Graeme has fallen asleep on the couch. He looks peaceful, his soft face relaxed against the cushions. Marie feels a stab of something inside. She’s not sure if it’s love, not any more. Despite everything, she’s missed having Graeme in her life. He’s been out of it longer than he was in it, but those years they spent growing up together shaped her into who she is.
She remembers how he looked when he slept as a boy. Peaceful, his eyes flickering as he dreamt – but what he dreamt wasn’t peaceful. He would tell Marie terrible stories about the things that inhabited his mind, and how he tried his hardest to keep them at bay . . . Keep himself safe from the things he couldn’t explain – things he knew were trying to harm him. Or others. Marie never really understood what it was that had driven him to harm her. She wasn’t sure Graeme knew either.
She stands there, watching him. Watching his chest rise and fall. So peaceful, so calm. But the memories of what he did still scar her soul. She steps towards him, plucks a pillow from where it has slipped down behind his back. She goes to lift his head to place it underneath, but an overwhelming urge hits her.
Smother him, Marie. He shouldn’t be here. Get him out of your life. He will torture you. He will ruin you. See, it’s already started. See what he’s making you want to do.
She drops the pillow on the floor. Runs through to the bathroom, just in time to reach the toilet. She vomits until it feels as if her stomach lining has been ripped from the sides.
This is not love, Marie. You know that. Remember what he did to you.
She cleans herself up. Pushes away the thoughts that are fighting inside her head, two fully formed entities trying for victory in a battle of wills.
Get him out of here, Marie.
He’s your brother, Marie.
Call the police, Marie.
Cuddle up beside him, Marie.
She clutches her head, squeezes tight, trying to make the voices stop. Is this what it’s like for Graeme? Or is it worse, somehow? She knows this is her own subconscious having a battle – but what is it like for him? He was always so alone. No one ever seemed to understand him, except her. The wild mood swings – one minute terrifying her, the next crying in her arms. Begging her to tell him what he did.
He could never remember what he did. Not when it was bad.
The bad person wasn’t him. Not really. The bad person was an alien being who lived inside Graeme’s skin. Most of the time he stayed quiet, hidden. But when he came out, no one could do anything to make him go away.
The bad man always left. Eventually.
And so she always felt responsible for him. For Graeme. He was her true other half. ‘My wee double-yolkers,’ their dad used to say. When their dad used to say things that had any affection at all. They’d coexisted before they were even born, and even though neither of them could ever have a way of remembering that, they shared an invisible bond that held them closer than mere siblings. When they were young, it was as if they’d almost tried to climb inside one another, to get away from a world where they didn’t quite fit in. Graeme, especially. Something in him that wasn’t quite right. Something that made him more vulnerable. Susceptible. All the time he’d been away from her, she’d missed him. Every single day. He must be terrified. But she can’t help him any more. This is wrong. A mistake. Right now, the only thing she can do is get out of the house.
* * *
The pub is fairly quiet when she arrives. Helen is fidgeting at the end of the bar, handbag in hand, ready to leave.
‘Oh, you’re here!’ she says. Her eyes are gleaming with untold gossip. ‘Did you hear what happened?’
Marie shrugs. Takes off her cardigan and stuffs it under the bar. ‘No. What?’
‘Your wee pal’s boyfriend got taken away in an ambulance. Drugs, I reckon. Although Quinn gave me one of his looks when I asked what happened. Laura was a bit shaken up . . .’ She lets her sentence trail off, waiting for Marie’s reaction.
‘Mark? I didn’t have him pegged as a druggie. You sure?’
‘Well no, like I said—’
Marie snaps, ‘I’m so sick of people round here. Bloody gossips, the lot of them.’
‘Who rattled your cage, eh?’ Helen throws the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and storms off. ‘Have a good night.’ Her voice is sickly sweet. ‘The Best and the Strongbow need changed.’
Marie says nothing. Balls her hands into fists until she feels her nails cutting into her palms.
A few of the regulars are playing darts and they glance at her, exchanging looks as she disappears through the gap into the other bar. Fuck them. There is only one couple in the lounge, sitting in the corner nursing pints of heavy, gazing at each other, deep in conversation. Oh to be like that. She collects a few glasses from a table near the kitchen. Spreads out some beer mats. She takes a few deep breaths and tries to get rid of the dark cloud that is hovering over her. When she goes back through to the public bar, she has a new customer.
‘Evening,’ he says. ‘Pint of Tennent’s, please.’
Marie pours the pint. Says nothing.
‘You not speaking?’
She rings it up on the till. Turns back and offers a palm towards him. He drops the coins into her hand. Eventually, she says, ‘Thought you were laying off that stuff during the week.’
Sam sighs. ‘I just fancied a quick pint. Hoped you’d be here. Felt like a chat. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’
‘I suppose not. Sorry. I’m not feeling myself at the moment.’
Someone quips from over by the dartboard: ‘If you’re not feeling yourself, you need someone else to do it for you.’ They all laugh. Marie doesn’t feel like laughing. Hears someone say: ‘Grumpy cow.’ Ignores them.
