then Noel curled up. Vincent stared at the bruise on Noel’s right cheek.
‘What happened your face?’
Noel shook his head again.
‘We’ll talk tomorrow?’
Noel didn’t open his eyes, just nodded. Vincent spent what was left of the night on Noel’s couch.
At thirty-two, Noel was six years older than Vincent, with two stretches in the Joy while Vincent was still at school. From the off, Noel was able to do anything with a car. Open it up with a coat hanger, jump the leads, race it, slide it, spin it 180 with a touch of the handbrake, sideswipe it off lamp posts and parked cars if that’s what he felt like doing. Back then, Noel’s idea of a pleasant evening was to steal something fast and noisily drive around the estate until some busybody called the cops. When the bluebottles showed up, blue lights spinning, Noel waited, revving the engine until the cops thought they had him. Then, when they were close enough to see his smile, he’d give them the finger and floor the metal and the chase was on.
They never caught him behind a wheel. Instead, they collared him one night coming out of the rear exit of a chemist shop, his pockets full of cheap highs. That’s when they beat the shite out of him. At first, he gave as good as he got, which was a mistake. He was on a drip in the Mater for ten days before he woke up to face charges of burglary, assaulting two policemen and resisting arrest.
These days, Noel had a bit too much flesh on him, too much grey in his hair and too little bounce in his stride. The lines around his eyes looked like the work of decades.
When Vincent heard Noel stirring this morning he started cracking eggs. By the time his brother was up Vincent had a couple of mushroom omelettes ready. As they sat down across the kitchen table from each other Noel said, ‘I know.’
Vincent paused, fork halfway to his mouth.
‘You know what?’
‘I was a prick last night. No need for a pep talk.’
‘As long as you’re all right now.’
‘It was just – I was at Cisco’s, they walk in and the minute it happened I could see what was going on. The bitch was making some sort of point. No other reason to bring Bannerman there. Not his kind of place. And after they’d gone – Jesus, them waltzing off – that bitch, throwing me away like I was something she wiped her arse with.’
‘Noel—’
‘It was drink, it was daft, I know that. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Could have screwed up everything. He’s a cunt, Bannerman is, and she’s worse.’
‘That’s—’
‘I know, I know, and I’m not gonna do anything – OK.’ He spoke now as though talking to himself. ‘Every day it hurts, and every day it makes it worse that that bitch is out there enjoying herself.’
Vincent said, ‘What happened your face?’
‘What’s the matter with it?’
‘You’ve got a bruise – just there?’
Noel touched his face where Vincent pointed. ‘No idea – the way it was, things got a bit frisky last night, Bannerman’s boys.’
‘Bastards.’
‘Nah. They were doing their job, keeping me off the cunt.’
After a minute, Noel said he was right, wasn’t he? The Tommy Tiernan DVD – it was a good choice for last night, right?
Later, when Noel was having a shower, Vincent rang Albert Bannerman and said, ‘Hope everything’s OK – no strain, right?’
‘Not from this end.’
‘Let’s talk, maybe tomorrow?’
Albert said that would be fine.
The Abbey Street food hall was awash with the smells of Turkish, Italian, Mexican and Chinese food. Vincent was wondering if he maybe shouldn’t bin his sandwich and find something more tasty.
Michelle looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get back.’
They’d walked a few yards up Abbey Street when Vincent said, ‘OK for tonight?’
Michelle stopped and faced him. ‘You and Noel, there’s something happening?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Bits of phone calls, things you said. There’s something coming up?’
‘That isn’t
‘What happened your face?’
Noel shook his head again.
‘We’ll talk tomorrow?’
Noel didn’t open his eyes, just nodded. Vincent spent what was left of the night on Noel’s couch.
At thirty-two, Noel was six years older than Vincent, with two stretches in the Joy while Vincent was still at school. From the off, Noel was able to do anything with a car. Open it up with a coat hanger, jump the leads, race it, slide it, spin it 180 with a touch of the handbrake, sideswipe it off lamp posts and parked cars if that’s what he felt like doing. Back then, Noel’s idea of a pleasant evening was to steal something fast and noisily drive around the estate until some busybody called the cops. When the bluebottles showed up, blue lights spinning, Noel waited, revving the engine until the cops thought they had him. Then, when they were close enough to see his smile, he’d give them the finger and floor the metal and the chase was on.
They never caught him behind a wheel. Instead, they collared him one night coming out of the rear exit of a chemist shop, his pockets full of cheap highs. That’s when they beat the shite out of him. At first, he gave as good as he got, which was a mistake. He was on a drip in the Mater for ten days before he woke up to face charges of burglary, assaulting two policemen and resisting arrest.
These days, Noel had a bit too much flesh on him, too much grey in his hair and too little bounce in his stride. The lines around his eyes looked like the work of decades.
When Vincent heard Noel stirring this morning he started cracking eggs. By the time his brother was up Vincent had a couple of mushroom omelettes ready. As they sat down across the kitchen table from each other Noel said, ‘I know.’
Vincent paused, fork halfway to his mouth.
‘You know what?’
‘I was a prick last night. No need for a pep talk.’
‘As long as you’re all right now.’
‘It was just – I was at Cisco’s, they walk in and the minute it happened I could see what was going on. The bitch was making some sort of point. No other reason to bring Bannerman there. Not his kind of place. And after they’d gone – Jesus, them waltzing off – that bitch, throwing me away like I was something she wiped her arse with.’
‘Noel—’
‘It was drink, it was daft, I know that. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Could have screwed up everything. He’s a cunt, Bannerman is, and she’s worse.’
‘That’s—’
‘I know, I know, and I’m not gonna do anything – OK.’ He spoke now as though talking to himself. ‘Every day it hurts, and every day it makes it worse that that bitch is out there enjoying herself.’
Vincent said, ‘What happened your face?’
‘What’s the matter with it?’
‘You’ve got a bruise – just there?’
Noel touched his face where Vincent pointed. ‘No idea – the way it was, things got a bit frisky last night, Bannerman’s boys.’
‘Bastards.’
‘Nah. They were doing their job, keeping me off the cunt.’
After a minute, Noel said he was right, wasn’t he? The Tommy Tiernan DVD – it was a good choice for last night, right?
Later, when Noel was having a shower, Vincent rang Albert Bannerman and said, ‘Hope everything’s OK – no strain, right?’
‘Not from this end.’
‘Let’s talk, maybe tomorrow?’
Albert said that would be fine.
The Abbey Street food hall was awash with the smells of Turkish, Italian, Mexican and Chinese food. Vincent was wondering if he maybe shouldn’t bin his sandwich and find something more tasty.
Michelle looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get back.’
They’d walked a few yards up Abbey Street when Vincent said, ‘OK for tonight?’
Michelle stopped and faced him. ‘You and Noel, there’s something happening?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Bits of phone calls, things you said. There’s something coming up?’
‘That isn’t
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