Blood And Water (4 page)

“What’s going on in here?” the priest bellowed, having used his foot to kick open the door.

Rian fell back onto the toilet seat as his heart leapt from his ribcage to his mouth, his lunch threatening to follow. His knees turned to jelly and from his lips escaped the girliest of screeches in fright.

Father Sullivan took stock of the dripping, quivering mess of a boy in front of him.

“Take yourself to the showers, then come see me in my office,” he said without as much as a hint of sympathy.

Rian’s heart dropped. He knew what was coming and it wasn’t going to be nice. Trudging out of the toilets, he crossed the hall and went into his dorm, his hair dripping and his jumper soaked, smelling like something close to a toilet freshener.

He stopped one cubicle short of his own. The curtain was open and his brother sat reading on the bed. He stood and looked in at him.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“What for?” Seb asked, looking up from his book.

“You could have stopped them.”

“You could have kept your big stupid mouth shut.”

“Really? So I should have just stood by to watch that asshole Fitzer beat the crap out of Robbie?”

“That’s the one.”

“Robbie is our friend.”

“Your friend.”

“You’re a shit, do you know that?” Rian told him, feeling the drops of toilet water seep down his back.

Seb gave him a last sour glance, accentuated by his middle finger, then focused his attention back on his book.

“Wine?” Seb asked, hauling him back to the present reality of the lunch table.

“Please,” Rian replied politely, not because he had any kind of thirst for it, but because he wanted to have Seb serve him.

He watched the burgundy liquid fill his glass before looking up into his brother’s face. Seb avoided his stare, as if looking into his eyes might give something away, his slightly flushing cheeks confirmation that there was another agenda at play.

They had never talked about what happened that night, or what happened next like a scenario deleted from the final cut of the play, but they both knew it was a moment that had shaped Rian’s life forever.

Rian walked on past, turned into his own tiny cubicle and pulled the curtain across. Despite its flimsy construction – it was nothing more than a two-by-three open-top, three-sided, plywood box with a sink in the corner and a built-in chest of drawers to the side – he usually felt perfectly safe, but not that evening. Sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling the hostile vibrations from his brother on the far side of the blue painted wall, he felt anything but comfort. Gathering his wash bag and towel along with a clean vest, shirt and jumper he returned across the hall, to the showers, ignoring Seb with his head held high as he passed his open cubicle.

“What’s the matter, Bertie?” Fitzer was standing in the hall with his moronic sidekicks, Decco and Murph, on either side.

Rian lowered his head, keeping his focus on the ground, unwilling to risk meeting his aggressor eye to eye.

“Had a little accident, did we?” Fitzer sniggered, looking to his companions for endorsement while sidestepping into Rian’s path. “Now I hope you don’t plan on whining your heart out to Sully. I don’t want to hear that you have. Understood?”

“Understood,” Rian replied, dead in his tracks, clenching his fists tight, his eyes to the ground. He wanted nothing more than to punch Fitzer but resisted the urge, knowing full well what would happen if he did.

“There’s a good boy,” Fitzer mocked with a gentle slap to the back of his head. “Because if you do, there’ll be more of this,” and with the threat he lifted his knee fast and hard till it come in contact with Rian’s groin.

