Sorry for the wait. I've been having some minor eye issues recently, so looking at a computer screen is really painful/ counter productive, I've abandoned this chapter before I was really able to check it for grammar/ spelling as much as I'd have liked - please forgive me! :)

Here's the next instalment….

Life was everything Mitzeee had ever wanted. She moved into Riley's flat, transforming it from bachelor pad to glamorous love nest. She had impeccable taste.

But she wasn't living off Riley's earnings. She'd earned a small fortune giving interviews to magazines about being the girlfriend of the Premier League's most eligible bachelor. Now her literary magazine presence was expanding as she contributed to the "what the wear" columns.

Riley was everything she'd ever hoped for as well. She already knew how much she cared for him (and enjoyed his body), but now he was a gentlemanly and kind as she'd hoped. It didn't matter that he was a couple of years younger than her, he'd gained untold maturity since moving to London.

The only downside were Riley's parents. They hated Mitzeee and tutted near constant disapproval when they saw her. That didn't bother her though, she'd suffered ten years of Cheryl's snide remarks and, unlike Brendan, Riley always stuck up for her.

'I'm on the cover,' she beamed when Riley brought her morning coffee to her as she lounged in bed.

'Yeah?' he peered at the teaser on the front cover as she showed him. "Mitzeee Miniver talks fashion, fame and "The Life of Riley"." He fixed her with a look of fond disapproval. 'How many of my secrets did you tell this time?'

'Nothing major,' she promised, but she actually couldn't remember what she'd said. When her make-up was done and the lights were on, she couldn't be held accountable for what she said; everything was a performance.

'Mm-hmmm.' He sounded sceptical. 'I'm meeting an old friend after training, so I'll be home a bit later than usual.'

'Okay,' she nodded. She wasn't entirely listening. She was flicking through to her interview, mumbling: 'They better have used the photos I've approved.'

'I'm sure they have. And Mitz.'

'Mmm?' The photos they'd used the approved photos and she looked brilliant. The other West Ham wags would be asking her for tips soon. The straplines agreed: "Glitzeee Mitzeee shows of Flawless Fashion".

'Did you hear that?' Riley asked. She glanced up to find him looking expectantly back. She hadn't a heard a word of it, but that didn't stop her smiling sheepishly and answering with tentative:

'Yes?'

He just smirked and shook his head affectionately.

'Voicemail,' he leant down and kissed her on the forehead. 'There's one on there you should hear.'

'Okay,' she leant a little into the kiss. 'Thanks babe.' Then she returned back to her article, with a half-hearted: 'train well' as he left through the door.

Mitzeee was having a lazy sort of day. She spent most of the morning in bed watching Jeremy Kyle and a little Geordie Shore and the rest of it sitting in the bath-cum-spa in the bathroom. Being a footballer's wife was glorious.

She danced around the house to the radio as she made her lunch. Then came the news headlines to dampen her day.

Rhianna's done … something.

Man in South Wales arrested for … some reason.

And the day's main headline:

Brady's trial is brought forward.

The smug radio reporter told that a new statement had meant both sides agreed they needed less time to prepare for trial. It was now due to start in two days and the expectation was that it would be over quickly.

Mitzeee was struck by how overpublicized this case had become. You could barely turn on the radio, TV or pop on the internet without seeing something about the "Murderer Brady". There were even Facebook pages set up called RIP Cian O'Shaughnessy and Manfred MacIntyre, which in fairness was a dreadful name and explained why Brendan had called him by his surname, when he was so insistent on calling her "Anne".

Walker was behind all this exposure. She was sure of it. He'd made certain the whole world had seen Brendan. He wanted to create an audience and set them up to watch him fail.

::

'Mitz!' alerted her to Riley's return. She'd just finished the first coat of paint on her nails.

'In the kitchen,' she called back.

'Oh, good. I've got someone who wants see you.'

'Your friend from….' Her brilliant deductions were cut short as she span to see Riley's "old friend". Her assumption that Riley had some mate who wanted to check Mitzeee out in person, her idea that Riley had spoken so highly of her that all his friends wanted to meet her, all died weakly on her tongue. 'You're in the states!' she accused of the man ahead of her.

