The Art of Trying (Part 6)
Posting quickly while I can... before life gets in the way again. x
Previous parts
*
Brendan sat stiffly at the dining room table, back straight against the chair behind him, eyes set hard on the table in front of him. It was three days since his last conversation with Steven… the one where he’d seen the fast wash of anger, then fear, then upset cross Steven’s face, and then worst of all - disappointment. And then after that Steven hadn’t come to work. Of course not; Brendan had told him not to. Still, it didn’t stop him waiting for Steven each morning, expecting to see his face.
It was funny how quickly Brendan had gotten into the habit of going to lunch with Steven, letting him chatter on about fuck-all for the whole hour and then walking back to the club with him... mates. Just small things like that, which Brendan only appreciated now they weren’t doing it. Now Steven was back to hating him.
“Where’s yer head at son?” Brendans’ father spoke huskily across the table to him.
He’d been good… since he’d been back. Brendan had DREADED it when he found out his Dad was coming for Christmas; it had been so long since they’d spoken… they’d never been the closest of family members… and what was worse was Steven being back in his life… not as a boyfriend, but still close enough to bring Brendan discomfort. Then had come the revelation… the sour words his Dad had breathed to him one night shortly after his arrival, “I’ve been hearin’ things Brendan. They talk about ye, back home. Eileen does.”
His Dad had never raised his voice… not once. He spoke calmly to Brendan as he threatened to tear those secrets out of him. It’s what Brendan remembered from his childhood too - that eerie composure just before his Dad gave him a hiding.
Luckily, it was just one punch on this occasion. Years had taught Brendan to be a smooth liar, and he talked his way out of it with impressive ease, and before the real bone-breaking started. The rumours were untrue, he said. How could his Dad believe for a SECOND he’d be like those sick little poofters? He’s a Brady after all. A Brady.
There were more questions - after.
Who was Steven, and why was he in Brendan’s bedroom that night? He works for me, Brendan had explained, and he took his employee to the upstairs of his home because Steven was drunk, I thought Cheryl might be able to deal with him.
Mr Brady had accepted it, and moved on. But Brendan still noticed how his eyes trailed over Steven dangerously when Steven was near… when Steven was stupid and obnoxious enough to dare come close to them. He was all heart and no brains, was Steven. What did he think he was doing lingering around like that? Brendan had TOLD him what his father was like. And yes, they may just be MATES, but for God sake it didn’t take Einstein to notice there was something more than that between them… not ever spoken but constantly hanging in the air. A disease.
“Somethin’ on yer mind?” Mr Brady pressed gruffly. He was staring at Brendan seriously… calculating him… trying to see through his well-practiced poker face. Well tough. Brendan was the master at hiding thoughts and emotions. He needed to be with a father like this.
“Jus’ wanderin’ what costume I’m gonna wear tonight for the Club event.” Brendan said with a slight smirk.
His father snorted. “Costumes. For poofs and wankers.”
Brendan just chuckled. “Don’t talk bout Cheryl like tha’.” He joked carefully, “She’s been plannin’ her costume for weeks.”
His father laughed shortly in reply. A fake laugh, for affect only. But not one part of his expression was amused… he was staring at Brendan hard, still anxious to interrogate further.
“Ye get some nice meat in there, do ye?” His father asked, eyeing him carefully, “At the club I mean? Some lookers, are there?”
Brendan shrugged. “Some are alright. If yer desperate.”
“And are ye?”
Brendan glanced up from his coffee, eyeballing his father right back with the same calculating precision, and replied, “No. I’m not lookin’ for anyone right now.”
Mr Brady seemed to take a small breath. “An’ why’s that then?”
“Cos I love someone.”
Brendan blinked… taken aback by himself and his own sudden confession. But the momentary look of surprise was quickly replaced by his old blank expression. Still, inside he was reeling… why had he said that?! He was treading on dangerous waters… heading for murky grounds. If he didn’t know himself better he’d have thought his sub-conscious had gotten the better of him… screaming to tell this man the truth, to end the bullshit. His conscious knew better. He had to change the subject…
“Anyway da’, best be gettin’ a move on…”
“No wait.” Mr Brady said sharply. He stood up, looking his son straight in the eye. “Ye didn’t tell me ye had a girlfriend.”
