Ahead of the lunchtime crowd, the pub on The Broadway was empty apart from the staff who were busy setting up. A good-looking guy dressed in a blazer and a white shirt open at the neck followed me in and took a stool at the end of the bar. He had style: his long hair was swept behind his ears like an artiste or an Italian chef with a name like Carlo or Luca, who’d made it big on daytime television, the kind older women with nothing better to do drooled over. He drew a Daily Express somebody had left towards him and leafed casually through the pages until he got to the racing section. Then he picked up one of those stubby pens you get in bookies and scribbled in the margin. While I studied him, his dark eyes never left the page.
I ordered a pint and a large whisky and took a seat at a table in the corner. Some nights I’d dreamed of Courage Directors, but now, with the frosted measure cold against my skin and the smell of hops and barley malt thick in the air, it didn’t seem real.
The first sip is always the best, my father used to say. Who would know better than a man who’d dedicated his life to trying to find the same pleasure in the rest of the glass? And the ten after that. He died when Nina was fourteen and I was fifteen. Danny was twenty-two. Though my memories of him weren’t good, at least I had some. I didn’t recall anything about my mother. She ran out on us before I was old enough to understand – one day there, the next day gone. Any time I’d asked, Danny had told me to shut it and gone into a mood.
After a while I stopped asking.
Nothing about my father said he missed her, yet I never saw him with another woman. Maybe that told the story.
I suppose he did his best. Unfortunately, his best wasn’t very good.
His best was shit, actually.
Our old man had been a boozer. With no wife to nark him he took to it in earnest and drank himself to death, leaving two sons, a daughter, a wad of unpaid bills and a pile of empty whisky bottles stinking under his bed.
Nobody would have blamed Danny for finally letting Social Services take the weight of the load he’d been carrying for years. My brother had other ideas. His cooking was crap and he couldn’t iron a shirt worth a damn, but he needed no lessons in loyalty.
No surprise then that growing up I’d idolised him and wanted to be like him. Somewhere along the line that stopped being true. Wandsworth did the rest. Sending the Lexus was typical. Flash. In your face. Out to prove how well he was doing. Over-compensating for how hard it had been for him bringing us up on his own.
I went to the bar, ordered another round and saw my reflection in the mirror behind the optics. Most of what was looking back was all right. Nothing a bit of sunshine wouldn’t sort. Letting my hair grow and wearing clothes that didn’t make me look as if I’d stepped through a portal to the last century would help. Nina’s blunt assessment when she picked me up came back to me. A smile would help, too, if I could find one. Cheryl used to wind me up because I didn’t walk around grinning like an idiot.
Cheryl had been a nice lady. Her and Nina had been close – more like sisters really. During her visits to Wandsworth we sometimes talked about Cheryl and Nina would tear up and change the subject before it got too emotional.
By now, my sister would’ve reported my disappearing act and got a bollocking for her trouble. I expected the same. Danny wouldn’t appreciate being stood up. Nor would he like the promise I’d made myself – Team Glass had been playing a man short and was going to stay that way: I was done.
In the middle of the day the pub was packed with office types in suits and ties, managing to make half-pints last forever. I was on my second by then, and feeling the effects, when a brunette I hadn’t noticed started doing the rounds, wiping tables with a damp cloth. She kept her head down and didn’t speak to anybody. The alcohol inspired me to lighten her load, my good deed for the day. I picked up my glasses so she could clean the surface.
‘Cheer up, it might never happen.’
She made a sound in her throat that meant she didn’t believe me. ‘You sure?’
Her accent was thick, the kind that went with fur hats and vodka.
‘Want to tell me about it?’
She shrugged and moved on, not interested. And no wonder. ‘Cheer up, it might never happen.’ Jesus Christ. Was that really the best I could do? Rusty was one thing, corny was something else. I needed to sharpen up.
The sense of freedom was almost overwhelming – I spent the next hour enjoying it until the spell was broken by a familiar voice, loud and aggressive, joking with me as he’d done since I was a kid. ‘Who do I have to fuck to get a drink around here? Hope it isn’t you.’