It was the yank, the vanilla criminal with a heart of gold was stood in her bloody kitchen in London and he was refusing to make eye contact. Apparently he was also refusing to speak, as Riley answered:

'He came back.'

'But Walker threatened you!' She wasn't playing dumb anymore. She couldn't imagine a single reason why anyone on The Estate would go against the word of Simon Walker. Especially now Brendan wasn't around to protect people.

'I thought I was protecting Ste from Brendan,' he whispered cryptically. 'I had no idea … Cian deserved better.'

'What did you do?' she demanded. She ignored Riley's disapproval at the way she'd jumped to conclusions; it wasn't a wild assumption, Doug looked too guilty to not have done something stupid.

'I didn't mean to.'

'I didn't ask what you meant to do. I asked what you did.'

'I told Walker that Brendan had beaten up Cian the day he caught him with Macca.'

'What else?' That wasn't it. Brendan probably have given Walker that information himself.

'I told him Cian was terrified that Brendan was going to return and finish the job.'

'What. Else?' she spat. She was not in the mood to coax a confession out of the hapless yank. She would probably beat it out of him if it came to it.

'Walker sent Rhys to see Cian. He told him that Brendan was coming back and that Cian needed to take Macca to safety. But, he screwed up, he forgot to ask Cian where he was going.'

'But you knew?'

'I had an idea.'

'And you told Walker.' That beating was looking more and more likely by the second. The worthless piece of scum had helped Walker frame Brendan. She was surprised to hear him say:

'No. I traded the information.'

'For what?' Though she had a fair idea that a plane ticket to New York City was going to be the answer. She was right. But that didn't explain:

'What about the other ticket?'

'A gift … from Walker. He said I should take Ste with me, but he was too stupid to take it.'

'No.' Insulting Steven was the final straw. 'He wasn't stupid.'

'Mitz,' Riley tried to calm her, but she was way beyond being told to stay calm.

'You are stupid! Steven was loyal. Loyal to the man who gave him a home, who gave him food. For God's sake, Brendan took you to Dublin every week so you could spend time with O'Shaughnessy.'

'Mitzeee.' Riley continued to try and fail to be a calming influence. But Mitzeee had already made a perfectly rational decision:

'I'm going to kill him.'

And with that she launched herself towards the yank, sending the stool she'd been sat on clattering to the tiled floor.

Riley stepped in front of Doug, but that didn't stop her from trying to gauge out the yanks eyes with her finger nails. Riley kept spouting out nonsense:

'He's like a brother. He's my best friend. He didn't mean for things to happen like this.'

And then Riley said something that really did make her stop:

'He's trying to help.'

'The trial,' she realised. 'You need to give evidence at the trial.'

'I don't know if it'll be enough.'

'Why?'

'I didn't actually see them after the date Brendan is supposed to have killed them. That was only Walker and … well, Rhys.'

'Wait, who's Rhys?' Riley asked. That was the question on Mitzeee's mind too.

'He came after you left,' Doug explained as Mitzeee realised: 'The moron in the wig, who smuggled himself onto my bus.'

'He's going to do whatever Walker tells him too.'

'He'll say they were already gone when he went to the pub,' she realised.

'So there's nothing we can do?' Riley asked. Mitzeee felt warmed by his concern. Brendan meant nothing to him. He'd left The Estate, moved on and found himself a wonderful job. But he was invested in Brendan's freedom for her sake and, in return, she wouldn't kill the yank.

'Walker's been careful,' Doug shrugged. 'His story is water tight. No one can prove they were still alive when Brendan left that room.'

'Ste,' she whispered.

'What?' Doug asked. The way he brightened on hearing the name sickened her.

'He left the room that night with Brendan,' she explained. 'He knows Macca and O'Shaughnessy were alive.'

'Then let's go and get him,' Riley looked baffled that she hadn't mentioned this before.

'He's still at The Estate?' Doug looked horrified, and rightly so. If Ste had been stupid enough to still be at The Estate any longer than he did, he would almost certainly have been killed by now.

'No,' Riley scoffed. He was all optimism and no idea. 'But Mitzeee knows where he lives.'

'No.'

