bet she thinks I'm a right idiot, doesn't she?"
"She loves you."
"Loves?" Ste smiles. "She only just met me."
"Apparently you're gorgeous. Can't say I noticed myself, but."
"Oi. She really said that?"
"Charming too."
"Give over." He feels like he's preening under the praise. "She just saw me nearly killing someone. She must think I'm a psycho now."
"A gorgeous and charming psycho."
"That'll do I suppose." He's sure he can see something like pride in Brendan's eyes. "I am coming next week, aren't I? I mean, if Tony lets me."
"Why wouldn't Tony let you?" Brendan glances over to him and frowns, looks like the thought never occurred to him.
"After what I did -"
"You didn't do anything. You stopped yourself."
"Yeah, only because they dragged me off Kevin. If they hadn't, then..." He doesn't know what he might have done.
"You're coming next week." Brendan puts his hands on Ste's shoulders, thumbs rubbing over them. "Got it?"
Ste smiles. "Got it."
"Good lad. Now come here." He leans forwards, eyes drifting to Ste's mouth.
"What about Tony?"
"You want me to stop, tell me to stop." He's inches away from him, his lips slightly parted. His beard looks soft; Ste reaches out a hand and strokes it.
He kisses him. He can feel Brendan's hand at the back of his neck, the other at his hip. Ste shuffles closer, molds himself so they're pressed against each other. They're backing agains the door, and he doesn't know if it's Brendan pulling them or Ste pushing him, but he feels the moan transfer between them when Brendan's back hits against it solidly.
"I don't want you to go. I don't want to go." Ste's fingers are at the collar of Brendan's shirt. He flattens his knuckles, lies them against Brendan's skin, can feel the hairs on his chest underneath.
"One week, Steven. That's all it is. One week." His heart's racing though; Ste can feel it against his chest.
Tony clears his throat. Brendan shoots him a look.
"Bren -" I can't do this. Don't leave me.
Brendan kisses his forehead. It seems to last for ever.
And then he's gone.
::::::
Brendan
He waits till the boy's alone. No one stops him from going into the cell. Kevin doesn't surround himself by an army of people. He has no protection, and when Brendan closes the door behind them, there's no one to save him.
Kevin's eyes are like saucers. He tries to make his escape before Brendan manages a step towards him, but he's not quick enough. Brendan's blocking the exit, and the kid's a feeble fighter. He falls like he's weightless when Brendan pushes him onto the floor, trying a new tactic, crawling as far away from Brendan as possible, making himself small in the corner of the cell.
Brendan walks towards him slowly, the sound of his footsteps loud in the silence. He can smell fear.
Kevin covers his face, hands placed over it, peeking out with one eye. In ordinary circumstances Brendan would laugh; there's something so pathetic about the boy that's beyond pity. But the last remnants of anger inside him aren't dying out. They're stronger now that he's with the boy. He imagines the things he said to Steven. The lies he told.
"If you're going to do it, then do it." Kevin's raising his voice, edge of defiance to his tone, but he's shaking violently.
"Do what?" Brendan stands before him, head cocked to the side, looking the kid up and down.
"Hurt me. Kill me. Whatever you're going to do."
Brendan laughs. "I'm not going to kill you, Kevin. What kind of monster do you think I am?" He tuts. "I'm hurt, truly."
"Stop it. Just stop it." The boy looks spooked.
"Don't know what you mean." Brendan takes a piece of gum from his pocket, chews it loudly, watches as Kevin's fear grows more acute.
"I didn't touch your boyfriend, okay? It was all him. He was the one who went crazy."
"Crazy? That's what you call it, is it?"
"Yeah. He's a fucking psycho."
Brendan's laughter is a hum in his throat. He circles Kevin, walking up and down, watching as the boy follows his movements. He doesn't blink.
"That's...funny."
Kevin isn't prepared when Brendan lifts him up by the material of his jumper. He shouts but it's momentary; Brendan puts a hand over his mouth, his cries muffled, his feet off the floor. He's as tiny as Steven; Brendan remembers carrying the boy to bed and feeling like he had nothing in his arms.
