Breaking Light (36 page)

Michael looked at him properly for the first time and Gabriel thought he detected a glint of deference, a renewed admiration, in the brown eyes. ‘University?'

Gabriel nodded. ‘Yes, medical history, mostly. About mutants and stuff, you know.'

‘Cripes!' Michael said and whistled.

They were silent for a while as they contemplated this. Then Michael spoke: ‘So, you have come to me for money?'

Gabriel looked at him astonished. ‘No! Whatever made you think that?'

‘That's good, because I haven't got any.'

‘But … what about your part of the inheritance?'

‘Gone.'

‘Oh.'

‘George Bradley's darling boys – together again – only their fortunes seem to be somewhat reversed …' Michael slurred with a fatuous grin.

Gabriel looked at him, at the mask of his face, pinched and white like a young Punchinello's, but still so innocently handsome. A nerve started to twitch visibly under Michael's right eye and he lowered his face deeper into the shadows. Gabriel felt a surge of panic as the world seemed to shift and he searched his memory for something solid to grab hold of, something to moor him to the moment. Suddenly, he remembered: ‘There's still Oakstone … We could let it and make some money – or even sell it – if you wouldn't mind, of course.'

Michael drank at a draught what remained in his glass and clicked his fingers at the waiter. ‘Sam! Another one of these, please.'

‘Seriously, Michael, it might not be such a bad idea.'

‘Oakstone is already gone,' Michael said, in a voice that seemed to come from very far away.

‘
What?
What do you mean, “gone”?'

‘I had to get rid of it –' more remotely still – ‘I had to get rid of Oakstone.'

‘It's not possible; I still own half of it!'

‘Well, it's complicated. I was in a bit of a bad spot. I had run into debt, if you like, and Blackaton offered to take Oakstone as part of the security. I forgot to tell him that you owned half of it …'

‘You forgot to tell him … ? This is madness. Crazy! You can't
just give my part of a house away to some crook because of a stupid debt. Why didn't you speak to me first?'

Michael shrugged.

‘I might have been able to help. I would have paid your debts, somehow.'

‘Well, you did, in a way.'

‘But why Oakstone?'

‘It was the only thing he would accept. A class thing, I suspect – wanting to climb a step on the ladder.'

Gabriel sighed. He realised the feeling that had been nagging at him since he entered the club was one of suspension; it was as if his mind and limbs were tied to invisible strings – harmless enough, until someone tugged at them – and something else too, which was more like childish annoyance, a disappointment that things should be this way. However, rather to his surprise, it was not the loss of Oakstone that upset him the most – his ownership had always seemed rather abstract, anyway – what infuriated him was Michael's detached, laconic behaviour. ‘How much was it, the debt?'

Michael ignored the question, blowing a ring of smoke. He seemed to be miles away.

‘How much, Michael?' Gabriel shouted, and shook him by the arm. A few people from the surrounding tables turned to look at them and the waiter called Sam sidled up to the table. ‘Everything all right here, Fluff?'

‘Yes, Sam, everything is hunky-dory,' Michael replied, icily, and added, with irritation, ‘Is Mr D not here yet?'

‘No; I said I'd let you know,' Sam answered, with a faint, derisive grin.

‘Michael, just tell me how much,' Gabriel whispered, calmer now, when they were alone again.

Suddenly, Michael seemed to re-enter himself; his face opened a little and his eyes lit up briefly, as if somebody had turned on a switch. He smiled shamefacedly, in that old apologetic way, so that something stirred inside Gabriel. ‘Not much, Gabe; not very much at all. It was my life we traded. I gave it to him once, as you may remember, and I wanted it back. And, as I said, Oak-stone was the only prize he would accept to set me free.'

‘The bastard!'

‘Yeah, well …'

‘Can nothing be done?'

‘Not really, no; you see, there was more to the deal than I reckoned. I had been using his drugs, as it turned out – quite a lot of them, and for rather a long time, too. So, I wasn't quite free, after all.'

‘Is that why you're here?'

He nodded, and gave a sort of laugh. ‘But at least they pay me for my services here. And keep me in fine clothes … and recreational medicine, naturally.'

