Brendan ran a hand over his face and sighed deeply. He felt frustrated and trapped, like rutting all morning hadn't given him enough of a release. But he wasn't really frustrated with himself, it was Macca … again! Just like always, Macca was lying there worn out and exhausted and just gazing at Brendan like he was God. And though he quite enjoyed it when people looked at him like he was special, this was different. Brendan wanted more from Macca. He'd felt like this before but not quite this intensely. He'd had the biggest high after sex before, and he wanted that hit again. Macca just wasn't a strong enough drug anymore.

He thought back to Barcelona. He thought about Steven. His own personal heroine and he felt a little sick. Brendan had never wanted anyone like this before. He never thought of anyone except himself, and Anne and occasionally his sister. He'd never felt incomplete before, but he felt incomplete now. Maybe it was time to let Macca go. Maybe it was the change he craved, not the boy.

Macca just sighed next to him. He, at least, seem satisfied, but wasn't he always. Brendan could beat him to a pulp, Macca would always come crawling back with a content smile on his face. And Brendan kept taking him back. He wouldn't be able to say why if someone asked him. Maybe because he felt some kind on responsibility for the fact he'd dragged him into this life.

Macca had never done a crime in his life. He'd never even been given a zone. He'd just been there on the anniversary of Vincent's funeral, when Brendan hadn't known what to think, or how to feel and he'd wanted to feel alive; a warm body next to his. He'd been too drunk to think about booking a hotel room, he'd taken Macca back to The Estate in stupidity but Macca had just never left. And that was how Brendan felt about Macca, even now. He was just the boy who never left.

There was a knock at his door.

'Go and get a shower,' Brendan muttered, practically leaping out of bed and pulling on some baggy tracksuit trousers. He opened the door and Walker was stood there with a disgusted look on his face.

'It stinks in there,' he stated.

'You came into my home just to tell me that?' Brendan asked. It wouldn't surprise him. Walker could be a total headcase at times.

'There's a new recruit,' he said. 'Cheeky little sod, you coming?'

Brendan just nodded and muttered something about needing five minutes. He had to make the right impression for the newbies. He opened up his wardrobe and selected a suit and slid it on carefully. He fixed his hair, smoothed out his moustache. He looked good, he looked important. He lifted his arm and sniffed a little. He didn't smell great but he could shower later.

'Hot,' was Macca's chosen adjective when he appeared from the shower with a towel hanging limply around his waist.

'Get dressed,' Brendan barked at him before heading down the stairs.

He saw him sat on the sofa. He had a large gauze plaster wrapped around his head and he was flicking through the TV with an expression of disgust. And, as always, he was wearing his disgusting blue, maggot-like coat.

'Foxy,' Brendan nodded to him. 'Good to see you back.' He wasn't sure how honest that sentence was so he just looked at Walker.

'Was this some kind of joke?' Brendan asked, jerking his thumb towards Warren.

'No. The new recruit's outside. You told me never to bother you when someone returned to The Estate,' Walker answered and Brendan could feel his face twitch with anger.

'Did I?' he asked calmly.

Walker had twisted something he'd said ages ago, to get away with not telling him about Warren's return. 'How long have you been back, Foxy?' he asked, not taking his eyes off Walker.

'Four days,' Warren answered. 'I've been resting at my own house but,' he turned on the "high-base" speaker, 'this place is nicer.' He finally seemed satisfied by some god-awful film on the movie channel. 'You don't mind, do you Brendan?'

'Why would I mind?' Brendan replied easily, marching towards the door and grabbing Walker's shoulder as he went. 'With me,' he muttered to the smug Englishman. 'There better be someone new outside or I swear to God….'

There was a new recruit at his door, but he wasn't what Brendan would have been hoping for. He was Blue Zone … again. He hadn't had a good Red Zoner, or a Yellow Zoner or even a goddamn Orange Zoner turn up on his doorstep for ages. The Estate's ranks were swelling with near-useless Blue Zoners and this one wasn't even cute.

'Name?' he sighed.

'Rhys.'

'Crimes?'

'Yes.'

Brendan just snapped his head around to Walker. He hoped his expression said:

"Are you serious?".

Walker just shrugged, never one to take responsibility for anything. Brendan pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and took a long, deep breath. It was already the kind of day that he'd rather share exclusively with his good friend Jack Daniels.

'What crimes do you do?' he asked slowly and through the gritted teeth of a forced smile.

'Ah, right,' Rhys chuckled nervously and ran his hand through his dopey hair. 'All kinds. You know, bit of this, bit of that.'