“I don’t.” Brendan replied with forced breeziness. “It’s err… it’s history. Nothin’ is gonna happen.”
“You dumped her?”
Brendan thought about an answer for this. “Mutual realisation that it wasn’t worth the effort. Wouldn’t work.”
“Why?”
Brendan shrugged shortly. “Too much bullshit I guess.”
“But you still love ‘er?”
Brendan had to think about this too. He hadn’t thought about his feelings for Steven like that… not for a long long time. It had hurt too much; messed with his head, his heart, his morals, his common-sense. It had stabbed at him like a dagger; the reason he’d crashed so achingly in prison, wanting nothing more than to end it all, to shrivel away into his own brutal shell where nobody could get near. It had sickened him too much upon his release, to have that surreal wash of nausea when seeing Steven’s face again and having to realise how fucking weak he was to be experiencing these emotions all over again, despite that bastard ruining him. And then Steven had suggested they be friends, and for some reason Brendan had tried hard to make that work… so hard in fact that he pushed aside his feelings, and tried desperately to never think of them again. It was better like this.
So why then had he admitted it now? I love someone. Where had that come from?!
“You do.” Mr Brady whispered. “Even though she’s not worth the effort.”
Brendan didn’t reply. No point. What did it matter now anyway, and particularly talking to THIS MAN about it, whose only reason for the conversation was to pick out Brendans’ weakness.
And now he had.
“Don’t be a pussy, Bren.” He snapped harshly. “Fuckin’ get over it.”
* * * * *
Music blasted from Chez Chez; Rock’n’Roll Night kicking off to a good start with the sudents swarming in in their packs, all dressed to the nines as rock and roll legends. Cheryl swanned about, loving it, glammed up in her best adaptation of Elton John as she greeted the customers, charming them with her contagious energy.
Ste had come with Michaela and Amy who’d both opted for the theme of ‘groupies’ rather than ‘rock stars’, and insisted on Ste dressing as a young David Bowie, even painting the iconic red streak across his face. Ste had found the role quite appealing actually… anything to avoid their first suggestion, which was Pete Townsend. That wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to be giving Brendan any more leverage for his recent return to homophobic comments. Not that Brendan was likely to be there anyway. And… not that Ste cared whether he was or not.
And then, as the drinks poured, Ste found himself covered with Amy’s kisses, leaving big red lipstick marks across his cheeks which she insisted he keep on for the night.
In fact, Amy was doing a damn good job of playing groupie, Ste noticed. She chatted up almost every guy in there, flashing glances back to Dodger as she did; some scheme obviously forming in her mind. Michaela found herself some Jimmy-Hendrix-Wannabee and spent half the time with her tongue lodged down the poor fellas throat. And when she wasn’t doing that she had Ste round the neck, insisting they found him some bloke too.
Still, he didn’t mind. He was having a good time. He didn’t even mind when he spotted Brendan in there, rolling his eyes as Cheryl threw him the “oh, you’ve come as Freddie Mercury!” gag, despite him having made no effort to dress up whatsoever. Spoil-sport, Ste thought bitterly. And when he caught Brendan’s eye across the bar he made particular effort to turn away, to dance casually with whoever was nearest to him - in this case some random guy dressed as Mick Jagger.
The guy grinned at him. “Alright Bowie?”
“Oh…” Ste chuckled slightly; he wasn’t too hot on pop-culture but he recognised the connection in this case. “Yeah. Jagger.”
“Manchester is it?” The guy called over the music.
Ste didn’t get him at first. The drink was obviously slowing him down somewhat before he realised the man was referring to his accent. “Oh! Yeah… an’ you n’all?”
“Yeah, just moved ‘ere last week actually.”