‘You still seeing that copper, then?’
Marie turns away. She takes a large glass from under the optics, sticks it up. Adds a measure of dark rum. She turns back, fills it with Coke from the gun. She looks Sam in the eye, waiting for him to challenge her. No drinking behind the bar, ever. It’s not the thing. One of the others does it, though. They think no one notices, but everyone does. It’s just the one, Marie thinks. Nothing to worry about. Sam lowers his gaze.
‘Not sure it’s going to work out,’ she says.
Sam looks at her again. He has nice twinkly eyes, Marie realises. She downs the Coke. Serves a round to the darts players. Then she pours another pint for Sam and another sneaky rum and Coke for herself.
Davie comes in when they’re on their third.
‘Hiya,’ he says. ‘Got a minute?’
‘Sorry. I’m a bit busy right now.’
She disappears through the gap into the lounge bar. She hears the swing door open and close. Davie appears on the other side.
‘Why are you avoiding me? Have I done something?’ he says.
She’s poured another rum into her Coke on the other side. No one has seen because the couple that were lost in each other’s eyes have gone. Probably home to fuck themselves into a stupor. Or maybe just to sit in silence and watch EastEnders on catch-up. Who cares?
‘I’m just . . . I’m not myself right now, Davie. You should probably just go.’
He’s staring at her, making her squirm. Can he tell that she’s been drinking? She wants to tell him: I’m doing this for you, Davie. I’m doing this to protect you. If Graeme finds out about you . . . I don’t know what he’ll do. She’s had this feeling since the start, since she first suspected that Graeme was around . . . watching her. Waiting for her. She thinks that it’s not her that Graeme wants to hurt now – it’s whoever is with her. That’s what he should’ve done in the first place. He made a mistake. He got it wrong. Go away, Davie. Please.
He takes something out of his pocket. Inspects it in his hand. He looks like he’s going to give it to her and then he changes his mind.
‘Call me. If you change your mind.’ He walks out of the lounge-bar door. Doesn’t look back.
Marie closes her eyes. This wasn’t what she wanted. None of this is what she wanted. She slips out from behind the bar, locks the lounge door. Picks up the glasses from the couple that were sitting in the corner.
When she goes back through to the bar, the darts players have gone. Their empty pint glasses are lined up at the end of the bar. Only Sam is left now. He’s staring at her. His eyes have glazed over. Four pints. She walks around the other side, goes to lock the door to the public bar.
‘Bit early, is it not?’
She glances at the clock. It’s ten thirty. They are meant to stay open until eleven, but there’s no one here. It’s Monday night. No one is coming in now. She ignores him. Locks the door. Pulls down the blinds. Switches the window lights off.
‘Fancy something different?’ she says.
He nods.
She pours them both a whisky and ginger ale. She never drinks whisky. It doesn’t really agree with her. Makes her do things she shouldn’t be doing. She has the two tumblers in her hands. Changes her mind, pushes them both up under the optics and makes them doubles.
‘Now,’ she says, pulling up a stool beside him, ‘where were we?’
They sip their drinks in silence, until Sam says, ‘You know, Marie, I’ve always fancied you.’
She feels the drink swilling around in her stomach. The fuzz in her head. She’s had too much. They both have. They should go home right now. Sleep it off. She is off tomorrow. She can sleep all day . . . But no. She can’t. Because he is in her flat. Fuck it. Fuck him. She swivels around on the stool, her knees bump against Sam’s, and he turns to face her. His lips are wet from the ice. She leans forward, kisses him.
He hesitates, just for a second. Then he pulls her close. Kisses her hard. Marie feels a stirring deep inside. Something she thought was long gone. Something she always tried to push away. Couldn’t cope with the memories. Seeing his face, looming at her. This should be Davie, she thinks. He should be pulling me close like this. He should be the one who makes me want it like this.
But Davie is not here. Sam is here.
She puts a hand under his T-shirt. Feels the soft warmth of his chest. He is not too skinny, not too muscular. He is not like Graeme. He is not like Davie. Sam stands up. He leans into her stool, pushes her against the bar. His kisses are urgent, but gentle. They’ve had too many drinks. This is a mistake. But she doesn’t care any more. He pushes up her skirt, and she shuffles back on the stool. She leans forward, unbuckles his belt. Unzips him. They’re still kissing. Deep and frantic now. His hands are up her shirt, in her bra, on her nipples. She reaches down, moves her knickers to the side. Grabs hold of him. Making him gasp. He pushes into her. She’s pressed up against the bar, and he’s pushing into her, and everything in her mind disappears. Except this.
Afterwards, he wipes the tears from her cheeks. Kisses her. Walks her home. They hold hands the whole way, but neither of them speaks.
* * *
Marie wakes to the sound of drawers and cupboards being opened and closed, cutlery being dropped on the worktop. She can smell burnt toast. Her head throbs. Her neck aches from the way she’s slept, head slumped towards her chest. She’s never fallen asleep on a chair before. Sofa, occasionally – if she’s been watching a late film. But never a chair.
