Dublin

Walker looked out over The Estate. There was minor chaos at dinner times, somehow the meals had actually got worse since Brendan had left. Walker might have been four times as strict as Brenan, but he somehow hadn't managed to command the respect that Brendan had.

'This tastes like plastic,' Rhys muttered, stabbing at the mush in his bowl with a folk.

'Probably is plastic,' Warren muttered, and with a hit of exasperation he demanded: 'Walker, have we got any jobs?'

'A big robbery job in Dublin,' Walker said, pushing his own plate away from him.

'We're running out of money,' he hissed in his ear, as though Walker might not have realised.

Walker had severely miscalculated how important Brendan's ties with the European drug lords were. He hadn't realised how much money Brendan's dodgy dealings in Barcelona were bringing in and, because Brendan was terrible at filing and organising, there were no addresses, of even a hint of contact details left behind. The woman who'd taken over Mitzeee's role was charging twice as much as her predecessor, but the merest suggestion that the number of girls might be halved had almost caused riots among the Zoners.

Walker regretted starting the culture of complaining amongst the Zoners too. He was faced almost daily by disgruntled, self-appointed zone leaders complaining about something or other. He didn't stand for it, but they'd all got a bit above themselves now. He'd shown them that they were able to overpower the main house should they wish and now they threatened it all the time.

There was a yell near the back of the tables and Walker glanced up to see an enormous fight starting to break out. A chair flew across the sky and food was thrown everywhere.

'I'm going,' Warren muttered, without needing to be told. There was no one else to turn to in these situations anymore. Walker watched as his only henchman marched into the middle of the fight. Nothing changed, the fight didn't stop. He could hear Warren bellowing for them to stop, but they weren't listening. The Estate was falling apart and the obvious issue was that they were running out of food. That was probably why they were fighting, portions were getting smaller and smaller.

'Well, well, well, this is … cosy.'

Walker turned to his left and saw Mitzeee. She was talking into a megaphone, wearing a bright red coat to match red lipstick and either side of her were weak little Doug Carter and a bigger, buffer looking Riley Costello. They weren't the most threatening three Brendan could have sent. A pregnant woman, her over protective partner and a cowardly yank.

And yet, they'd gained the attention of The Estate in a way Walker hadn't quite managed.

'Good evening everyone,' she said, giving the group a little wave with her fingers. 'I have a bit of an announcement.'

'What's going on?' Rhys hissed in his ear. Walker didn't have time for Rhys. He regretted ever promising him a seat on the stage for his part in Brendan's downfall.

'So, you probably know that Brendan Brady has been on trial recently.'

'He killed Macca,' shouted a red zoner.

'Best thing Brady ever did,' another cried.

'Except, he didn't kill Macca,' Mitzeee was saying slowly. Her voice sounding weirdly robotic through the machine. 'Walker did and he did it, so that Brendan would go to prison.'

'We could break him out,' someone shouted from the crowd. The reaction amongst The Estate was mixed to that idea.

'He's not in prison,' Mitzeee scorned. 'He was acquitted.' She glanced over to Walker: 'Jesus Simon, don't you tell them anything. It's like North Korea in here.'

There was a titter of laughter throughout the zoners. Walker grimaced. He knew he'd lost them. He'd never really had their loyalty, not like Brendan had but he didn't know why. He couldn't understand what had made The Estate follow Brendan so blindly, when they would not work with Walker.

'Listen,' she said steadily, 'and listen carefully: The Garda are on their way. The Garda are on … their … way. Now, outside Brendan's house there are busses, they've been paid for and are going to take you away from here, to safety. If you trust Brendan, get on a bus.'

Walker looked around the crowd. They were already starting to panic.

'Or,' Mitzeee's triumphant speech continued, 'you could follow Walker, but I really don't know how he's going to save you.'

She turned to glare at him, eyebrow raised, lip curled smugly. She was just like Brendan, she was just as smug, she thought nothing could touch her and Walker hated her as much as he hated Brendan. 'I guess,' she continued, 'you could see how many people you can get into the minibus.'