"Listen closely." Brendan whispers in his ear, his hold on Kevin growing more rigid as he struggles and squirms, trying to bite down on Brendan's hand without effect. "You're lucky - lucky that I'm not going to hurt you. Steven wouldn't like it, see. But if it wasn't for that -" His grip around Kevin tightens. There are tears in the boy's eyes. "You and me both know how this would go, don't we?" He makes Kevin nod, a hand under his chin. "Yeah. So you shut that trap of yours, and they'll be no more of this. You ever try to come near me and Steven again, and I'll get make sure I get someone else to deal with you. Understand?"
He waits till he hears Kevin say it. Yes. Yes, I understand. The boy's gasping, lets out a strangled sob when Brendan drops him on the floor. Brendan walks over to the sink, runs the water, washes his hands under it, listening as Kevin's cries become lower and lower, as the boy struggles to control his breathing. Brendan can see the faint outline of a mark on his skin from where he'd gripped him. They'll be a bruise there tomorrow.
"Bye bye now."
::::::
Ste
Amy's just finished getting the kids out of the bath when he comes home. He needs a second, wants to be left alone for a moment. The bus ride home wasn't enough for him to process what's happened, and neither was the walk back to the flat. But Amy hears the door close, and she's come to see him before he can go to his room.
She stares at him expectantly, and he can see the caution in her eyes. She doesn't think he got the job, and he can't begrudge her for it.
He doesn't say anything. He puts on the kettle, makes a mess of everything; tries to search for the milk when he's already got it out, ends up putting two tea bags in one mug, spills half the water onto the surface of the counter.
"Ste!" Amy grabs some tissues, letting them soak the water up. "What's up with you?"
"Sorry." He tries to help, but he feels disorientated. He leans his back against the cupboards, trying to steady himself.
"Did you not get the job? Is that it?" Amy has her back to him, facing away, and he's sure it's to spare him from the humiliation of admitting his defeat. "Because it's okay if you didn't, you know. They'll be other things."
"Tony's given me a job." He can hear the shock in his own voice, the amazement there.
"Tony? The governor at -"
"Yeah."
"I don't understand, What happened at your interview today?"
"I didn't get it." He's dismissive, had wanted to avoid this conversation, the lies spiralling from his mouth. "They asked about my past, and... but Tony..."
"Did you see him? Did you go back to prison? I don't understand," she repeats, and he can see her looking at him for answers. He'd planned a cover story on his journey back home, but now it seems lodged in his throat, his mind churning. He has a job.
"I got a call from him on my way back from the interview. I thought I was in trouble for something. I thought -"
He thought for a second that Tony was telling him he had to go back inside. When he'd made sure that his office door was shut behind them, taking a seat behind his desk and looking at Ste carefully, he thought that had been it, that what he'd done to Kevin - nearly done - had cost him everything. He'd felt terror, and then the unmistakable sense of relief. It was over. He'd be with Brendan again. He'd got what he wanted.
"His brother's got a restaurant near here. Tony thinks I could work there, that they could train me up."
You're more talented than half of the guys I used to work with, Ste. He'd flushed under the praise, not knowing where to look, what to say. He'd resisted the urge to make a joke, to brush Tony's comments off. The entire thing had felt surreal, ridiculous. He'd been sure it had been a cruel prank, that perhaps instead of sending him back to prison he was being humiliated instead.
Amy holds the kettle in midair, mouth agape.
"They want you to be a chef?"
He nods, the words reverberating back to him, the realness of it.
"I still have to have an interview, but Tony told me that Dom - that's his brother - knows all about me. He's told him about where we met, about my...you know, my past, and he doesn't care."
"Of course he doesn't. Tony knows you, doesn't he. He knows you're not some kind of criminal."
"Technically I am."