'You're his landlady!' he exclaimed. 'Just drive up to Chester, knock on the door and …'

'No, Riley,' she said firmly. 'I promised Brendan that I'd keep Ste safe. That means away from this court case and more importantly out of Walker's crosshairs.'

'But this is Brendan's chance at freedom.'

'Riley, leave it … please.' This was too much now. They were so close to having enough evidence to set Brendan free, but Brendan's self-sacrificing determination to protect Ste was going to leave with him a lifetime in prison. He'd never forgive him for risking Steven's life for Brendan's freedom.

'We'll go to Ireland with what we've got,' she gestured to Doug. 'We only need reasonable doubt, right? Maybe Doug's statement will be enough.'

She didn't believe what she was saying, and it was obvious she wasn't convincing the other two men in the room. 'I need to get dressed,' she sighed. 'I'll be quick,' she promised. 'And then we'll go.'

'Babe, you know I can't come, right?' Riley said.

'What? Why?'

'You didn't listen to the voice mail, did you?'

'Oh.' She'd forgotten. 'I'll listen to it now.'

'Well, I can just tell you if you…'

She pushed play and waited as the chirpy robot woman told her there were two new messages, and slowly announced the first message and when it was received. She glanced to the clock on the wall, these were seconds she didn't have.

Then there was Riley's dad, who was also acting as his agent:

'Riley. You did it, son. Following a physical Friday you get the contract. Two years. Well done! Well done!'

She hadn't learned much about football, but she knew that Riley had been chasing a contract for a while. She was almost smiling. She was close to a squeal and a party announcement and then the robot lady announced a second message and a haunted Irish accent ghosted across the room.

'Anne. I'm changing my plea. I've seen Cheryl and … she can't take it, Anne. I won't put her through it.' There was a long pause, and a voice in the background could be heard barking: 'Brady, wrap it up.' Then Brendan muttered: 'Be happy, Anne. I love ye. And Riley,' Mitzeee saw him twitch in the corner of her eye, 'look after her or I really will murder someone.'

'End of Messages.'

xXx

There were twenty minutes from Dublin International, but it felt like a lifetime. Mitzeee was tapping her pink nails against the grey pull-down tray on the back of the seat in front of her. The grumpy old couple next to her kept grumbling about how irritating she was being. She'd dealt with angrier people, people who would do a lot more than grumble. She punched the "call steward" button.

'Glass of wine,' she demanded, when the woman appeared.

'Nervous flier?' a woman from the aisle opposite asked.

'My best friend. His life is close to ending and I…. I don't know what I can do.'

'Oh sweetie,' the woman grabbed her hand and squeezed comfortingly. She could even feel the couple next to her melt into their own false sympathy. The sorrowful passengers around her were suffocating her with sympathy. They all provided would-be inspirational stories about friends and loved-ones who'd faced horrible illnesses and pulled through.

Finally the question was asked:

'What is it that your friend has? If you don't mind my asking? Is it … definitely terminal.'

'It's a life sentence.' Mitzeee was a lot of things, but she prided herself on a kind of brutal honesty. Besides, the Brendan Brady in her liked to watch people squirm under the burden of their misappropriated good deeds.

'He's standing trial for murders he didn't did commit,' she continued.

The people around her flinched away. They were no longer willing to open up to her. People never disappointed in their fickle ways and as the exited the plane, the woman from the seat opposite cornered her to say:

'I loved your advice on affordable handbags in Heat. I went straight out to buy one.'

Mitzeee hired a car; a Porsche because her boyfriend was a footballer. She deserved the best. She drove a little too fast and a little too recklessly for gentle Doug. But she cared about his nervous nature even less this time than she had the last time. It was getting dark, and that meant there was only one day left to get Brendan to change his mind.

Mitzeee had already called Portlaoise Prison, but they were refusing her access to Brendan before the trial. That was how, and just after midnight, she found herself bashing down the door of one of the best lawyers in Ireland.

McGinn answered. He was flustered when he opened the door. His hair was greasy and sticking up in different angles. His dressing gown was tied too loosely around his waist. He complained about his wife being asleep upstairs. He even mentioned children. Mitzeee strongly doubted his fictional wife. No woman would allow their husband to sport that hairstyle.

