'You're gay?'

Words he hated from an accent he'd dreaded.

'Chez?'

'Don't.' She had tears of disappointment forming in her eyes. 'I heard it.'

'It's not what you think.'

'I saw him!' she yelled.

'That doesn't make me gay!' Brendan screamed back, desperation was making him crazy. 'You have to believe me, Chez. I wouldn't lie to you!'

'Who was he then?'

'He's Anne's lover!' he bellowed, using the childish theory that he who shouts loudest is most correct. Cheryl started at the volume.

'Sorry,' he muttered. 'I…. You were right. You saw what I couldn't … what I didn't want to.' The lies were coming thick and fast now, but lying to Cheryl had always been so easy. She was so desperate to see the good in Brendan that she swallowed it all up like birthday cake. It's easy to lie when you know someone's going to buy it.

'Oh babe.' She wasn't doubting him anymore. She pulled his head against her breasts and cradled him like a baby. It was suffocating and perfumed with the scent of cheap roses. It was a lie. She'd still be screaming if she knew the truth. She would probably have thrown him out, or thrown a bible at him like his mother had. The lie was easier.

'I knew she was trouble,' Cheryl whispered, letting him go so she could cup his face. 'And how dare she turn up here with him? How dare she! What was the point? To rub your nose in it?'

That might have flummoxed a less experienced liar, but Brendan was prepared:

'The baby,' he sighed. 'She was just confirming what we already knew … it's his.'

'She's pregnant! That slut. That cheap tart!'

She hugged him again and he let her whisper insults about Anne. He knew that if his best friend had heard, she'd have slapped him so hard he might have lost his moustache. And he'd have deserved it.

Then Cheryl released him and said something that stuck with him for the rest of the evening.

'I saw the man she was with. A wee scrawny thing. Not half the man you are, Bren.'

And there was the irony, because anyone with eyes could see that Steven was twice the man he was.

The remainder of his time at Cheryl's was difficult. He drank champagne, sang happy birthday, drank champagne, watched Cheryl opened her presents, drank champagne, spoke semi-politely to Cheryl's bitchy mother-in-law, drank champagne, flirted awkwardly with Cheryl's bargain-bin single mates and … drank champagne.

It wasn't long until the room was spinning, and his mouth was dry, and it suddenly became supremely important to impart words of infinite wisdom on everyone around him; particularly Nate and Cheryl.

'Look after each other … be honest … allow yourself to love … be loved … it's precious what you have here … it's a once in a lifetime what you have … you have to hold on … hold on to it … fight for it … never let' - he hiccoughed - 'never let it go.'

Brendan wasn't sure how much time passed between his philosophical brilliance and Nate helping him up the stairs to his bedroom. He was only just aware of Cheryl tucking him in like he was three years old; stroking his forehead gently. He couldn't understand why she was still being nice to him. He'd ruined her birthday and she was forgiving him because she thought his girlfriend had left him.

For a moment, he wondered if this was what it was like to be normal, to have relationships and relationship problems, to have a sister who helped you through the gut-wrenching pain of a broken heart. But Brendan Brady wasn't normal, and despite receiving his final hug goodbye from Cheryl along with her final bit of friendly advice ('Don't you worry about that Mitzeee, she'll get what's coming to her') and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Nate, he was still heading back to an underworld of crime that he'd created for himself.

Once again, he would become the cold-hearted, ruthless, emotionless Brendan Brady. He might even give Macca a call. He could pretend all was forgiven and would have someone to entertain him in his downtime again. Or perhaps there would be another Blue Zone boy who took his fancy.

Anne had organised her "business" to be taken over by her ditzy sister, so maybe there would be a friend for him in the new Miss Miniver; though he doubted it. He'd met Maxine whilst he and Anne were at university together. She'd never quite forgiven him for snubbing her advances in public and he'd never quite forgiven her for being a soppy imbecile with a streak of gullibility and a boring personality. Besides, he didn't want to replace Anne, he just wanted to forget Steven.

Brendan returned to The Estate late, which was by design. It was like coming back from a holiday, he just wanted it to last one more day – just one more – before he plunged headfirst back into The Estate's everlasting chaos. He'd been stupid enough to forget that running The Estate was a 24hour job and instead of returning to a tranquil night which allowed him to sneak up to his bed undetected, he returned to a near riot.

There was a throng of zoners throbbing with a mob-like anger all over the road in front of his house and up on his balcony were dumb and dumber attempting to act as mediators. He hadn't given those incompetent screw-ups permission to go on his balcony, and he certainly hadn't given them permission to address the zoners from up there like some kind of imitation of the flaming pope.

Brendan was too tired and too unstable for this right now. He punched the horn and smirked as the mob jumped in fright. They were already parting as he wound down the window, but that wasn't going to stop him yelling a stream of abuse. The majority looked sheepish, the rest looked angry, but not one looked as terrified as they should. He'd soon change that. He stopped the car abruptly and got out. He could feel himself glaring, he could feel the blood racing to his face. He must have looked insane, he certainly felt it.

'I'll be doing the rounds in five minutes,' he seethed, 'five minutes! And if I catch,' he began to yell, 'one person out of their zone, I will lock you all in the office for a week!'

He leaned into the car and flicked the headlights onto full beam and watched them scatter like frightened rats; all except one Green Zoner who hit the floor and started crawling to safety on his elbows like some kind of inept army cadet. Brendan seriously considered running him over but quickly thought better of it. Instead he focused his anger on Warren and Walker.

He marched into the front door to find them slinking around his sitting room.

'You better have a bloody good explanation,' Brendan levelled at Walker. He felt like his own disapproving high school head teacher and, just like he had, they stayed silent. Unlike him, they were grown men and Brendan expected more.

'Walker, what happened?'

'There was a riot,' he said matter-of-factly. 'Or there would have been if we didn't call a meeting.'

'A meeting!' Brendan scoffed. 'We hold meetings at Central Square. We don't bring an angry mob to my doorstep.'

'Okay. We handled it badly,' Walker admitted, raising his hands in surrender. 'But the riot wasn't our fault.'

'It's never your fault, is it Walker?' he snarled.

'It was the girls,' Walker insisted, turning to Warren for back up. The oaf just nodded. 'They didn't turn up.'

'What?' he sighed, feeling the anger draining away. He was sure Anne wouldn't have let him down, but he couldn't be sure about that useless sister of hers. 'I'll make some phone calls in the morning. Now, get out of my house. I've had a long weekend and now I've got to spend most of tomorrow tidying up your mess.'

Yes, it's a filler but the next chapter should be better (and will be longer). Stick with me.