"You know what I mean," Amy says, and he loves this girl, this girl who never gives up on him. "You made a mistake, but you learnt from it, didn't you? You'd never go back inside."
He shakes his head, and he hopes she'll never know. He hopes she'll never see how close he's been to turning his back on her, on Leah and Lucas. He'll spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to them.
"How about we celebrate? I could go to the shops, get us some nice food in, make a proper thing of it. The kids would love it."
"That sounds brilliant." He kisses her, and something about it, about all of this, feels right in a way it hasn't since he returned home. "I've just got to make a quick phone call. Then I'm all yours."
::::::
There's something he's got to do. Something he's been meaning to do for a long time now, but courage has always evaded him when he's needed it the most. He's no good at ultimatums. Whichever way he looks at it, he always feels like he's about to lose.
Doug picks up after a few rings, and they make small talk, avoiding what's about to happen, what Ste needs to say. Doug brings it up before he does, asking if he's okay after the visit, telling him that if there's anything he needs then he's here.
"There is something I need, actually." His fingernails are scraping along the skin of his arm. He can't sit still; his room's small, but he paces every inch of it, feeling like a rat in a cage, like he's suffocating.
"Anything."
"I need you to back off."
There's a moment of silence, and then he hears the faint sound of laughter. It sounds like disbelief.
"What?"
He can't back down now. This has to be it.
"I spoke to Brendan, and he told me that nothing happened with Kevin."
"Ste, I saw it with my own eyes."
"What did you see exactly?" He tries to keep his tone measured, to not let his anger boil over. It feels like he could erupt, and it's something he can't afford to do. Amy's right: he learns from his mistakes. He has to, otherwise his entire life's been for nothing.
"I saw them together."
"Kissing?"
There's a pause, then a stutter. "No."
"Touching? Come on Doug, were they touching?"
"Well no, but -"
"Then what were they doing?" He demands. His skin's turned red from where his fingernails have left their mark.
"They were talking, but -"
"Talking. That's all?" He knows it's not as simple as that, that earlier the thought of Kevin and Brendan even being in the same room as each other had sent him reeling. He'd thought about the things that Kevin had said to him, how he'd looked down his nose at him. How close he and Brendan had been to sleeping with each other while Ste was apart from him.
He means nothing. Kevin means nothing. Ste takes a swig of water from the glass beside his bed, and when he feels strong enough he opens his eyes again. The room's no longer spinning, and the image of Kevin has vanished from his mind, disappearing like a coil of smoke.
He's nothing.
"That's all I saw, but Ste - this is what Brendan does. This is who he is. I saw what he did to Vinnie, the way he hurt him."
"He's never hit me." He doesn't tell Doug about the other times, the times when Brendan had pushed him hard enough to leave a bruise.
"Not yet, but what about in the future? What if he does get released? He's not going to be controlled by the officers anymore."
"You're talking like he's some kind of monster." He stops, listens, waits to see whether Amy's heard him, whether she's walking down the hallway. He feels like he's shouting, but there's only silence in the flat, no sound of footsteps coming towards him.
In the silence, he can hear what Doug's thinking: if the shoe fits.
"You're one of the best mates I've ever had. When Brendan finished things with me, you were there for me, all the way. I care about you Doug, I do."
"I do too. That's why I'm saying all this -"
"But I'm going to have to cut you out if you continue."
Ste hears a sharp intake of breath. He waits for the dial tone, for Doug to put the phone down on him, to finish this.
"Cut me out?"
"I love Brendan, right. He means everything to me, and if I have to choose, then it's going to be him every time. I'm sorry, but you knew that from the start. Those three months I spent with him - I finally, finally began to work things out. I began to work my life out, and nothing's changed just because he's in there and I'm out here. You could take me to all the gay clubs you want, and you could set me up with all the men you like, but there's never going to be anyone else for me. This is it. I don't want Walker, or John Paul McQueen. I don't want anyone but him."