'Listen,' she snarled. 'I've travelled from London to bring you a reason to get Brendan Brady to change his plea.'

Realisation dawned on his ugly face.

'You're Anne,' he accused pointed towards her.

Mitzeee said nothing, she just stared him down until he invited them in. He showed them into a sitting room, which had clearly been furnished by someone with money but no taste.

'Look Anne,' he said, sitting on an arm chair opposite the two of them. 'Pleading guilty is the best option for Mr Brady. The evidence is….' He stopped. He was obviously aware that his audience didn't want to hear he thought Brendan was guilty. 'A jury will find him guilty. All we can hope for is a shorter sentence and things will swing in his favour if he shows remorse.'

'You think he did it!' she realised, in horror.

'Well, I….'

'How can you represent him if you think he did it?'

'I….'

'Doug,' she cut him off. She couldn't listen to Jim McGinn badmouth Brendan. He wasn't worthy. 'Tell him,' she demanded. 'Tell him what you know.'

Doug told his story and she watched McGinn grew more and more inclined to believe what he was hearing.

'And I was with Brendan from the time he got back home,' she added. She was happy to stand up in front of a jury and tell them Brendan was innocent.

'I'm sorry,' McGinn shook his head. At least he seemed honest this time. 'I don't think it's enough.'

'But it's the truth,' Doug protested, as though that mattered; as though the truth ever mattered.

'Look,' McGinn explained steadily, 'if it was just a judge maybe that would be enough to cause some kind of doubt, but a jury?' He shook his head. 'Jury's respond to humanity. They have to like the defendant. They have to be on his side. And Brady … he just not that likeable. Not likeable at all, in fact. And not likeable equals not believable…. For God's sake, his own sister doesn't believe him.'

'She's a bitch,' Mitzeee muttered, which probably wasn't helpful.

'What about Ste?' Doug suggested, because he just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. 'He saw it all.'

'Are you telling me there's a witness?' McGinn demanded loudly as his face reddened furiously. 'A key witness? Brady assured me he'd sent all the young men before he left that room. Why would he hide a witness from me a key witness?'

'Because if Walker finds out that Ste knows something, he'll kill him,' Anne snarled, matching McGinn's unnecessary volume and indignant tone. 'And Brendan would rather rot in prison that let Ste get hurt. How's that for your jury's humanity?' she spat out the word as though it was poison on her tongue. This conversation would be a lot easier if she wasn't surrounded by idiots who didn't understand that Brendan wasn't capable of murder in cold blood. If he'd killed, it would have been for good reason. He may have been capable of killing Walker.

'I….' The lawyer was flummoxed, floundering and gawping like a fish.

'You'll fight for Brendan and you'll do your best with what you've got.'

'I can't fight if Brendan won't change his plea.'

Mitzeee grabbed the front of McGinn's shirt and pulled their faces close together: 'Make him,' she hissed.

xXx

Brendan stared at the bottom of the cellmate's bunk. There was chewing gum stuck to it and the odd mark from a stubbed out cigarette. If you wanted contraband Portlaoise, you came to this cell and asked for Silas Blissit. He was a veteran of the prison game; some sick monster who'd choked the life from a string of young girls, with a chess-level of strategy.

Blissit was just one of several murderers on this wing; all the killers together apparently. Brendan was already one of the gang and he hadn't even been sentenced yet.

Blissit liked to think he was some kind of king pin, but Brendan had analysed him in the same way he'd analysed every member of The Estate. He was old, probably past it, couldn't do any big jobs, soft hands that couldn't fire a gun, too locked in superstitions to adapt to modern crime, he was a smart tactician; that could have come in handy. Orange Zone, but the truth was Brendan had never had much time for cowards like Blissit. How hard is it to kill a defenceless girl anyway?

He had the pensioner sussed, and he was fed-up of being forced to listen to Blissit's hissed horror-movie warnings.

'You've got to play the long game, Brady,' was becoming a repeat offender on his ear drums but Blissit was looking as a sentence of over eighty-years and the game didn't get much longer.

'Brady,' the bark was accompanied by a rattling of the cell door. 'Get up. Your lawyer's got a meeting with you.'