'You're taking me, aren't you?' Rhys asked and Walker realised he had a problem. All those zone leaders, all the red zoners who'd hidden out pretending to have died on Brendan's dangerous missions. They were all going to believe he would take them with him and Warren, he owed him a space, didn't he?

He looked into the crowd, it was chaos. Zoners were running in every direction, there was a sound of panic and he was out of his depth. They needed to go. If they didn't leave they'd all be caught and the Irish media would rip them apart and make sure they were all thrown into prison. This was Brendan's fault, but he wasn't here; Mitzeee was. He pulled a gun from his jacket pocket and pointed towards the bitch….

Except….

She was gone.

She hadn't stuck around to find out what happened next, flanked by her miniature henchmen she'd darted in and out like the ghost of Christmas past. But how fragile was Walker's utopia that it could collapse on the whispered words of a former prostitute?

The zoners were thinning, they were fleeing for the busses. Brendan was winning and Walker didn't know how to stop it.

'Warren!' he screamed into the group. 'Come on.'

There was only one thing to do. They had to take their best men – the best of the Red Zoners – and run. They needed to get to freedom and regroup. They'd rebuild and comeback stronger one day, they'd destroy Brendan, but not now.

'You're taking me, aren't you?' Rhys demanded.

Walker fired his gun. Rhys wasn't asking anymore questions.

'Warren,' he shouted. 'Bus. Go. Go.'

::

Mitzeee smiled to herself. She was sat in her convertible with Riley, watching The Zoners running onto the busses, it was madness. The whole place looked like it had been hit by a missile. There was no organisation, everyone looked panicked, they were jumping onto the busses with no more information than that the busses were Brendan's idea.

'It looks like the end of the world,' Riley breathed, reaching across to hold her hand.

'It is,' she smirked. 'As we know it.'

She caught the eye of one of the drivers. He'd been driving her girls for years and he looked pretty smug as he was about to embark on his journey out of Ireland and onto the continent. She nodded, just slightly, that was all it would take and, in the middle of the apocalypse like chaos, he shut his doors and indicated he was going to drive away from The Estate for the last time. The movement caused panic. There were shouts and yells and one of the Green Zoners went flying over Mitzeee's boot like he was in some kind of dramatic police chase at the end of a Hollywood blockbuster.

And then came the BEEP, BEEP, BEEEEEEEEEEP of the horn, the screeching of tires and the sound of people hurling themselves away from danger as the rickety, old minibus went flying past.

'I wouldn't fancy being in that,' Riley said, as the minibus jumped over a bump in the road and landed with a noise that sounded like it might collapse. 'Brendan never went faster than 50 and I think he had good reason.'

'Doesn't matter,' Mitzeee shrugged as the next bus flicked on its indicator and readied itself to pull out. 'I told the Garda to look out for it. Told them Walker would be driving.'

'That won't matter though, will it? They won't have anything to hold him for.'

'Won't they?' she asked, with a smug smile. And wasn't the main man running up the hill like an idiot? 'Oi,' she yelled out of the window, gesturing him over. 'Did you do what I asked?'

'Four bags of coke in the minivan,' he grinned. 'Alright Riley?'

'Bart,' he nodded back. 'Green Zone now?'

'It's more my style.' He glanced up as the final few busses disappeared out of The Estate. 'I couldn't get a lift, could I?' he asked. 'I think I've missed my bus.'

Mitzeee didn't bother to point out that she only had two seats. She wasn't even sure Bart would realise that three didn't go into two even if she explained it.

'He can have my seat,' Riley laughed, pressing his lips to Mitzeee's cheek. He had to go back to Manchester. His career was too important to him to keep leaving like this. Doug had offered to give him a lift. The yank was spouting all sorts of nonsense about how much better he'd felt in America. It was all nonsense, self-affirming bull from a man who'd never been quite comfortable in his role as common criminal, but he was still going back.

Mitzeee said goodbye to Riley. She'd only be away a week or so, just enough time to get The Zoners well clear of Ireland. Then her life would really begin. She stroked her swelling stomach lightly. Things would go well.