His hands are trembling. His mouth's dry, and he gulps down the water that's left in the glass. His head's pounding: he could lose one of the only friends he has. Where Doug goes, Ethan will follow, Lynsey too.
"She still doesn't know, does she?" Doug speaks after what feels like a long time of waiting, and Ste frowns, mind racing, trying to make sense of it.
"What? Who?" He wonders if Doug's even heard what he's just said about Brendan. Did he even say it? Was it all part of his imagination?
"Amy. You haven't told her about you and Brendan."
"What does that have to do with anything?" He thinks he knows what he's getting at, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like the hint of righteousness there; feels like he's trying to wriggle out of something, some spotlight that Doug's cast on him, drawing attention to his flaws, to the fact that he's a liar.
"Why doesn't she know? If you think that Brendan's done nothing wrong, that he's right for you, then why haven't you told her?"
Ste could hit him. If they were still sharing a cell, he would.
"That's different. That's completely different."
"Is it?"
He's not sure it is, but it has to be. It has to be, otherwise there's no justifiable reason why he's been keeping it from her.
"Amy wouldn't understand."
"For a reason, Ste."
"No." He's shaking his head adamantly, even though Doug can't see. The words are on the tip of his tongue, the argument waiting to spill from his lips, all the possible reasons why Amy wouldn't see, wouldn't be able to look beyond Brendan's crime without knowing the full truth.
"Brendan's fine with this too, is he? You not telling her?"
It's too far. Ste can't take it, can't listen to Doug pretending to care about Brendan when this is all to strengthen his own argument, all to get what he wants.
"I'm telling her tonight, actually." He's said it before he can take it back, and the shock of it reaches them both. Doug doesn't say anything, and Ste knows that it's out there now. Now that he's said it, it has to be done. Not for Doug, not for him, not for Amy. For Brendan. Brendan deserves this. Brendan deserves to exist, to be something real.
"I'm telling her," he repeats, and he knows he will. He knows, and he's terrified.
::::::
He considers telling her over dinner, but he doesn't want to do it with the kids there. He thinks about the arguments that Leah witnessed when she was younger. Amy had often put her in her room, but the walls were thin. She must have heard her mum crying, must have heard the sound of their fighting, of Ste raining blows on her. The memory of it is burned into his mind, etched onto his skin. When he looks at his hands, it's still impossible to forget what he used them for.
If Amy's going to scream at him, tell him to get out of the house, then he doesn't want the kids to be there to witness it.
He's quiet. Perhaps he could get away with it if it wasn't unusual for him, but less than fifteen minutes into dinner, Amy notices. He knows it's a stark contrast to how he was earlier in the day, when something had finally shifted, when all he could concentrate on had been seeing Brendan and getting a job. He uses another excuse: he's shocked, he tells her, can't process that he's been given a chance. Amy smiles at him, pours him some more of the cheap champagne she got down the shops, but she's not someone who can be fooled, not when it comes to him. He sees the glances she gives him while they're eating, knows that she's wondering what's happened, what's wrong, what she can do to make it better.
When Leah and Lucas are down for the night and he joins Amy on the sofa, she doesn't seem surprised when he tells her that they need to talk.
"Sounds serious." She switches off the television, giving him her full attention, and he stutters and mumbles and fidgets under her watchful eye.
"Ste." She puts a hand over his, and he knows she's trying to do it to calm him. It works, but only temporarily; the hardest part isn't over, hasn't even begun.
"You're going to hate me." It's easier to get it over with. If he expects it, then it won't hurt as much when it happens.
"What are you going on about?" He's beginning to scare her, he can tell, but there's still a hint of amusement in her eyes. She thinks he's exaggerating. She almost looks like she's expecting him be fucking with her, to reveal that this is all a game.
"I love you. You know that, don't you? That I would do anything for you."