Danny studied me through tired eyes. My first impression was how much older he seemed: his face was lined, tinged an unhealthy grey. Success in his business came at a price. Dark hair – a lot darker than mine – brushed the collar of a white shirt straining the buttons at his belly; he’d put on weight. The workouts in the gym in Wandsworth had toned my body and I was fitter than I’d ever been. The thing we had in common was our height – we were both five feet ten. But, for as long as I could remember, despite the physical differences, anyone meeting us had immediately known we were brothers.
He dropped into the chair across the table. ‘Didn’t fancy it, then? Don’t blame you. Star fuckers the lot of them. Eat the food, drink the booze and piss off out of it. Only reason they turn up, that and being able to say they’ve rubbed shoulders with a famous face.’
‘Needed a bit of space. Sorry, Danny.’
‘Yeah, Nina said when she returned the car and pissed off. No problem. Who’d want a bunch of strangers gawping at them?’
Strangers invited by him, that bit was forgotten. My brother had a selective memory and a talent for rewriting the past. I hadn’t seen him in long enough, although Wandsworth wasn’t exactly on the other side of the moon. No surprise. The visits had never been a success. We couldn’t bring ourselves to talk about the bomb or Cheryl and Rebecca. That hadn’t left much and for most of the hour we’d stared across the table at each other, wishing it would end. In the beginning, he had endured the hassle of the security checks every couple of weeks. Then it was six weeks. Then a year. After a while I’d lost track. I didn’t blame him for giving it a miss – he gave up pretending before me, that was the difference.
My brother stopped coming but Nina didn’t, bringing gossip – a currency most inmates traded in – to distract me from my situation. Danny featured in a lot of stories inside. One rumour would have him ruling the South Side with an iron hand, in the next, he was dying of cancer and only had weeks to live.
My sister confirmed most of it was crap and anyway, if she was wrong, it would be waiting for me when I got out.
‘Nina’s told me she’s working for you.’
Danny grunted. ‘Not true, she’s working for herself. She’s…’ laughter from the direction of the bar interrupted him and he scowled angrily at the intrusion ‘… part of the family. That means she’s due a third – of everything. Only right she pulls her weight.’
‘And does she?’
He thought about his reply. ‘Her work isn’t the problem. Matter of fact, she’s done well. Added more than a few tasty properties to the portfolio. Got in at the right price, too.’ He allowed himself a half-smile. ‘Didn’t know we had a portfolio, did you, little brother?’
‘So, what’s the issue?’
‘Her attitude. Your sister isn’t a team player. As soon as I say something, she’s down my throat.’
Just like him.
‘Why not let her just get on with it?’
A vein pulsed in Danny’s temple; the suggestion didn’t sit well. ‘I have. I bloody have. Along with the property she deals with the accountant. But, at the end of the day, I’m the head of the family. When I ask a question, I expect an answer. And you’ll remember her taste in men’s never been great.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
He didn’t reply and changed the subject. ‘How’re you doing?’
‘Okay.’
‘Pleased to hear it because I need you.’ He saw my expression and backed off. ‘Not right now. After you’ve had a holiday, somewhere with palm trees. Take a month.’ From inside his coat he pulled a wad of notes tied with an elastic band. ‘Scatter cash. Fun money.’
I guessed three thousand pounds.
‘I’m all right. Got enough.’
He pushed it towards me. ‘No such thing. Besides, your share comes to a helluva lot more than this. Check your bank account.’
‘I didn’t earn it.’
He snorted. ‘What’re you on about? ’Course you did.’
I left the money where it was.
Danny looked me over again. ‘Great to have you where I can keep an eye on you. Last time I wasn’t around it all went a bit Pete Tong. No offence, little brother. Made some moves while you’ve been away. You’ve got new people to meet, new opportunities to get your head round. Take a while to come up to speed. Like I told you, we’re into property now.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Yeah, it is and we’re doing okay, all things considered.’ He waved an arm in the air. ‘Why this place?’
‘They sell beer.’
‘Not so you’d notice.’
A click of his fingers brought the waitress.
‘What’s that?’ He pointed to my pint and answered his own question. ‘Directors?’
I nodded.
‘One of them and two Black Label. Doubles.’ He brought his attention back to me.
