Brendan closed his eyes. He was scratching at the top of his back with his free hand. His lips formed a tight line; his entire body was tensed, rigid.
Simon persisted: “Seriously. This might be the thing we’ve all needed for twenty years. Maybe even a way out, a way back, a way beyond whatever it is that none of us can remember.”
“I can’t, not now.” Brendan opened his eyes. His shoulders were hunched, as if he were in pain. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Give me your number. I’ll call you later — we can meet for a pint before I have to go to work. We’ll talk then. I’ll listen to what you have to say. No promises. But I’ll listen…”
Simon grabbed his jacket, took a pen from the coffee table, and wrote down his mobile number on a till receipt from the petrol station last night. “You promise you’ll listen?”
Brendan nodded. He was still in pain. “For old times’ sake,” he said, and opened the living room door: it was as clear a signal to leave as a person could possibly give.
Simon set down the till receipt with the scrawled number on the arm of the chair and left the room. He didn’t look back, just in case he spoiled things. He didn’t want Brendan to change his mind. He needed the chance to speak — even if it was just for ‘old times’ sake’.
He wanted to try and put things right for them all.
CHAPTER SIX
BRENDAN WAS ALREADY on his sixth beer by the time Jane got home. He was sitting at the breakfast bar, staring at the wall, and trying to keep his mind blank. Drinking; just drinking, and not thinking about anything at all. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, but it didn’t quite reach him. He stared at the patches of brightness as they crawled slowly across the kitchen floor.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been sitting here drinking all day.” Jane hefted a couple of shopping bags and put them on the breakfast bar beside him. “Well?”
“No,” he said. “Not all of it… I slept a bit this morning, and then I had a visitor.”
“Was it that freeloading idiot Mark Maginn again? I hope you didn’t lend him any money. This shopping doesn’t come cheap, you know.” She started to unpack the shopping bags, placing the tins in the cupboard above the sink and the fresh stuff in the fridge.
Brendan watched her in silence. Then, feeling the need to break into the moment, he spoke again. “No, it wasn’t Mark Maginn. Not this time. It was someone else — somebody I haven’t seen for a long time.”
Jane had her back to him so he couldn’t see her face. Her chunky arms were raised above her head as she shoved two boxes of cereal — the twins’ favourite — into the cupboard alongside the tins of beans and spaghetti hoops. Her hair was still sweaty from her dancing class. She loved to dance; it made her feel young again. She’d told him this once, as they lay in each other’s arms after making love. Brendan couldn’t remember when it was. Nor could he remember the last time they’d made love.
“It was Simon Ridley.”
Jane stopped moving. Her hands were still inside the cupboard, pushing a cereal box through the blockage of tin cans. She was standing on her tiptoes. She paused there, unmoving, and the cereal box dropped from the cupboard and fell onto the floor. It made a rattling noise, like someone shaking a bag of bones.
“He’s come back. He says he wants to speak to me about something important.”
Jane started moving again. She bent over and picked up the cereal box. Brendan stared at her backside. It was bigger and wider than when they’d first met, but it was still one of her best features. She was a beautiful woman, his wife. He used to tell her that all the time, but he hadn’t for years, now.
“I said I’d meet him later.” Brendan drained his can, belched. “Pass me another beer, would you?”
Without objection, Jane crossed to the fridge and took out two beers. She opened both cans, passed him one, and poured the contents of the other into a tall glass. She took a sip, paused, and then took another, bigger mouthful. “Fucking hell,” she said.
Brendan did not respond. He hadn’t heard her swear since the cat was run over in the road by a boy racer last summer. She didn’t like expletives; she was proud of her broad vocabulary.
“Fucking hell,” she said again.
Brendan could not tell if she were smiling or grimacing. He decided that he’d rather not know. Sometimes it was safer to play dumb — often, it saved your marriage.
“What did he want?” She walked over to where he was sitting, placed one of her hands over one of his. She squeezed. Her fingers were cold from the beer glass. “Is he back for good? I can’t imagine that. Isn’t he rich now, some kind of property investor?”
“Yeah. He’s loaded. From what he told me, I think he might have bought the Needle.” Admitting this out loud, in the bright light of day, Brendan realised that it didn’t sound quite as crazy as it had when Simon had alluded to the fact earlier.
“Why would he buy that old place… especially after what happened to you all there? I mean, what’s he trying to prove?” Jane sat down. She moved her hand away.
“Maybe he bought it
“Do you think he
“I doubt it,” he said, lowering his head so that she couldn’t look into his eyes and see the hurt there. “I think he might be planning to renovate the bastard, turn it into apartments or something.” He looked up.
Jane grinned. “Ha! Right. Like anyone would buy a nice apartment in the middle of the Grove. He’s not that stupid — he can’t be if he’s made his fortune down south.” She shook her head and took another mouthful of beer. “So, are you going to meet him?” Her eyes were hard again. The smile had vanished.
“I thought I should. If only to hear what he has to say. I’ll let him buy me a beer and talk out of his arse for a while, and then I’ll go to work and forget about it.” He wondered if she could tell that he was lying. Jane knew him better than anyone — even better than he knew himself. She’d been finishing his thoughts and ending his sentences since they’d first got together. So, yes, she knew that he was lying. Of course she did.
“Just be careful.” She touched his hand again, but this time tenderly. “Don’t let him push you too hard, or talk you into anything you don’t want to do.”
Brendan flipped over his hand on the breakfast bar so that it was palm-up, and then he held her fingers. “We’re not ten years old anymore, pet. I’m an adult. I can’t be talked into anything against my will.”
“Only by me,” she said, smiling again.
“Only by you,” he agreed, squeezing, squeezing, and wishing that he never had to let go.
“Listen, I have to finish putting this shopping away, and then it’ll be time to pick up the twins.” Jane stood, gulped down the last of her beer, and put the glass in the sink.
“Do you want me to go for them? I don’t mind.”
She turned to him, the sunlight catching in her dyed hair. “No, it’s okay. You didn’t sleep much this morning, did you?”
He shook his head.
“I’ll go. You have a shower and put on your good jeans. We don’t want Simon-bastard-Ridley thinking we’re a couple of scruffs now, do we?” She turned away quickly, but still he saw the smile drop away from her face; and the way her eyes went distant, as if she were staring inward, at a place that he could never go to, no matter how close they were as a couple or how much love they shared. It was a place that she kept secret; somewhere she went when she needed to, her own private store of memories that she would never open up to let him see.
Brendan stood and left the room, leaving her there with her face to the wall as she rearranged the food in the cupboard. He knew that he should go to her, turn her around, and hug her, perhaps even tell her that he loved her and he always would. But there was something in the way: Simon, and all the things he represented. He’d never been a man who could talk freely about his feelings, and right now that reticence was worse than ever. There was