She's panicking now, her face growing pale. "God, you haven't - you haven't started shoplifting again, have you? I told you, you don't need to do that. We've got enough -"
"No." He wishes she wouldn't say anything, wouldn't make this harder. He's doubting whether he'll be able to finish this now. He'd planned it carefully in his head, had imagined what he wanted to say, how she'd react. There had been two versions: one where she'd thrown him out of the flat, told him to never contact them again, that she would make sure he'd never see the kids. Then the other version: she'd tell him she understood. He imagined a distant future where Amy and Brendan would meet, properly meet, and she wouldn't be afraid of him anymore.
"I haven't, I promise."
She frowns. "Then what?"
"I've met someone."
Her frown deepens. "You mean -"
"A man. I've met a man." It feels as though Brendan's in the room with them. It drives Ste forward, keeps him sitting where he is, stops him from running.
"That's brilliant. Was it when you went out with Doug?"
"No." He struggles not to scoff at the idea, the image of John Paul staring smugly at him, so sure that Ste was still exactly like he'd been when they'd first met. So certain that he was still better than him, that he always would be. "It's been going on for a while." Years, he wants to say. My whole life. It's impossible that it's only been three months, that there was a time when Brendan Brady wasn't even a name that he knew, was merely an idea, half formed in the back of his mind, something that he thought of when he was alone. When he felt alone.
He doesn't have to tell Amy to let him finish. She's not saying anything now, is staring at him like she's expecting answers, doesn't seem to know whether to be pleased for him. He tries to retain her smile to memory, her joy. He doesn't know if he'll see it again.
"His name's Brendan. Brendan Brady." Even saying his name makes Ste feel closer to him. He'd be smiling, Ste thinks. Brendan would be smiling at him, if he was here. He'd be proud. He'd know he's doing this for him.
"Why do I know that name?" Amy's not touching him anymore, not trying to calm him. She looks like she did right before he used to hit her. Ste flinches at the thought. "Ste, why do I know that name?"
"Because he was in the news." He'd never seen him, never been aware of his existence before prison. He's glad for that; he doesn't want the image of Brendan being dragged away from court in handcuffs, of his frightened face filling the screen, silently asking for help.
"What for?" She's scared, but her voice is strong. She'll argue to the death, this girl. She knows, Ste thinks. She knows what I'm about to tell her. She's smart, she's piecing it together. The phone calls. Bernard. His behaviour since he was released. The man with the tattoos in the visiting room, and how he hadn't taken his eyes off Ste.
He can't lie anymore. There's no one left to believe him.
"For killing his dad."
::::::
They're sitting in the dark. Neither of them have moved from the sofa, and Ste's grown used to the blackness. He remembers finding it difficult to adjust to the constant fluorescent lights when he'd left prison, the way they'd made his eyes water, as though determined not to grow used to them. His body wanted to go back there, in the darkness. Every part of him did.
He's crying, tears rolling silently down his face. He's not gasping, not trying to wipe the tears away. His t-shirt's damp at the top. He stares at the wall, doesn't want to look at the girl across from him. He's waiting for her to hit him, and he longs for it. He longs for the violence of it, for this to start going the way he thinks it will. He doesn't want this to be prolonged. If Amy's going to remove him from her life, then he needs it to start now. He can't allow himself to carry on hoping.
"You're in love with a murderer." It's the first thing she says. It's what he'd been fearing; it sounds sensationalist, something that he'd see splashed across a newspaper or magazine.
She's right - he knows she's right - but he whispers it, whispers "No," and watches Amy turn to face him, looking at him for the first time since he told her what Brendan did.
"You just told me, Ste. You just told me that you're with someone who's killed their own dad."
He closes his eyes, brings his hand up to them, takes a heaving breath.
"You don't understand." He feels like he could cry for ever, but it's not for him. He wants to cry for Brendan, wants to tell everyone what he's been through, wants to tell them about the eight year old boy that he was, ask them what they'd do if it was them, if they'd lived his life.
"What don't I understand? Tell me." Her shock's subsided. It's given way to anger, and he can feel it rippling off her in waves. When Ste says nothing, it grows fiercer. "Have you slept with him, Steven?"