“Oh.” Ste nodded. He felt shy for some reason though couldn’t exactly tell why. Still he continued, “You like it then?”
“It’s alright, yeah. This place is good.”
Ste smiled, a sense of pride filling him. “I work ‘ere.” He announced, “Usually, you know. Night off.”
“Sweet. The drinks are on you then?”
“Yeah.” Ste chuckled. Then blinked, double-taking. “Oh… do you wanna drink?!?”
The bloke laughed, his minty breath blew across Ste’s face and it was the first time he realised how close they were standing.
“No, don’t worry mate, I’ll get ‘em.” The guy called. “What you ‘aving?”
“Um… just a pint please.”
“Comin’ right up.” He winked and started heading towards the bar before turning back and adding, “Oh… I’m Lewis by the way.”
“Ste.”
Ste watched Lewis go, swigging back the end of his drink nervously. Was that guy flirting with him?! He couldn’t really tell - Christ, he was more drunk than he thought. Perhaps he should leave…
But as his eyes trailed across the bar and met Brendan, he changed his mind. Brendan was standing alone in a corner, supposedly surveying the crowds, but he was unmistakably looking RIGHT at Lewis. Ste recognised that look anywhere… it was the same way Brendan looked at Noah… angry, jealous, bitter. Ste felt a surge of satisfaction. Serves him right.
The music got louder, the dance floor got wilder, the surroundings hotter. Ste jumped up and down wildly, driven by Lewis’s wild enthusiasm, by his own drunkenness. The drinks kept coming and coming until Ste was no longer aware what he was drinking or where the fuck they were coming from… only that he wanted to keep dancing, keep moving, keep smiling. Faces constantly weaved in front of him, shouting things over the music to him… Amy with a massive grin on her face, then Michaela with a cheeky wink and a nod of the head towards Lewis. Lewis with his big grin, free spirit. The music got louder and louder until it was POUNDING, taking over Ste’s whole body, vibrating inside his chest… until the whole room was blurring… spinning… faces merging and screaming around him.
Words echoed inside his ears, “Wooaahhh… take it easy, mate!!” But he didn’t want to take it easy. It was like his body was out of his control. His arms were limp like he couldn’t feel them… it was liberating. He spun them wildly, not caring who he crashed into. Then the music would dip, and sound far-away and distant for a moment as Ste was submerged in his own world… then it would come back, BLASTING. Ripping his head open with its angry volume.
“Ste… you okay?!”
The voices in his head were all distant and far away. The faces in front of him were blurred and distorted. They didn’t matter now. None of this mattered. He couldn’t feel THIS… the world anymore. It was just Ste, in his own head, pulsating with the beat. All smell and feel and sound had gone… replaced by numbness. By nothing. Liberating lack of sensation.
“Wooaaahhh…” someone called. “Shit, Ste mate, you alright?!”
Course he was alright. He was fine. Nothing mattered… nothing hurt. The music was all blurring together to form one constant noise… like screaming… like a loud piercing in his ears… and his body was moving but he couldn’t feel his legs carrying it… and then cold air hitting his face…
“Lets get you outside, c’mon…” the voice was saying softly.
Frozen air in his lungs, down his throat. It was the only sense he could take in right now. He felt his head against hard ground, but it just felt asleep… like all his body parts were sleeping… like his mind was dreaming.
“Where do you live?” Someone was saying. “Do ya live round ‘ere?!”
Ste sighed softly. He let his eyes drift shut so nothing but spinning colours rushed through his tunnel of consciousness. The gentle thud-thud-thud of his own beating heart. The cold wetness of his lips as he licked curiously. Felt nice.
More voices were talking now… conversing softly… distantly.
“C’mon lad…” one said. “I’m takin’ ye home.”
“You sure he’s gonna be alrigh’?”
“Ye, he doesn’t live far.”
“Alrigh’. Tell ‘im to call me, yeah?”
“Will do, aye.”