Brendan severely doubted the lad's intelligence.

'Blue Zone,' he said firmly and went back inside to get a shower. He ignored the stilted conversation going on in his sitting room:

'You're back,' from Macca.

'You don't miss a trick, do you kid?' from Warren.

Ste looked at himself in the mirror. There was only one in the house and it was stuck out on the landing. It was almost full length, but it was missing a corner and you had to stand on a bit of a weird tilt to be able to see yourself properly. He knew he looked good. He felt good in his chinos and smart shirt and jacket, but he knew the other lads would mock him when they saw him. They'd start calling him Brendan's lackey again and he knew his body always blushed when the boys said that man's name.

None of the lads knew what had happened in Barcelona on Ste's lost weekend, except Doug. Once they were satisfied that Ste was back in one piece and hadn't had to shove any drugs up his arse for the return journey, they moved on Riley's sudden disappearance. The rumours had started immediately and were building by the day.

"I heard he tried it on with Warren's missus."

"I heard Warren killed him."

"Disappeared. Went into the house, never came back."

"We probably ate him in our casserole that evening."

"Reckon he just left, walked out the front door with some cash and went to a new life."

That was the rumour Ste had chosen to believe, though he couldn't remember if he was also the one who'd made it up.

He turned a bit to see his outfit from a different angle in the mirror. Maybe he should go back and put on the blue adidas tracksuit he'd worn to Barcelona on again. It was still in his bag and it would do until he managed to wash the rest of his tracksuits. That was better than wearing this and torturing himself with the memories of Barcelona.

The roaring of the car engine stopped his internal debate and he just legged it down the stairs onto the pavement with everyone else in Blue Zone.

The car screeched to a halt. The smell of petrol fumes and burning rubber filling the air, getting half the street excited. It was probably a dangerous idea to bring the petrol fumes into the arson-heavy Blue Zone.

By the time Ste had reached the pavement, the back door of the car had opened and a lad had tumbled out awkwardly, and fallen into a heap on the floor. There was a chorus of jeers, but Ste thought the lad was just lucky he hadn't stumbled into Lawrence. That was a mistake he was still paying for.

But this arrival at Blue Zone was very different to Ste's. When Walker had dropped Ste off, he'd just torn off as quickly as he could, but this time he wound down the window and called out to the boy on the floor:

'Don't screw up, lad.'

'I won't,' he shook his head, getting to his feet. His tracksuit was covered in little stones, forgotten ash and rainwater from the floor. He looked a mess. He wouldn't last long.

Then Walker looked straight at Ste. It felt like his cold dead eyes dragged up and down his new outfit. He felt like a fool now and he could feel his cheeks growing hot, but Walker just nodded and said:

'Steven.'

Then he wound the window back up and tore off. Ste gave the boy on the floor a final glance and turned his back like the rest of the street. The new boy would have to find his own path here. That was the Blue Zone way. It looked like kindly Doug might offer him Riley's old room though. It didn't take long for people to be replaced.

'What was that about with Walker?' Joel muttered in his ear.

'Dunno,' Ste shrugged, as they made their way back inside.

'Maybe it's 'cause he looks like a tosser,' Bart suggested, tugging roughly on Ste's blazer.

'Yeah, what are you wearing?' Joel frowned.

'Me proper clothes are dirty, aren't they?' he muttered, embarrassedly.

'Well, I'd get changed if I were you, mate,' Joel said, squeezing his shoulder. 'I would want Lawrence looking at me like that.'

Ste glanced up to the weirdo in question. Lawrence just raised his eyebrows twice and licked his lips. Ste felt sick. He could not have been less attracted to anyone. The man was fat, balding and lacked teeth. He looked dirty and like he probably smelt bad. He was disgusting. He didn't even compare to Brendan … or Rae.

'I'll get changed,' he agreed. But as he made his way inside the house a fat hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

'Nice clothes … little boy.' It all sounded like an insult, but everything did in Lawrence's thick accent. 'You think you are important now because you go on one job to Spain. I'm still in charge here, no.'

'Brendan's in charge,' Ste said firmly, trying to push past the man and get back to House 4.

'But in Blue Zone. I am in charge,' Lawrence insisted. 'I'll show you. Watch yourself little boy. I will show you.'

Ste just shouldered his way past the oaf of a man. He'd become more than a little fed-up with his constant bull now.

'How long do you suppose it will be before young Steven finds the drugs in his bag?' Walker asked. It was an infuriating question, because it forced Brendan to concede that he'd almost forgotten all about the drugs he'd planted on Steven. He'd been a little too busy thinking about Steven.