‘What exactly do your services involve?'

He shrugged and smiled again. That charming smile. ‘This and that, Gabe. This and that.'

Gabriel looked away quickly, for fear his eyes would give him away, the black bead of grief and shame shining through. And then suddenly he remembered: ‘Why don't you turn to your mother?'

‘Oh, I don't know …'

‘Do you even know where she is?'

Michael shrugged. That infuriating vagueness.

‘We seem spared from growing old together in our family, eh, Gabe?' Still ignoring the question. ‘We are blessed.' The wit fell flatly on the table in front of them.

Gabriel felt a knot of pain in his guts as he thought briefly of his own mother. He pictured her reading the paper at the kitchen table, a towel spread out so as not to stain the oilcloth, and her unhappiness still filling the house, thrumming in the walls like some long-wave radio channel which one could never really tune into. He had loved Mrs Bradley, because of her soft touch. Perhaps more than his own mother. But was that love real or imagined? A young boy's muddled affections as he grows into his sexuality?

‘Michael … she's your mother – she loves you.'

‘Ooh, look who's talking.' But there was a tremor in his voice.

‘Mr D has arrived, Fluff.' They were both startled by Sam's sudden reappearance.

‘Thanks,' Michael said and stood up. ‘Will you excuse me for a minute, Gabe?'

Sam remained behind for a moment, watching Gabriel. He was holding the silver tray, and a white cloth was folded over his arm. The light was behind him; Gabriel could not see his face.

‘Yes?' Gabriel twitched involuntarily as he felt a shiver run down his spine.

Sam stepped into the light. ‘Are you twins, or something? You look alike … except you're bigger. I like your moustache.' His smile seemed to insinuate something.

‘No, no we are not,' he answered, in tight-lipped awkwardness.

‘A shame, that,' Sam whispered, and smiled at him, before placing two large whiskies on the table. ‘These are on the house,
compliments of the Pelican himself,' he said, and winked, before moving away.

Gabriel felt like crying. He finished his whisky; his hand was shaking as he put the empty glass down. He looked around the room. It seemed different all of a sudden – shabbier and yellow-tinted.

Finally, Michael returned. His eyes seemed darker and there was something equivocal about him. ‘Now, where were we?' he said, with a jaded smile, slurring slightly. As he reached out for his drink, Gabriel noticed that the cufflink on his right cuff was missing. He could have sworn it was there before.

‘Just get out of here, Michael! Get out of London.'

‘Yes, yes.' He sounded depressed, and tired.

‘I'll get you out.'

Michael looked at him for a moment. ‘It's not that simple, Gabe,' he said grimly.

‘All right, all right, so it's not simple. Nothing is simple, but you have got to realise—'

‘I
realise
,' Michael said, abruptly. ‘Would you like another drink?'

Gabriel shook his head. They sat for a while, looking.

‘You've got to understand,' Gabriel said, ‘that I'd do anything to help you.'

Michael shrugged; it was not clear if he was listening.

‘Are you listening?'

‘Oh, hell!'

‘You're drunk.'

‘Not exactly.'

‘Then you're just an idiot.'

‘I guess so.'

‘There are cures—'

‘Yeah, yeah. Look, Gabe, can we stop talking about me for a minute? It's so bloody
boring
. This conversation is fucking hurting my head. How are
you
?'

Gabriel did not know what to say. He wanted to cry. He sat there, biting his lower lip.

‘Happy, are you?'

Gabriel shook his head. ‘I'm fine, Michael, really. It's been a bit tough lately, but it's nothing … I could tell you about it … I am happy to have found you. I thought, perhaps, we could do something together. Start a business, perhaps, or you could sign up for university too. It's great fun, you know. You're clever; you could make something of yourself. Apply to a conservatory – something that would make you happy, now that Jim of Blackaton is out of our hair—'

‘I'm happy where I am; never been happier in my life,' Michael interrupted.

‘This – the drink, whatever – it will kill you.'

‘It's the only thing that's keeping me alive.'

‘It could be different.'

‘Yeah? You sure?'

‘Yes,' he lied.