Ste vaguely was aware of his feet lightly hitting ground, but they certainly weren’t carrying his weight… someone else was. He just let himself fall limp and allowed it to happen…
Previous parts
*
Brendan sat stiffly at the dining room table, back straight against the chair behind him, eyes set hard on the table in front of him. It was three days since his last conversation with Steven… the one where he’d seen the fast wash of anger, then fear, then upset cross Steven’s face, and then worst of all - disappointment. And then after that Steven hadn’t come to work. Of course not; Brendan had told him not to. Still, it didn’t stop him waiting for Steven each morning, expecting to see his face.
It was funny how quickly Brendan had gotten into the habit of going to lunch with Steven, letting him chatter on about fuck-all for the whole hour and then walking back to the club with him... mates. Just small things like that, which Brendan only appreciated now they weren’t doing it. Now Steven was back to hating him.
“Where’s yer head at son?” Brendans’ father spoke huskily across the table to him.
He’d been good… since he’d been back. Brendan had DREADED it when he found out his Dad was coming for Christmas; it had been so long since they’d spoken… they’d never been the closest of family members… and what was worse was Steven being back in his life… not as a boyfriend, but still close enough to bring Brendan discomfort. Then had come the revelation… the sour words his Dad had breathed to him one night shortly after his arrival, “I’ve been hearin’ things Brendan. They talk about ye, back home. Eileen does.”
His Dad had never raised his voice… not once. He spoke calmly to Brendan as he threatened to tear those secrets out of him. It’s what Brendan remembered from his childhood too - that eerie composure just before his Dad gave him a hiding.
Luckily, it was just one punch on this occasion. Years had taught Brendan to be a smooth liar, and he talked his way out of it with impressive ease, and before the real bone-breaking started. The rumours were untrue, he said. How could his Dad believe for a SECOND he’d be like those sick little poofters? He’s a Brady after all. A Brady.
There were more questions - after.
Who was Steven, and why was he in Brendan’s bedroom that night? He works for me, Brendan had explained, and he took his employee to the upstairs of his home because Steven was drunk, I thought Cheryl might be able to deal with him.
Mr Brady had accepted it, and moved on. But Brendan still noticed how his eyes trailed over Steven dangerously when Steven was near… when Steven was stupid and obnoxious enough to dare come close to them. He was all heart and no brains, was Steven. What did he think he was doing lingering around like that? Brendan had TOLD him what his father was like. And yes, they may just be MATES, but for God sake it didn’t take Einstein to notice there was something more than that between them… not ever spoken but constantly hanging in the air. A disease.
“Somethin’ on yer mind?” Mr Brady pressed gruffly. He was staring at Brendan seriously… calculating him… trying to see through his well-practiced poker face. Well tough. Brendan was the master at hiding thoughts and emotions. He needed to be with a father like this.
“Jus’ wanderin’ what costume I’m gonna wear tonight for the Club event.” Brendan said with a slight smirk.
His father snorted. “Costumes. For poofs and wankers.”
Brendan just chuckled. “Don’t talk bout Cheryl like tha’.” He joked carefully, “She’s been plannin’ her costume for weeks.”
His father laughed shortly in reply. A fake laugh, for affect only. But not one part of his expression was amused… he was staring at Brendan hard, still anxious to interrogate further.
“Ye get some nice meat in there, do ye?” His father asked, eyeing him carefully, “At the club I mean? Some lookers, are there?”
Brendan shrugged. “Some are alright. If yer desperate.”
“And are ye?”
Brendan glanced up from his coffee, eyeballing his father right back with the same calculating precision, and replied, “No. I’m not lookin’ for anyone right now.”
Mr Brady seemed to take a small breath. “An’ why’s that then?”
“Cos I love someone.”
Brendan blinked… taken aback by himself and his own sudden confession. But the momentary look of surprise was quickly replaced by his old blank expression. Still, inside he was reeling… why had he said that?! He was treading on dangerous waters… heading for murky grounds. If he didn’t know himself better he’d have thought his sub-conscious had gotten the better of him… screaming to tell this man the truth, to end the bullshit. His conscious knew better. He had to change the subject…
“Anyway da’, best be gettin’ a move on…”
“No wait.” Mr Brady said sharply. He stood up, looking his son straight in the eye. “Ye didn’t tell me ye had a girlfriend.”