He nods. The only thing he needs to hide now is what Seamus did. Anything else goes.
"Fuck. How could you?"
"I love him." He sniffs, clears his throat, says it again more firmly. "I love him. I wanted to."
"Was it before or after you found out what he did?"
"After. I knew from the start."
He can't see her expression in the dark, but she's quiet. He'd rather know what's going on in her mind. Whatever she's thinking about him or Brendan, he'd rather hear it then be left to his imagination.
"Bernard." She says it softly, looking at him.
"Ames -"
"The phone calls. All the times that I picked up and no one was there. That was him, wasn't it? Bernard's Brendan."
"Yeah," he admits, ashamed, feeling guilt coursing through him when she laughs, calls herself stupid for not realising sooner. "You're not stupid. You're not."
"Why are you crying?" She can hear him even if she can't see his tears; he's crying openly now. The only reason he's not crying harder is the possibility of the kids coming out of their rooms, seeing him.
"I don't want to lose you." As Ste says it, he feels the full weight of it bearing down on him, what he has at stake. The scariest thing of all is that it still feels worth it, all of this. What's wrong with him? What kind of creature is he?
"How did you think this was going to go? Did you think I'd be okay with the idea of it, with the father of my children going out with a killer?"
"He's not a -"
"Don't try and say he isn't, Ste, because he is. Or is he a cuddly killer, is that what you're trying to say? One of those nice ones, that wouldn't say boo to a goose?"
"Stop." She's mocking him, mocking them, him and Brendan, and she's not entirely wrong: he can hear himself, hear the excuses that he's trying to make. Without the whole truth, without telling her what was done to Brendan, his argument is crumbling.
"I don't even..." Amy sighs, stands up, sits down again, pulls her knees to her chest, plays with a loose thread on her jumper. "I don't get any of this. What's your plan? If he's killed someone then he must have got a long sentence."
"Life. He got life." His voice twists around the words. They sound fragmented, distorted.
Amy releases a shallow breath. He sees her standing, making her way over to put the light on, and he wants to tell her to stop. He doesn't want to see the blame there, the judgement that'll appear.
Ste blinks, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. When Amy faces him, she flinches.
"You look awful."
He wipes his eyes and nose with his sleeve, feels like he's scrubbing at himself, trying to get clean. Fear spikes through him; he looks round at the flat, and he knows it's not much, nothing impressive, nothing like what Cheryl has, or Doug and Lynsey, or the people he went to school with. But it's his. It's all his, and he can feel it slipping through his fingers, this delicate little life.
"Please." Don't make me choose. Don't make me do this. "He's not - he's not what everyone thinks he is."
"He looked terrifying, Ste. All those times I saw him, and never even knew...the way he was looking at you. The way he was looking at us."
"He's not used to..."
"What?"
"People." Ste trails off, voice growing weaker, knowing that he's making it worse, but unable to stop. "He's spent his whole life running from them, trying not to...you know...get close."
"Until you?"
"Yeah. Until me."
Amy perches on the edge of the sofa. Ste wonders if she's trying to keep her distance, if she no longer trusts him.
"If you think you deserve this -"
"What?" He feels congested, as though he's been crying for days. When he speaks it sounds feeble. "What are you on about?"
"Because of...what you did. To me."
The mention of it stills him. He feels a pressure behind his eyes, a hammering inside his skull.
"Just because you hurt me, it doesn't mean you deserve to be hurt," Amy continues. She reaches out for him, tries to comfort him, but he shy's away from her touch. He doesn't deserve her sympathy, not over this. And it's in his head now, wondering if she knows, how she knows about the times that Brendan came close to hurting him. He's careful with his words, trying to frame them in his head, not say anything rash. He doesn't want to give anything away, doesn't want to give her more cause for concern.
"I don't think that."
"Don't you? You deserve something good, Ste. Something hopeful."
"Brendan gives me hope." He says it with all the conviction he has.
"Why? What is it about him?"