Someone is in the kitchen, clattering about. Making breakfast. What the . . . ? Then she remembers: Sam. She glances over at the sofa, which has been straightened, pillows fluffed, her fleecy throw blanket folded neatly and left on one arm.
No. Not Sam.
Graeme.
She walks through to the kitchen, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to click it back into place. The kitchen looks like a tornado has hit it. Graeme is humming something. ‘Crocodile Rock’, off-key. It was always one of his favourites. He turns, tray in hand. When he sees her he flinches, almost dropping it.
‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Sorry . . . I’m not used to someone else being here. I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’
Graeme smiles, dimpling his cheeks. Same smile as he always had. He offers her the tray. ‘I’d have made something else, but you didn’t seem to have any food apart from bread. I made some roasted cheese.’
‘Toasted.’
‘It’s roasted. Stuff’s only toasted if it comes out of the toaster; this came out of the grill . . .’
‘So it’s grilled cheese, then.’
‘Do you want a side of fries with that, ma’am?’
‘Your American accent hasn’t improved much over the years.’
‘Not much call for it in there. I tried a few Jack Nicholson lines from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but it seemed a bit close to the bone.’
She wants to laugh, but it won’t come out of her. They always had the debate over roasted versus toasted when they were young. They agreed to disagree. They were both huge fans of Jack Nicholson films, too. Another thing she’s tried to avoid since he went away.
The smell of melted cheese drifts across the kitchen and Marie realises she is starving. ‘Bring it through then. You’re lucky I even had cheese.’
‘I had to cut the mouldy bits off.’
He lays the tray on the coffee table, hands her a plate and a mug. ‘Two sugars,’ he says, smiling.
Marie takes the cup and sips it. Yes, two sugars. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. She watches him as he nibbles on the toast. Too many things are swirling inside her brain, making her head hurt even more. Davie . . . Sam . . . Graeme. What the hell was she doing, letting him in here? She lays the plate back on the tray, toast untouched.
There is a sudden movement. Graeme drops his plate. Stands up. He’s standing by the side of the sofa, arms by his sides. Staring at her. His face is tight. His mouth is set in a grim straight line.
‘How’s your boyfriend, Marie?’
She feels sick. He’s safe, she thinks. Davie is safe. And Graeme can’t know about Sam. How could he know? Has he been following her? That was him at the shows. Must’ve been. He saw her with Davie.
Or did he see her with Sam? If he saw her with Sam, that means he’s been outside. All of the windows face out to the back of the building, into the garden. Into the dark. If he saw her with Sam, he must’ve followed her. She shudders. Imagines him watching her. Always watching her.
‘I haven’t got a boyfriend,’ she says. Her voice shakes. She looks at her hands. Quivering. Sets the mug down. ‘You know what? I need to go out. Might be best if you just stay here and rest today, OK? I just have to pop out and do a few things. I’ll come back later, make us some tea. What do you fancy?’
Graeme giggles. A horrible, high-pitched sound that she’s never heard from him before. ‘Don’t be silly, Marie. You aren’t going anywhere.’
A cold trickle of sweat runs down her back. ‘What . . . what do you mean? I’m just popping out to the shop. I won’t be long. You can wait here for me, can’t you? We’ve been apart so long, what’s a few more hours?’ She tries to keep her voice light, upbeat, but it feels false.
He takes a step towards her. ‘You know, Marie. My sweet Marie. In Balinese culture, it’s common for twins of the opposite sex to marry each other, since they’ve already had sex in the womb. Did you know that? I’ve learned a lot of things since I’ve been away, you know. Things I need to tell you. That’s why I knew it was time for me to come back. So why don’t you sit yourself down and I can tell you some more?’
Marie is frozen. ‘I . . . Look, we can talk more when I get back. I told you, I won’t be long.’
He takes another step towards her, then stops. Smiles. A wide, forced grin that turns his face into a terrifying mask. Marie takes a step backwards, her hand grappling wildly behind her for something, anything she can use as a weapon.
His face goes blank. He seems to be staring right through her.
‘Graeme?’
He sits back down, starts fiddling with the TV remote. He won’t look at her.
A bead of panic fizzes inside. He’s calm again, but for how long? She can’t do this. She needs to get out. Call the police. Get him back where he belongs. Sort things with Davie. Talk to Sam – does she have to talk to Sam? Just a one-off. Sam has a wife. Kids. Nothing is going to happen.
She needs to get rid of Graeme. If she can get him out of her flat, she can try to work out what to do. ‘Maybe you should go upstairs and get your stuff. You can put it in the spare room. Let me know if you need anything new and I can get it for you.’
He ignores her. He’s pressing the on-off button on the remote.
On. Off. On. Off.
‘Graeme?’
‘Whatever you think, Marie. You know best. You always did.’
Marie can’t bear it any longer. She walks through to the bathroom, locks the door behind her. Takes a deep breath. A flood of anger hits her. Her cheeks burn. Hot tears roll down her face.
I’m not letting you ruin my life, Graeme, she thinks.
Not again.