Bart was annoying, but she could drown him out with the radio – he barely even noticed. It was sad really. He'd been a half-intelligent, promising Blue Zoner once upon a time now…. He was a mess.

::

The busses were gone, the zoners had cleared out, there were fires smoking in Blue Zone, which would rage until they burnt the zone to the floor, or smoked themselves out. It was abandoned now. The people, the zoners, Brendan – all the things that kept the zone ticking over – it was all gone. It was just a desolate scrap heap in the Irish hills, the remains of one squatter with wild ideas. It was the last of that chapter of Mitzeee's life, but that didn't make leaving any easier.

The Estate had been her safe haven for so many years and now….

'Mitzeee, are we going to leave? I'd really like to catch up with busses.'

'Sure,' she smiled, surprised to find she had a tear on her cheek. It was probably the hormones. This kid was a real cry-baby … and loved ice-cream!

They were less than four miles from The Estate when they came to a roadblock. The Garda were stood around, there were patrol cars parked at a variety of angles and in the ditch at the side of the road, just visible from the ground like a metallic, unmarked grave was the tail end of The Estate's minivan.

'Sorry, miss,' one of the Garda said. 'We'll let you through in just a moment. There's been a pretty nasty crash.'

'Not surprised the rate they were going,' Bart grumbled … because he was an idiot.

Mitzeee saw the suspicious look on the Gard's face, so she lied quickly:

'They over took us a few miles back, going really fast, swerving all over the road … I was a bit,' she twirled her hair around her finger and worried her painted lip between her teeth, 'nervous.'

The Garda understood, apparently, and promised to do everything he could to get them on their way as soon as possible. He was true to his word and soon called them through, telling them not to look at the wreckage, but Mitzeee did look. Her lips curled into a cruel smile as she glanced at the destroyed front half of the van, the flames rising high from it and the police radio sang:

'Yeah, twelve bodies … no survivors.'

Barcelona

The night air around them was cold, but between them the air was scorching. Brendan smashed their mouths together, but Ste couldn't put his all into the kiss. The man he loved had taken him apart too many times already tonight. He was just a mess of emotion and pleasure and heat and adoration. He wrapped his legs tighter around his man and broke the kiss so he could see into his eyes. He just wanted to remind himself that this was real.

He wanted to remember that Brendan wasn't in prison, and was with him and would be forever. He wanted to remind himself that despite their best efforts, they hadn't managed to tear themselves away from the other. He reached up to kiss Brendan again, it was sloppy and unrefined and a little dirty, but that was them. That would always be them.

::

'We won't be able to do that anymore,' Brendan sighed, reaching over to grab a blanket and throw it around them both.

'Well, we could,' Steven smiled with a look of someone with the devil in his eyes, 'but people might see.'

'They would definitely see,' Brendan nodded, sitting against his house. The wall of his house was cool against his naked back and the Barcelonan night air was biting, but the blanket was thick and Steven was his own heat source. 'Come here,' he gestured for the boy to join him.

The balcony floor was a little damp beneath them, but they had a great view. The fence that surrounded it was made of glass and the new estate stretched like a vast, beautiful new beginning ahead of them.

'Where will we have meals?' Steven mumbled against his shoulder. The boy's fingers were walking up and down Brendan's torso, trailing lazy patterns, but that was his trait when he was tired. He liked to idly draw patterns on Brendan's pastel skin.

'I thought we'd open that big house in the middle as a headquarters,' Brendan said, nodding to a mansion with a swimming pool that stood in the middle of the new estate. 'It'll keep the zoners out of our home and it'll be big enough for everyone to eat in, if we do it in shifts.'

'Okay.'

'You could run the kitchen,' Brendan suggested. 'If you wanted,' he added, he felt oddly nervous about upsetting the boy. Everything felt so perfect, he'd never quite managed that before and now he felt like he was holding things together with his fingertips. He was sure he'd stuff it all up again sooner, rather than late.

'Like a restaurant?' Steven asked. He was clearly exhausted – they'd had a big night – but he could feel excitement coming from the boy.