Brendan knew better than to question the guards when they spoke. They'd been given permission to use "reasonable" force; nothing seemed to be unreasonable.

::

Brendan had been waiting in the sound proof room for ages. It was reserved specifically for lawyer/client meetings, but McGinn was yet to show his fat greasy face. Brendan wondered if they'd picked the wrong Brady. He couldn't imagine there was much briefing needed to stand up in front of a court and proudly announce "I'm guilty".

The young guard who was keeping watch outside was quickly becoming disgruntled.

'You're man's taking liberties, Brady.'

He was quite cute really, he had sandy hair and the kind of determined expression that only comes with a lack of authority. His teeth were splayed a little awkwardly in his mouth and his vowels were distinctly Irish is mutation, but he had a hint of Steven about him.

Brendan flirted a little, though Anne had always described his flirting technique as "stare a man down until he sleeps with you". Hers was "blind with breasts", but neither had ever been particularly unsuccessful in luring in their chosen targets.

Finally, the guard opened the door and McGinn blundered his way into the room. His hair was everywhere, his tie was askew and his shirt was only tucked in in places.

He apologised as he shoved his battered briefcase onto the table. He didn't look like he was worth a cent, let alone the hundreds of euros Brendan was paying him.

'Sorry,' he repeated, opening the case. 'Lots of paperwork to do this morning.'

Brendan was almost surprised to see that there were papers and folders in the briefcase. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, perhaps a banana and a toy car?

Despite appearances, this was the best lawyer Euros could buy. Brendan had picked him when he was planning a battle with the justice system; now he wished he'd taken the state appointed lawyer. Because in reality:

'How much paperwork is there to say "guilty"?'

'Well, that's the thing,' McGinn began uneasily. He was pulling at his off-centre tie and gulping like a man with bad news to deliver. 'I think, perhaps, we've made a mistake changing your plea.'

Brendan stared at his lawyer for a moment and then, forced laughter.

'This is a joke,' he chuckled.

'Well,' McGinn swallowed, 'no.'

'You were begging me to plead guilty a few days ago!' he cried indignantly.

'That was before I found out you had witnesses.'

'Witnesses?' Brendan repeated, he wasn't laughing or yelling now. Now he was simply confused. 'I'm pleading guilty, why are you looking for witnesses?'

'They came looking for me,' the hapless man explained. 'In the middle of the night, the wife and I were….'

'You don't have a wife,' Brendan cut him off. He wasn't interested in the man's private life, but no ring on his finger and being allowed to leave the house looking like he'd slept in his suit. There was no wife, girlfriend or lover. But Brendan didn't want to have that conversation so he asked: 'Who came looking for you?'

He was concerned that a middle of the night, eleventh hour witness had a hint of a Walker set-up about it.

'Erm, I've got,' he looked one of his pieces of paper, 'Anne Miniver, her statement asserts that she was with you between the hours of …'

'No, not Anne,' Brendan interrupted. 'I'm not letting her risk her safety for me. Not this time.'

'You can't keep hiding witnesses, Mr Brady,' McGinn sighed. He looked as exasperated by this case as Brendan felt.

'What do you mean "keep hiding"?'

'Well, a young man came forward too.'

'What young man?' Brendan demanded. He had a sickening image of Steven – with some false idea of heroism, or worse love – turning up to tell a jury that Brendan Brady was a wronged man.

'He can't do it.' The words fell from Brendan unexpectedly, like the thought had become to big to keep inside, just as McGinn announced the other witness' name: 'Doug Carter.'

'Oh.'

'What?' McGinn demanded haughtily. 'No self-sacrificing declarations of protection. No "I'm not letting him risk his life".'

'I'm not really bothered about Doug's life,' Brendan shrugged, which sent McGinn whirling out of control, clamping his hands over his ears, shouting things like: "I didn't not hear that." And: "You didn't say that." And even: "For God's sake don't say something like that tomorrow."

Eventually he calmed himself down enough to explain:

'The jury will put you away if you say something like that tomorrow.'

'They'd understand if they met Douglass,' Brendan reasoned.

'No they wouldn't! They would read between the lines and hear: "I'm capable of murder and I did it.'