"He's like me, Ames. He's like me. I've finally...when I'm with him, I'm not alone anymore."
He's hurt her. He can see it; she frowns and looks away from him, wounded.
"I'm not saying that you and the kids -"
"Forget about it."
"I love you. You know that," Ste says, and he wills her to see it, to know that it's not about who's first or who's second, who's the highest in his list of priorities.
"You're choosing him though, aren't you? You're choosing a man who killed his own father. If you think I'd ever let a man like that be around Leah and Lucas - Still, it's not something I have to worry about, is it?" It's her turn to hurt him. "It's not like he's ever getting out."
Ste looks away, tries to let the poison of the remark fade. "He is."
Amy looks at him sharply. "What?"
"He's going to appeal."
"Hundreds of prisoners appeal. It doesn't mean they're going to be freed."
"He will. He's going to get out."
She's looking at him like he's gone crazy; perhaps he has. But he can see it: he can see the day that Brendan's released. Can visualise the way he'll walk out of the gates, taking the same path that Ste did. He can already taste his lips. He can see himself leading Brendan home.
Amy's eyes are on him, questioning.
"It was self defense." It escapes from him before he can stop it. He lets it settle between them, and in his head there's an echo: I can't tell her. I can't. It's not my secret to tell.
"Self defense?" She repeats back to him. He can see her hard edges softening, and it's like the light's coming in. Ste sees for a moment how it could be, how everything could change if she was on their side.
"Brendan's dad...he..." He trips over his words. He wants to see him. He wants to see Brendan, and he wants to hold him, and he wants to tell him how sorry he is. How he'll never stop being sorry. How he'd trade places if he could, a thousand times over.
"He wasn't a good man."
"What did he do?" Amy asks.
He raped him.
I can't tell her.
He was eight years old.
I can't.
It went on for years.
It's not my secret to tell.
"Imagine the worst thing, Amy. Imagine that, and imagine how a person could survive that and not break, and tell me you still hate Brendan."
::::::
Brendan
"I told her."
It's the second thing Steven says after hello. Brendan leans forward across the table, sure that he's misheard.
"What?" He waits for Steven to correct him, to say something else entirely.
"Amy. I told her about you."
Brendan feels like the breath's been knocked out of him. Behind him is the sound of the other men talking to their visitors, but everything around him feels drowned out. Time's stopped. Everything's stopped.
"Bren? Are you okay? Did you hear me?"
He closes his eyes, wants to prolong the moment as much as he can.
"Bren?"
"You told her?" He wonders if Steven can hear the amazement in his voice. The awe there. The awe he has for this boy.
"She's gone a bit mental."
Brendan laughs. Something about Steven's tone tells him that he's not being entirely serious. That Amy's not threatening law courts, not packing a suitcase for him right now. Something tells him that, miraculously, things are okay.
"She made like twenty cups of tea. She keeps on calling me Steven."
"So she should. Ste's not a name."
"Shut up." There's warmth in Steven's voice. He's smiling. "It's going to be fine, you know."
"How?" It's not possible. He doesn't see how it can be, how the world hasn't ended.
"Trust me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm telling you the truth."
"No, I mean - why? Why did you tell her?" It had seemed like a distant dream, something that only resided in Brendan's fantasies. He wasn't someone who anyone would want to claim as their own.
"Because I love you. You're my life."
Brendan can only look at him. There's nothing he can say, nothing that can explain what he's feeling.
Except -
There is something. One thing.
"I'm going to tell Desmond."
Steven blinks. He's beautiful, dressed in his new tracksuit, hair free of product, skin honey coloured.
"What?" His lips are parted, his shock evident.
"I'm going to tell him about Seamus. About everything. I'm going to get out of here."
Steven waits until an officer has passed their table, voice lowered to a whisper.
"This is a big deal. You don't have to rush things for me."
"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for us. I'm going to tell him the truth. Right now. Well, not right now."
They seem to smile at the same time. Brendan dips his head forward, motions for Steven to do the same, and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.