‘Been in half a dozen pubs before this one. Wish you’d told Nina where you were going.’
‘I didn’t know. Sorry.’
Danny swatted the apology away. ‘Forget it. You go where you want to go, do what you want to do.’ He handed me a mobile phone. ‘Next time you feel like ducking out, give me a call. My birthday’s coming up. See if you can manage to drag yourself along to that.’
I let the sarcasm fly over my head.
The waitress bent to lift a crisp packet off the floor, her ample arse stretching the material of her faded jeans.
Danny said, ‘Crack a few walnuts with that, eh?’
An old line but it made me laugh; when I was a kid, he’d made me laugh a lot.
‘’Course, after seven years you’d probably take it on.’
‘When I’m stronger, maybe.’
The drinks came. He casually tossed a fifty on the tray as if it was nothing.
‘The flat’s ready. Had it cleaned – new towels, new sheets and all that. Be good to sleep in your own bed. Might want to think about selling though, the neighbourhood’s down the plughole.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Everybody round there talks Polish or some fucking thing. Can’t understand a word. The Chinese restaurant on the corner? Nice people, remember? You liked them, lived on their sweet and sour pork – ’least, they said it was pork. Don’t know how you could eat that foreign muck. It’s a dry-cleaner now. Lithuanians run it.’
Suddenly the Chinese were all right; my brother’s selective memory in action. Before I’d gone inside, he’d called them yellow bastards and constantly complained about them buying up London.
‘And the women…’ He threw the whisky over in one go and screwed up his face. ‘Jesus Christ… if ugly was contagious they’d be in quarantine. I’d move if I were you. To somewhere they speak English.’
‘Like where?’
‘In London? No idea. Let me know if you come across it. Up west the Arabs are buying everything they can lay their greasy hands on. Thirty million. Fifty million. For houses they don’t even live in. Honest to God, this country’s finished.’
I’d been listening to my brother’s views all my life. No matter the problem, ‘Bloody foreigners’ were to blame.
‘You know where I’m coming from. Don’t pretend you don’t.’
Yes, I did – he was being who he’d always been: a xenophobe and a racist. He ended his rant and eyed me up and down.
‘Seriously, you don’t look great.’
‘Thanks, bro. I need that.’
The pub was returning to how I’d found it, empty apart from a few diehards, the poser in the blazer one of them. Danny pointed to my glass.
‘Fancy another?’
‘Think I’ve had enough. I’m not used to it.’
He overruled me. ‘Go on. Just a splash. Have a break then get back in the game. And stay alert, some people have long memories.’
Rich coming from him. When he was fourteen, an older boy stuck a knife in the ball he was playing with. On a dark night five years later, somebody dragged the boy into an alley and beat the shit out of him. He’d ended up in hospital with concussion and a mouthful of broken teeth. Danny hadn’t hurried to take his revenge. But he hadn’t forgotten. The account got squared. The account always got squared. Nobody had a longer memory than my brother.
‘That a warning?’
‘No, an observation. Do it anyway.’
He leaned over and patted my cheek.
‘The Glass brothers ride again, eh?’
I toyed with the dregs in my glass. There was never going to be a good time.
‘Danny. There’s something I need to say.’
He looked concerned. ‘What? What is it? You ill?’
‘Nothing like that.’
‘Then… what?’
At the end of the day I owed him and we both knew it. This was hard.
‘Ever since I was a kid you’ve looked out for me and Nina. I’m grateful but…’
He held up a hand to stop me from carrying on. ‘Luke. Whatever’s on your mind will keep. This is your day. Enjoy it.’
I realised he knew what I was going to say – he just didn’t want to hear it. I said it anyway, blurted it out, shucking off a weight I’d carried around too long.
‘I’m not coming back. I’m finished.’
Over the years I’d had plenty of opportunities to recognise the signs. He shot his don’t-fuck-with-me look, the lines on his face deepened and the casual acceptance of me doing a runner from the homecoming party fell away. It had been an act. He edged forward and balled his fist. Danny had a temper – I’d seen him lose it many times. For a moment, I thought he was going to hit me. With an effort he pulled himself together and put a hand on my shoulder.
‘Take whatever time you need. See how you feel about it then.’