“I don’t.” Brendan replied with forced breeziness. “It’s err… it’s history. Nothin’ is gonna happen.”
“You dumped her?”
Brendan thought about an answer for this. “Mutual realisation that it wasn’t worth the effort. Wouldn’t work.”
“Why?”
Brendan shrugged shortly. “Too much bullshit I guess.”
“But you still love ‘er?”
Brendan had to think about this too. He hadn’t thought about his feelings for Steven like that… not for a long long time. It had hurt too much; messed with his head, his heart, his morals, his common-sense. It had stabbed at him like a dagger; the reason he’d crashed so achingly in prison, wanting nothing more than to end it all, to shrivel away into his own brutal shell where nobody could get near. It had sickened him too much upon his release, to have that surreal wash of nausea when seeing Steven’s face again and having to realise how fucking weak he was to be experiencing these emotions all over again, despite that bastard ruining him. And then Steven had suggested they be friends, and for some reason Brendan had tried hard to make that work… so hard in fact that he pushed aside his feelings, and tried desperately to never think of them again. It was better like this.
So why then had he admitted it now? I love someone. Where had that come from?!
“You do.” Mr Brady whispered. “Even though she’s not worth the effort.”
Brendan didn’t reply. No point. What did it matter now anyway, and particularly talking to THIS MAN about it, whose only reason for the conversation was to pick out Brendans’ weakness.
And now he had.
“Don’t be a pussy, Bren.” He snapped harshly. “Fuckin’ get over it.”
* * * * *
Music blasted from Chez Chez; Rock’n’Roll Night kicking off to a good start with the sudents swarming in in their packs, all dressed to the nines as rock and roll legends. Cheryl swanned about, loving it, glammed up in her best adaptation of Elton John as she greeted the customers, charming them with her contagious energy.
Ste had come with Michaela and Amy who’d both opted for the theme of ‘groupies’ rather than ‘rock stars’, and insisted on Ste dressing as a young David Bowie, even painting the iconic red streak across his face. Ste had found the role quite appealing actually… anything to avoid their first suggestion, which was Pete Townsend. That wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to be giving Brendan any more leverage for his recent return to homophobic comments. Not that Brendan was likely to be there anyway. And… not that Ste cared whether he was or not.
And then, as the drinks poured, Ste found himself covered with Amy’s kisses, leaving big red lipstick marks across his cheeks which she insisted he keep on for the night.
In fact, Amy was doing a damn good job of playing groupie, Ste noticed. She chatted up almost every guy in there, flashing glances back to Dodger as she did; some scheme obviously forming in her mind. Michaela found herself some Jimmy-Hendrix-Wannabee and spent half the time with her tongue lodged down the poor fellas throat. And when she wasn’t doing that she had Ste round the neck, insisting they found him some bloke too.
Still, he didn’t mind. He was having a good time. He didn’t even mind when he spotted Brendan in there, rolling his eyes as Cheryl threw him the “oh, you’ve come as Freddie Mercury!” gag, despite him having made no effort to dress up whatsoever. Spoil-sport, Ste thought bitterly. And when he caught Brendan’s eye across the bar he made particular effort to turn away, to dance casually with whoever was nearest to him - in this case some random guy dressed as Mick Jagger.
The guy grinned at him. “Alright Bowie?”
“Oh…” Ste chuckled slightly; he wasn’t too hot on pop-culture but he recognised the connection in this case. “Yeah. Jagger.”
“Manchester is it?” The guy called over the music.
Ste didn’t get him at first. The drink was obviously slowing him down somewhat before he realised the man was referring to his accent. “Oh! Yeah… an’ you n’all?”
“Yeah, just moved ‘ere last week actually.”
“Oh.” Ste nodded. He felt shy for some reason though couldn’t exactly tell why. Still he continued, “You like it then?”