'Right,' Brendan nodded, pressing his lips into Steven's hair. 'Exactly, we're going to have a bartering system within The Estate. Everyone earns credits depending on the crimes they help out with, or if they do some building work, keep the pool clean or help you in the restaurant. If they keep the streets clean, they can gain credits and….' Steven was falling asleep against his shoulder and Brendan smiled. This was in, the last night of just them. This time tomorrow, this view would be dotted with lights and people's voices. This time tomorrow, La Urbanacion would be up and running and Brendan would be king once again.

Ste was woken by utter chaos downstairs. There were bus engines, people chattering, things falling over, things being broken. Brendan's voice was louder than the others and there were some instructions in Spanish and English, but Ste knew he was going to stroll down the stairs into madness. He wondered if it might be a good idea to hide for a bit longer.

Maybe he'd head down once the noise sounded a little less frenzied. After all, Ste was mainly in charge of the restaurant. He'd worry about that later when it was time to cook the first meal. It was hours before the noise died down and that was when Ste's fancy new mobile phone buzzed to signal a text:

"I know you're awake. There's no way you could sleep through all that. Come down, Anne's here."

Ste wanted to protest or text a suggestive message about working all night with a "wink" face, but he didn't think Brendan would be in the mood. It's stressful enough moving home, let alone moving an entire Estate. If Brendan wanted Ste with him right now, then Ste would do his duty and be there for him.

He padded down the stairs in an old tracksuit.

'Some things never change,' Mitzeee said, looking him up and down with contempt. 'We went shopping in Dublin. I bought you nice clothes.'

'I'll dress up properly later,' Ste sighed, going over to hug her. The bump made it more of a challenge than he'd expected. 'I'm just bumming around the house at the moment.'

Mitzeee smirked at the choice of phrase and whispered, 'Got you working hard hours at nights, does he?'

'You've got a filthy mind. It's easy to tell you used to be a prostitute,' he shot back, earning himself a bark of laughter from Brendan.

'Cheeky,' she warned, but there was laughter in her eyes and she accepted his offer of a cup of tea. 'Make an extra one,' she called. 'They'll be four of us.'

'Will there?' Brendan asked.

'I've even found you someone to organise the girls,' Mitzeee said proudly, producing Rae from outside the door, with a mis-timed "ta-da".

'What the…?' Ste gaped. Rae. Actual Rae. She'd gone on about their life, being on the right side of the law, having kids being just like slagface. What had possibly changed?

'I've always wanted to marry a footballer,' Rae shrugged. 'Mitzeee says that Barcelona has the best football team in the world….'

'Apart from the one my Riley plays for,' Mitzeee beamed. Ste was only half listening. He was determined the check that Rae knew what she was doing, before hugging her awkwardly.

'Which team is that Anne?' Brendan prompted, with a knowing look. He didn't seem too concerned by Rae, but Ste had left Rae for Brendan three times and the man really had nothing to worry about.

'He plays for Manchester.'

'Which one?'

'The blue one,' Mitzeee answered, dismissively. 'Look, I'm very pregnant,' she pointed to her stomach. 'I can't be expected to remember which club my fiancé plays for.'

She stuck out her left hand. Ste was the opposite side of the large open-plan room and could see the enormous diamond shining in the sunlight.

'Fiancé?' Brendan smirked, taking her hand and inspecting the rock. He only looked mildly impressed, Ste was less subtle.

'Bloody hell, that is enormous!'

'Month's wages,' she shrugged. 'Professional footballer.'

Ste took Mitzeee's hand so he could study the ring more closely.

'Yours would be bigger,' Brendan muttered.

'Would it?' Ste glanced up to find his man looking smugly at Mitzeee. He was just showing off, but Ste was happy to indulge the knob head. 'How much bigger?'

Brendan whispered the figure into his ear and Ste actually felt his mouth drop open. He'd always thought that was one of those things authors said, when they wanted to sound fancier than a simple "he was surprised", but Ste's jaw was hanging low now.

'Serious?' he asked, Brendan just nodded.

'I want a Ferrari.'

