Billy sprinted up the metal stairs to his old flat two at a time and bashed on the door, shouting, ‘Daz! It’s me. I forgot my key. Hurry up, I’m freezing my balls off out here.’
His twin brother opened it, then without a word walked back into the lounge. The football coverage had just started for the mid-week match between West Ham and Tottenham. From ten years old, the twins had never missed watching a match together when their beloved Hammers were playing. Their dad, an ardent season-ticket holder, would take them to every single home game as soon as they were old enough to enjoy it.
‘Blimey, it looks like a bomb’s hit this place.’ Billy looked around in dismay. The usually tidy lounge was scattered with pizza takeaway boxes and crushed-up cans of lager, and the small open-plan kitchen area was stacked with dirty plates and mugs. There was a distinct smell of a full rubbish bin about the place.
‘Don’t you start,’ Daz growled. ‘Dad’s already been up here, screaming and shouting at me for not showing up for work today.’
‘Thank God I’ve got Conor on the ferry now or I don’t know how I’d be coping either,’ Billy agreed.
‘Yeah, why don’t you stick the knife in too, eh.’
‘Shit. I didn’t mean to have a go. It’s just … you’ve not been yourself lately. You’re a grafter usually. So what’s going on? I don’t get it.’
‘It’s nothing.’ Darren Dillon slumped down on the beanbag and looked up at the huge flat screen that they’d fixed on the back wall of the spacious lounge when Billy had been living with him. He opened a can of cold lager and began to drink.
Frowning, Billy sat down on the sofa behind him. Something was definitely wrong. His brother had become almost hermit-like over the past few weeks. Daz had never been one for exercise, but it was obvious to see he wasn’t looking after himself now in any shape or form. He had put on weight. His West Ham shirt had a food stain down it. Even his normally shaved head had growth coming through and he was sporting a scruffy beard, which shocked Billy, who was used to seeing his twin clean-shaven, smart, and smelling a lot more fragrant than he did today. The only thing that was shining bright was the diamond stud in his ear. The boys had always been seen as chalk and cheese, with Billy’s almost black hair cut into a trendy style with a floppy fringe and his lean body the opposite to his brother’s soft one. But what they did share was a wild and wicked sense of humour, and unconditional love and respect for each other.
‘I know since I’ve moved in with Kara, I haven’t seen a lot of you,’ Billy tried.
‘I’m happy for you, mate. It’s not that. Look, can we just watch the match together like old times?’
‘Are you ill?’ A feeling of panic gripped Billy.
‘Nah, I’m all right.’
‘Are you in trouble then?’
‘Bill!’
‘Is it a woman?’ Darren shut his eyes as if to contain himself, but his younger brother by two minutes didn’t let up. ‘I didn’t think you cared about that Lydia Twist or Miss Fancy Pants from Crowsbridge Hall – I thought they were just mindless shags.’ He thought then exclaimed, ‘Ah, I know what it is! You really were in love with Lydia Twist, and she moved away. Is that it? That is it, isn’t it.’ Billy knew if he just kept pushing, Daz would eventually snap.
Darren leaped up from the beanbag. He was shaking. ‘Bill. Can you just shut the fuck up for a minute? Please. Actually, why don’t you just fuck off home. I’m sick of the lot of you. Mum wanted the old man to come over tonight too. Can’t you all just leave me alone!’
Feeling a sudden anger, Billy grabbed hold of his brother’s shoulders and stared deeply into his matching indigo-blue eyes.
‘I know you better than you know your fucking self,’ he said.
‘No, you don’t.’ Darren’s eyes were welling up.
‘Whatever it is, we go through it together – like we always have. I promise you that. Darren, you’re my twin. My other half, for God’s sake!’
Darren’s bottom lip wobbled. He kept his brother’s gaze for a second, then pulled away and slumped back on to his beanbag. ‘Just be here, can you?’ he said quietly.
Billy opened a beer, pulled up another beanbag and, touching elbow to elbow with his brother, began to watch the match.