'I don't think they're going to have read between the lines, Jim,' he pointed out firmly. 'There can't be much confusion in the words "I'm guilty".'

McGinn sighed heavily and played was was clearly supposed to be his trump card:

'Miss Miniver asked me to tell you not to give up.'

'Miss Miniver needs to learn when to quit,' Brendan growled, getting to his feet. His best friend wasn't thinking, she was acting like a child, shutting her eyes to the things she didn't want to see and refusing to look at the bigger picture. 'Now,' he said, getting to his feet, 'I'm going to walk into that courtroom tomorrow and plead guilty and nothing, and nobody is going to stop me.'

215 miles away in a council flat just outside Chester, Rae was answering the door to an ambitious young footballer, who had news that would bring her world crashing down.

'Where's Ste?'

'He's asleep.'

'I need to speak to him,' Riley insisted, trying to look around the flat from the doorway. 'It's important.'

'His sleep is important, he's been worked to the bone by his boss. This is the first day he's had off in weeks, I'm not disturbing him.'

'But he has to know something.'

'What?'

'I think I should tell him myself.'

'I'll tell him,' Rae insisted angrily. They'd left The Estate ages ago; why were these horrible criminals trying to get back in touch with Ste now? They were happy, they were free from all this past life.

'Look, I don't know if I can tell you.'

'Well then,' she bristled. 'It was nice to see you, but please don't come back,' she tried to close the door, but Riley held it open. He was stronger than she was, his muscular arms weren't even straining as he propped to door open.

'Fine, tell Ste that he was there.'

Rae wanted to slam the door in his face and protect her private paradise, but the curious gossip in her asked:

'He was where?'

'With Brendan, the night Macca and Cian were supposed to have been killed.'

'Are you telling me he saw Brendan kill those men?' her blood ran cold, what horrors had that Irish brute inflicted on her man.

'No,' Riley insisted. 'Ste convinced Brendan not to kill them.'

Rae tried to take it in, but it was too much. If Brendan wasn't the killer, well then … No. Brendan was the killer. She'd read the papers and watched the television and heard the radio. Brendan was guilty, the evidence was overpowering. It wouldn't make sense for Brendan to have let them go, it probably would make sense for Riley to lie to her. And then she had a brilliant realisation:

'If Ste really is a witness, why hasn't he been contacted by Brendan's lawyer?'

'Brendan refused to give his name.'

'Why?' she almost laughed with the nonsense of it all. 'Why would he refuse to give the name of his key witness?'

'Ste left The Estate, Brendan didn't want him to bring Ste back into The Estate's business.'

'But why? Surely, he'd just want to get himself out of prison. What reason would he have to protect Ste?'

'That's something you need to ask Ste,' Riley shrugged. 'Just promise me, you'll tell him. It has to be Ste's decision to stay away from that case. You have to tell him.'

'I don't have to do anything,' Rae scowled, shutting the front door and slumping down against it, pulling her knees to her chest. Riley's visit had raised so many questions. She couldn't feel herself being drawn back into the old world, a world she'd been so desperate to leave.

She didn't know how long she'd been huddled by the door – trying to muddle her way through all the reasons Brendan wouldn't have named Ste as a witness, and even more reasons why Riley would have to lie to her – when Ste appeared from their bedroom yawning and scratching his bed-hair.

'Was someone at the door?' he asked through his yawn.

'No,' she answered on impulse. 'Why would you think that?'

'Well, because you're sat by the door,' he frowned, wandering over to the kitchen and pouring himself an orange juice.

'Oh, right,' she laughed at her silliness as she heaved herself up from the threadbare carpet. 'I've left your breakfast warming in the oven.'

'Oh,' he beamed, as he dropped the oven door and saw the cooked breakfast warming steadily. 'You're amazing,' he said, kissing her on the cheek. 'Best … girlfriend … ever.'

She was sure she'd made the right decision keeping their visitor from Ste, especially as he complimented her cooking as he munched his way through the bacon, eggs and sausage.

Rae knew, by the way his eyes sparkled with an innocent ignorance, Ste didn't realise how important he was to Brendan Brady's trial.

Thanks for reading.

Next up: Brendan's trial! :S