“It’s alright, yeah. This place is good.”
Ste smiled, a sense of pride filling him. “I work ‘ere.” He announced, “Usually, you know. Night off.”
“Sweet. The drinks are on you then?”
“Yeah.” Ste chuckled. Then blinked, double-taking. “Oh… do you wanna drink?!?”
The bloke laughed, his minty breath blew across Ste’s face and it was the first time he realised how close they were standing.
“No, don’t worry mate, I’ll get ‘em.” The guy called. “What you ‘aving?”
“Um… just a pint please.”
“Comin’ right up.” He winked and started heading towards the bar before turning back and adding, “Oh… I’m Lewis by the way.”
“Ste.”
Ste watched Lewis go, swigging back the end of his drink nervously. Was that guy flirting with him?! He couldn’t really tell - Christ, he was more drunk than he thought. Perhaps he should leave…
But as his eyes trailed across the bar and met Brendan, he changed his mind. Brendan was standing alone in a corner, supposedly surveying the crowds, but he was unmistakably looking RIGHT at Lewis. Ste recognised that look anywhere… it was the same way Brendan looked at Noah… angry, jealous, bitter. Ste felt a surge of satisfaction. Serves him right.
The music got louder, the dance floor got wilder, the surroundings hotter. Ste jumped up and down wildly, driven by Lewis’s wild enthusiasm, by his own drunkenness. The drinks kept coming and coming until Ste was no longer aware what he was drinking or where the fuck they were coming from… only that he wanted to keep dancing, keep moving, keep smiling. Faces constantly weaved in front of him, shouting things over the music to him… Amy with a massive grin on her face, then Michaela with a cheeky wink and a nod of the head towards Lewis. Lewis with his big grin, free spirit. The music got louder and louder until it was POUNDING, taking over Ste’s whole body, vibrating inside his chest… until the whole room was blurring… spinning… faces merging and screaming around him.
Words echoed inside his ears, “Wooaahhh… take it easy, mate!!” But he didn’t want to take it easy. It was like his body was out of his control. His arms were limp like he couldn’t feel them… it was liberating. He spun them wildly, not caring who he crashed into. Then the music would dip, and sound far-away and distant for a moment as Ste was submerged in his own world… then it would come back, BLASTING. Ripping his head open with its angry volume.
“Ste… you okay?!”
The voices in his head were all distant and far away. The faces in front of him were blurred and distorted. They didn’t matter now. None of this mattered. He couldn’t feel THIS… the world anymore. It was just Ste, in his own head, pulsating with the beat. All smell and feel and sound had gone… replaced by numbness. By nothing. Liberating lack of sensation.
“Wooaaahhh…” someone called. “Shit, Ste mate, you alright?!”
Course he was alright. He was fine. Nothing mattered… nothing hurt. The music was all blurring together to form one constant noise… like screaming… like a loud piercing in his ears… and his body was moving but he couldn’t feel his legs carrying it… and then cold air hitting his face…
“Lets get you outside, c’mon…” the voice was saying softly.
Frozen air in his lungs, down his throat. It was the only sense he could take in right now. He felt his head against hard ground, but it just felt asleep… like all his body parts were sleeping… like his mind was dreaming.
“Where do you live?” Someone was saying. “Do ya live round ‘ere?!”
Ste sighed softly. He let his eyes drift shut so nothing but spinning colours rushed through his tunnel of consciousness. The gentle thud-thud-thud of his own beating heart. The cold wetness of his lips as he licked curiously. Felt nice.
More voices were talking now… conversing softly… distantly.
“C’mon lad…” one said. “I’m takin’ ye home.”
“You sure he’s gonna be alrigh’?”
“Ye, he doesn’t live far.”
“Alrigh’. Tell ‘im to call me, yeah?”
“Will do, aye.”
Ste vaguely was aware of his feet lightly hitting ground, but they certainly weren’t carrying his weight… someone else was. He just let himself fall limp and allowed it to happen…