“Just a minute,” said Brendan, rushing over to lean against the door, to prevent it from opening any further and allowing an outsider to intrude upon this family business. “There’s a bit of a mess in here… just cleaning it up. Could you use the ladies instead?”
The man grunted, huffed and puffed, and then went away.
Brendan went to the cubicle and wiped at his shoulders with paper tissues. Then he layered them over his back, like a second skin, before he put back on his shirt and his jacket and moved the bin away from the door.
He took one last look in the mirror before leaving. The smile he presented looked odd, disjointed. It made him look as if he’d lost his mind.
“Loculus,” he said to his retreating reflection, wondering again what it meant, and if he was even pronouncing it correctly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
BRENDAN LOOKED ILL when he sat back down at the table. His hands shook as he gripped his glass, and he slopped beer down the front of his shirt.
This time Simon did not ask if he was okay; he was beginning to feel like a mother hen, clucking around the favourite chick. He felt bad for thinking it, but Brendan was still putting up walls, keeping him out, and if that was the way he wanted to operate, there was little to be done about it for now. He could only push so hard before breaking something, and that had never been his aim.
Simon finished his beer and began to stand. “Same again?” he said, pushing the chair back from the table.
“I’ll get them.” The voice came from slightly behind him and off to his right.
Across the table, Brendan’s eyes widened.
Simon turned slowly. He knew exactly who would be standing there, but still it came as a shock to see Marty Rivers scowling at him, his broad shoulders blocking out a substantial amount of daylight from the window.
“Jesus,” said Simon, brushing against the table and making the glasses wobble. The moment stretched, becoming elastic.
“No. It’s just me. Marty. I believe you two characters have been looking for me.”
“You were there, weren’t you? Inside the flat when we came round.”
Marty nodded.
“Why didn’t you come out?”
Marty shrugged. His shoulders were huge. His entire frame was massive: wide chest, squared-off waist, thick arms. He looked exactly like what he was: a fighter. “I like to come to people on my terms. Even old friends. Now… what can I get you?”
Simon told him the round and as the enormous man walked across to the bar, he glanced at Brendan. “You’re fucking quiet,” he said.
Brendan nodded. “Aye, sorry. I’m distracted. Just let me get my breath back — yeah?”
Marty returned with the drinks, setting them down on the table. He pulled up a chair and sat alongside Simon, so that the two of them were facing Brendan across the table. Somebody chose that moment to turn on a CD player behind the bar. Low music stalked them through the tables and chairs — a female vocalist singing a bluesy tune.
“Well, well, well. This is nice.” Marty had a pint of lager and a whisky chaser. He sipped the lager, his eyes unmoving, seemingly unblinking. His face was unreadable. “All of us here like this, having a friendly drink.”
“It’s good to see you,” said Brendan. It was a feeble opening gambit, but it was better than saying nothing. “I mean, after all this time… I was never quite sure if you were dead or alive, or if you were even still based in the northeast.”
Marty swallowed. “Yeah, this is a regular fucking reunion, isn’t it? Just like in the movies. Like The Big Chill, only with added psychological damage.”
Simon smiled. He couldn’t help it. Marty’s comment wasn’t exactly funny, not really, but in that instant it seemed it. “So you’re a film buff, then?”
Marty winked over the rim of his pint glass. “I love films, me. I’m a regular cinephile. Odds are, if I haven’t seen the film I’ll have at least read the book.”
Simon was taken aback by the distance between the three of them. There were years separating the three men, yes, and lifestyle choices too, but there was also some uncommon kind of magic that had kept them apart — and right now, as they sat and drank in a riverside bar, that magic was weakening. He was aware of walls coming down, of barriers tumbling, and for the first time in longer than he could calculate, he felt at home in his own skin.
“So you got my messages?”
Marty smiled. “Yes, I did. I suppose we can dispense with the social niceties and get right to it.”
Simon nodded. “So you know why I’m here, and why we need you?”
“I can make an educated guess.” Marty took a long pull from his beer and then a small sip of whisky.
“Go on, then,” said Simon. “Be my guest.”
“So much for the tearful reunion… Okay.” Marty put down his glass. “You’ve got it into your head that you can change the way you feel, the way you’ve always felt, if we all get together and talk about the past. If we can come to some kind of conclusion regarding what went on back then, you hope that it’ll free you and allow you to have a better future.” He paused, licked his lips. “I’m guessing there’s a woman involved. Maybe someone you think you should love but you can’t… and you blame the past for this. You think that if you can sever all ties with what may or may not have happened to the three of us, it’ll let you feel about this woman the way you believe you should.” He stopped, leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his stomach. “So, am I right or am I right?”
“Very insightful,” said Simon. “But you’re only half right. I do believe that the three of us need to confront our shared past, but I think we need to do it more literally.”
Brendan shuffled on his chair. He picked up his drink and held it, not moving it anywhere near his mouth.
Simon rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble growth. “I think we need to go in there together — the Needle. We need to make like it’s twenty years ago and march right the fuck in there, then shout and scream and force whatever the fuck held us in there to make an appearance.”
Marty sat forward again, his arms flexing and pulling his shirt tight. “And then what? Kick the shit out of it?”
“In a manner of speaking,” said Simon. “At first I thought we were going to have to pull down the place, brick by brick, so I bought it from the council. Took me ages to convince them, and I paid well over the odds. Now I realise that won’t be necessary. Simply by coming back here, I seem to have triggered something. Whatever’s been hiding here, making its nest under the streets of the Grove, it’s waking up… it’s waking from a long sleep. Can’t you feel it?”
Marty did not reply.
“You’ve been having dreams, haven’t you?”
Marty nodded, but still he did not speak.
“Weird dreams that feel just like reality, but fucked-up, messed around. Apocalyptic visions, monsters from the past chasing you, things keeping pace with you in the dark?”
“Yes,” said Brendan, joining in at last. He was gripping his glass too tight; his knuckles were white. “Yes, that’s it. All of us… the three of us… we’ve been dreaming about the same things, the same place. Haven’t we?”
“Yes,” said Marty.
“Yes,” said Simon.
“Another drink?” Brendan slammed down his glass.
Marty laughed softly.
Simon shook his head. “Is that all you guys do around here, drink? I’ve not drunk so fucking much in my life since I’ve come back.”
“You’re out of practice,” said Marty. “And I’ll have the same again, thanks.” He glanced at Brendan, smiled, and let out another soft chuckle.