'Forever,' he answered confidently. 'The boy's not too sharp.'

They were in the sitting room. Walker and Warren were on the sofa and he was in the arm chair, Macca was sat at his feet playing some crappy game on the brand new tablet he'd bought himself while Brendan was away. He did that quite often, stole Brendan's cards and bought himself a gift when he felt Brendan had to make something up to him. He didn't quite steal Brendan's cards as often as Mitzeee, but she never needed to make-up a reason to take his money and Brendan didn't mind so much when it was going to such a good cause like a Louis Viton handbag.

'Still,' Walker continued. 'We should go and pick them up soon. The money would be nice.'

'We don't need the money,' Brendan shrugged, opening up a newspaper and having a quick glance through to see if any of The Estate's crimes had made it into print. 'Why all this sudden interest in Steven anyway?'

'Just noticed him standing there when I dropped Rhys off,' Walker shrugged. 'He was wearing one of the outfits you bought him in Barcelona.'

'You bought him clothes?' Macca demanded. Brendan didn't need to look down to imagine the expression on Macca's face. It would be pouty and hurt, like everything Brendan did was designed specifically to annoy him.

'You can't walk around Barcelona in a tracksuit,' Brendan dismissed his shadow, still looking at Walker. 'Would you prefer it if we went down now?'

'I don't think it would be a bad idea.'

'I could go,' Warren agreed, finally turning off the TV. He'd been watching it all day. 'I hear there's quite a nasty rumour going around that I'm dead. If we go into Blue Zone together, and then across to Green Zone for the party … well,' he grinned widely. He always did when there was a Green Zone party. 'They'd have to alter the rumour.'

'Back from the dead,' Macca commented. 'That's cool.'

Everyone ignored him. They always did.

Bart was attempting to organise a football game in the street, but he didn't seem to have the same enthusiasm for it now that Riley was gone. In fact House 16 had been almost in mourning since Riley had left. Ste didn't really know how to feel about it. He hadn't really been at The Estate that long, so he didn't know Riley as well as the other boys did. But everything did seem different without him. He'd probably been the most optimistic out of all of them, but then he'd always insisted on making them all play football. But it wasn't really that Riley had gone that haunted House 16 and the rest of Blue Zone, it was more that no one knew where or why?

And now, now there was Rhys. He was out in the street too, Ste could see him from the window. He was kicking a ball back and forth with Bart. He was trying to build friendships here, trying to figure The Estate out. Ste wasn't sure it was a place that anyone could ever really figure out.

'You coming Ste?' was all Joel said as he strolled through the living room. He'd probably had the first part of the conversation in another room, he had a habit of doing that.

'Where?'

'Green Zone,' Kevin grinned, placing his hands on Joel's shoulders so they were practically conga-ing their way out of the door. 'They're having a party over there.' He mimed smoking a joint.

'Is that allowed?'

'Dunno,' Joel shrugged, 'but Warren used to turn up when he was alive.'

'You think he's dead?' Ste asked.

'Maybe.' Joel was guessing, they all were. 'So, you coming?'

'Nah,' he shook his head and went back to staring out of the window. 'Not really into all that stuff, me.'

'Never too late to start,' Kevin encouraged, but Ste had seen drugs or the lack of them, pull his step dad into a rage that would result in Ste's bones being broken. Even the smell of the stuff made him feel sick, like his body was preparing for a battering.

He watched Kevin and Joel grab Bart and Rhys before heading in the direction of House 16. This was obviously going to be a big event, maybe he should have gone. He was still relatively new to The Estate, it wouldn't hurt for him to keep building up friendships. He was just on the brink of deciding to go to the party, when the other part of his brain put in a very strong defence for just staying at home; the lads were probably gone now, he didn't really know the way, no one wants someone at the party who's not going to join in, he probably….

The front door slammed shut. Doors didn't have locks on The Estate. There was no point. Everyone knew how to pick a lock, but there were rules about going into houses, unwritten rules that were enforced by the fear of Brendan's ever present stare. Someone was breaking the rules.

'Little booooy,' Lawrence's unmistakable voice sang through the empty halls of the house.

Ste jumped to his feet and looked around the sitting room for a weapon. There was nothing. Not even a lamp or some kind of heavy decoration he could use to defend himself. And then there he was, in the door of the sitting room, stupid smirk across his face. 'Hello little boy … time to play.'

Thanks for reading. I really appreciate it!

xx