Brendan chuckled warmly and nodded to Mitzeee's ring. 'That needs to be celebrated. Beer for Steven, Whiskey for me, Rae?'

'Er, wine's great.'

'Wine for Rae,' Brendan continued, 'and Orange Juice for Anne.'

'Don't … I can't wait to have a glass of wine. You better bring one to the hospital.'

'You won't want a drink once you've had the baby,' Brendan insisted. 'You'll be spaced out on an epidural.'

'Ooo,' she giggled, 'that could be fun. We'll try and get you one too.'

'Maybe we could all drink orange juice,' Rae suggested with a smile. 'Show our support for….'

Brendan held out his hand and said firmly: 'Stop talking.'

'Bren,' Ste warned, but his heart wasn't in it. Rae should know better that to suggest Brendan forego a chance for a whiskey.

'Oh, well … I….' the girl stuttered. 'I just thought it would be nice.'

'I don't really care about the rest of you,' he shrugged. 'I am going to have a whiskey.'

'But it's only one o'clock.'

Ste watched as Brendan took a very deep breath. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Everyone was watching him. It was like he was counting to ten, his teacher at anger management had told him it would help, it didn't really work, but then he'd run away to Spain after one session.

'Someone get her to shut up,' he muttered. And: 'I'm having a drink.'

Ste took on the task of quietening Rae.

'You'll get used to him,' Ste reassured her, putting an arm around the shoulders. 'Why don't we go for a walk? I'll show you The Estate. There's a swimming pool.'

'That'd be good,' Rae nodded, as Ste shouted to Brendan that they were heading out for a bit. Brendan didn't seem too bothered, he and Anne had some catching up to do and he probably understood that Ste needed to talk to Rae.

::

There was a friendly kind of bustling around the place. It was warm enough to not wear a jacket and it wasn't raining, so that was different to Ireland. The buildings were white with red roofs and the floors were paved with pale concrete tiles. The whole place felt brighter and different. It felt better.

'This is nice,' Rae echoed as they made it to the central building. It was spectacular, bright and impressive. The downstairs was going to make an excellent restaurant area and the upstairs were going to make good offices for Brendan. That's where they went. Ste wanted a bit of privacy.

'Look,' he said, once they'd sat down in the new office. There was an enormous sofa, which Rae was on and a large arm chair, which Ste had chosen. 'Are you sure you want to be here? I mean, Mitzeee can be quite … persuasive.'

'I watched the trial on TV. I saw everything, I was watching with Hannah and she was saying all this stuff….' Rae trailed off. Ste could imagine the vile, poison Hannah would be spouting. 'She was talking about how much happier she was living with Calum and staying at home and looking after the house and the kid, and she's got another one on the way and I just thought,' she smiled. 'I can't imagine anything worse.' And then she was laughing.

'Her highlight of the day was getting a stain out of Callum's shirt.' She ran a hand through her hair. 'I fell for you because I knew you were dangerous,' she chuckled. 'And I liked that you stole some lamb for me, and I like that you stole our TV.' Ste felt offended that she hadn't told him she knew about his extra-curricular activities. 'But I always knew Ste about you, I mean. I saw the way you looked at Brendan, saw how Brendan looked at you and there were rumours. There were also rumours about you.'

'I'm sorry,' Ste whispered, because he wasn't sure what else to do.

'It's okay. I contacted Mitzeee after the trial. I asked if she had any work for me and she suggested this.' She gestured all around them, the fancy office, the central building, the entire Estate. 'You're still me best friend Ste. I want you in my life, and I want this madness.'

'And you want a Spanish football player?' Ste joked.

'You don't?'

'I've got Brendan.'

'Yeah, but if one walked in here with his shirt off?'

'Well,' Ste smirked, 'I wouldn't look away.'

They both laughed and Rae asked for the rest of the tour.

It was strange. They got on better now that they weren't pretending to be in love. The resentment that had been growing between them was gone. They could talk and laugh and joke without fear. And Ste had managed to keep the promise he'd once made her … he had brought her to Barcelona in some weird way.

Epilogue to come.