Immediately on impact his world imploded into whiteness, like a veil had fallen in front of his eyes. The pain shot like a burning rod, running the route straight to his brain and back again, a pain so bad it brought tears to his eyes and turned his legs to water – they wouldn’t, couldn’t and didn’t hold him up any longer. Holding himself, he fell to his knees and bit down hard on his bottom lip, doing his best to contain both himself and his
scream, making sure both it and his balls stayed inside. When he opened his eyes Fitzer was gone. The door to the dorm was open with Seb standing at its threshold, books and pens in hand, looking down on him. Seeing his brother lying buckled on the hall floor, he reversed back into the room and closed the door after him. Rian closed his eyes and waited for the pain to subside and his vision to return to normal, then slowly uncurled and heaved himself up off the cold linoleum floor. Unable to stand upright, he hobbled like an old man to the showers. Choosing the only lockable unit in the row of twenty open showers, he fell into it and slammed the plywood door behind him. Safe within its confines he stripped down, threw his clothes onto the stool and turned the dial to release the water at full blast. He stood under it, letting the spray drench him all over, not caring nor noticing that it was hot enough to burn. Somewhere deep inside he felt brave for standing up to them: Robbie was too small to fight for himself. But weightier was the feeling of humiliation at being knocked down. In the end he had let them take him down. It was that or fight and be battered. But, above all else, he felt abandoned by his big brother who as good as gave him up to the shellacking. Despite their antipathy for each other, Rian never thought that in a moment of danger Seb would forsake him like that. If their roles were exchanged he knew for sure he would never do that; he knew instinctively he would safeguard his brother at all costs. They were the same blood: he would take his side over anyone else. They should stand together and fight together, as brothers. As family.

Feeling let down, empty and alone, he slowly slipped to the floor and sobbed. At thirteen he wasn’t yet the man his family expected him to be. Even at sixteen or seventeen or eighteen or ever, he would never be the man that could match the eminence of Seb. He was and always would be just Rian. And that would never be good enough.

He sat in the water spray until his skin turned soft and lumpy and his tears ran dry. Picking himself up, he took a deep breath and, shoving his feelings of self-pity to the back of his mind, accepted for the moment he was what he was. Slowly he washed himself, starting at his head and working his way down, checking his groin on the way for any visible damage, mentally preparing for what he knew was still to come with Father Sullivan.

“Are you okay?” Martha asked him quietly, squeezing his arm gently.

“What?” Rian asked, returning to the moment, his unseeing eyes still trained on his brother.

“You’re shaking,” she remarked, wiping his brow. “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”

“I’m fine, just thinking, that’s all. Just thinking …”

Chapter 3

Sebastian blushed under the intense scrutiny of his brother’s glower. He needed to rein it in: his unusually affable behaviour was arousing suspicion. Until yesterday he’d forgotten that it was his and Kathryn’s turn to host the monthly family gathering. He could have done without it but, given the circumstances, to cancel would have been the wrong thing to do. Anyway, he reflected, it did afford him some time to think tactically and figure out how best to handle this latest crisis; he hadn’t, however, appreciated it would be as difficult a task as it was now turning out to be. Seb was well used to dealing with one catastrophe after another, but this one was that bit different because it involved his father. And the emotional aspect of this particular conundrum was having an unusual effect on his ability to think clearly and rationally.

Doing his best to ignore Rian’s glare, Seb navigated the table to top up the wineglasses. This was his house, his home, his table and it galled him to see his father lord it over the group. Somehow he and his siblings had become used to it: regardless of whose home the lunch was hosted in, it was a given that William Bertram would somehow usurp the seat at the head of the table. But today, knowing now what his father had done, it stuck in his throat.

Be smart, Seb, he told himself, replacing the wine on the credenza and retaking his seat while Kathryn brought in the main course.

What the hell is she at, he thought, momentarily distracted by his wife’s bizarre behaviour, prancing in and out of the kitchen with that look on her face that he tended only to see when she’d got what she wanted. Well, at least she’s smiling, he told himself – one less thing to worry about.

He let his chin rest on his interlocked fingers to observe his father. Going into business with his dad was never a good idea, but his involvement had, he thought, been minimal.

“What harm can it do?” he’d asked his friend and business partner Dermot.

“Just keep it simple,” Dermot had warned and that, or so he thought, was exactly what he had done – kept it simple. But lunch with an old friend told him otherwise.

Only a few days previously his phone had rung out from his pocket. He didn’t recognise the number when it came up on screen and almost didn’t answer, but curiosity got the better of him.

“Jesus, Tim. How the hell are you?” he said once his old school friend identified himself.

With the pleasantries aside, Tim suggested they meet “for a catch-up”.

Seb was intrigued. Why all of a sudden was it so important that they should catch up?

“My shout,” Tim offered.

Well, he’s changed, Seb thought, remembering Timothy Burton as the meanest guy in his year who got away with it only because he was so bloody entertaining. Must be looking out for a new job, he assumed.

They met in the city for lunch.

“Good to see you, mate,” Tim greeted him with a hearty slap on the back and a knuckle-crushing handshake.

“It must be what, four, maybe five years?” Seb calculated.

“About that,” Tim confirmed. “And we’re still in one piece.”

“Just about,” Seb half-joked.

“Tell me about it – it’s been a crazy couple of years.”

They both nodded slowly as if paying silent homage to the memory of their recession-inflicted wounds.

“You still in the bank?” Seb asked after they had ordered.

“Yep. For my sins!”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Seb teased.

“True. True,” Tim conceded, matching Seb’s wide grin.

And when their drinks arrived they touched glasses and toasted their re-acquaintance.

“So,” Seb enquired through a mouthful of overpriced burger, “how is the bank?”

“Well, that’s why I wanted to meet with you,” Tim replied, putting down his cutlery and clearing his throat. “I’m heading up a new team. It’s part of a high-value risk-assessment procedure that the Financial Regulator’s brought in since the recession.”

“Sounds pretty interesting.”

“It is,” Tim replied, dropping his eyes to the table. “Our job is to review all loan transactions over five million euro and basically make sure they are processed correctly and risk-free – for us, the bank, I mean.”

Seb laughed. “Isn’t that always the case?”

“Well, normally yes. But in the years before the recession it was all pretty lax to be honest. Before, money was handed out to people who would never, ever, have had the means to pay it back but now – now everything has to be checked and double-checked, triple-checked sometimes and – well – that’s how come I asked to meet.”

The sudden injection of trepidation in Tim’s voice made Seb look at him properly.

Then out of Tim’s mouth came words meant to soften a blow. “I respect you, Seb, really I do. I’ve followed you all these years and I admire the way you’ve managed not just to keep it together but have actually managed to grow your business at a time when everyone else failed. You have a really good reputation.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Seb replied, no longer interested in his food nor flattered by Tim’s compliments which he sensed were nothing more than a sweet coating on a bitter pill about to be administered. Feeling a tiny flutter of fear in the pit of his stomach, he laid down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I appreciate it,” he finished, steeling himself for whatever was about to be revealed.

“I would hate to see everything you’ve built for yourself ruined by what could be just a small error.” Tim paused, his face – from his cheeks to his chin – now coloured to a deep crimson.

“Tim, what’s this all about?” Seb demanded.

“I’m not even sure I should be meeting you,” Tim replied, “but then we’re just two old friends having lunch, are we not?” He laughed nervously as if justifying their reunion to himself as much as anyone else who might see them and ask what they were doing together.

“Tim, I’m sorry,” Seb interrupted with a degree of controlled impatience, “but you’re freaking me out here. Spit it out, man – what’s the problem?”

Tim looked over his shoulder apprehensively.

“Something’s come across my desk with your father’s name on it.”

Seb felt his mouth go dry.

Watching his father now holding court at the top of the table, Seb hoped Tim was wrong. It was the kind of mess that was alien to Seb and he found it impossible not to be concerned. If the allegations turned out to be true, it had professional and personal implications that were both far-reaching and irreversible.

Seb took a deep breath. It was going to be a long, difficult afternoon. He could hardly wait for Monday morning to arrive when he’d have all the information he needed to see for himself.

Chapter 4

The phone rang out until his rehearsed voice invited her to leave a message.

“Hi, Cormac – it’s only me – Enya. Just checking to see where you got to. You left me there to fend for myself,” she quipped, a joke with a serious edge. “You were a bit weird earlier. Give me a shout when you get this. Bye!” She hung up. Throwing the phone on the duvet, she couldn’t ignore the snoring heap that lay sprawled and fully clothed over on the bed.