‘Happy. What a word.' Michael threw back his head and laughed an empty laugh. ‘Oh, Gabe. You were always so gullible – you always refused to see life for what it really is.' He dropped his head into his hands and sat like that for a moment, rocking slightly from side to side, muttering unintelligibly until Gabriel thought he had fallen into some delirium.

‘Michael?' He reached out to put a hand on his brother's
shoulder, but Michael pulled away and looked at him, a dreadful haggard expression in his eyes.

‘So vulnerable … So lonely. Don't you see? I had to save you from the world – it was my duty. I too saw the horror reflected in that pool; I too walked through the corridor of mirrors – or have you forgotten? I thought I'd make it – that I had it in me – but I was just as weak as all the others. I too am a coward.'

‘You're talking nonsense, Michael.'

‘Nonsense; yes, of course, I'm talking nonsense,' he mumbled with tenderness. ‘What other language is left to me?' He closed his eyes and rested his cheek in his palm so that Gabriel thought he had fallen asleep.

‘Michael? Michael? You should go to bed; it's very late. Where are you staying?' He stood up and pulled at Michael's arm.

‘No, no; leave me alone. I want to stay here,' Michael slurred, without opening his eyes.

He tugged again at Michael's sleeve.

‘Will you ever leave me
alone
?'

Gabriel felt desperate; he didn't know what to do. He had to get out; this was killing him. ‘Perhaps we could meet for lunch tomorrow? When you're feeling … better. Would you like that?' Gabriel hesitated for a moment, looking down at Michael. ‘Well, I'll come back tomorrow, then, and look for you …' he continued tentatively.

‘Gabe,' Michael said then, with sudden clarity, ‘stay away from me, will you? I'm no good; do you hear me? Promise me you won't come here again.' He reached up and took hold of Gabriel's face, pulling it down towards him. His hands were chilly against Gabriel's cheeks. There was a strange metallic smell around him. ‘Promise me, Gabe.'

Gabriel could not say a word for the lump in his throat, but he nodded and closed his eyes so that Michael would not see the black thing, peering out at him.

‘And would you do one more thing for me, please? Will you find Mother and check that she's … okay? Look after her for me?'

He nodded again and felt Michael's hands relaxing.

‘That's my boy.' Michael patted him weakly on the cheek and let him go. ‘Bye-bye, now.'

Gabriel pushed through the crowd towards the exit but, as he reached the bar area, somebody stepped out in front of him. Gabriel looked up into the face of Jim of Blackaton. He looked much the same as he had the last time they met at the Moor Cross Inn, but he had the puffed-up, pallid look of somebody who spent little time in daylight. He had taken off his black tie and his shirt was open at the collar.

‘Well, well, well. I hadn't realised that we were going to have such fine guests tonight. Let me take a look at you.' His voice was darker and more guttural, as if he was trying to hide his rural accent, and he had the manner of speech of a man who was seldom interrupted. As he studied Gabriel's face, he lifted a big cigar to the soft lips, which seemed to kiss rather than suck. He blew the smoke away from Gabriel, like a gentleman, and smiled, almost sweetly. ‘Who would have thought that Bunny-boy would grow up looking quite handsome, eh?'

Gabriel felt a cold sweat seeping through his shirt and looked around for the door.

Blackaton's smile broadened. ‘What's the hurry? Come and sit down for a minute; have a drink with my associate and me. I'm sure he would
love
to meet you … absolutely love it.' He took hold of Gabriel's shoulder and steered him towards one of the
booths. Gabriel did not have any choice but to move along. He recognised the man from the other day and straight away he realised that it was Jim of Blackaton he had seen from the back, talking to this man, who smiled as they approached. He was sinewy and with a ginger complexion; his gaze was at once roguish and cunning. His movements, the way he sipped his cocktail slowly, elegantly, seemed deliberate and calculated, as if it was a skill he had learnt quite recently.

‘Ah, there you are, Bunny-boy –' that same west country accent – ‘Sam told us you were here. I didn't actually recognise you when you popped in the other day … but then it has been a while.' That sniggering face – Billy Dunford – no longer a boy, but still cowering behind his master. An image of Billy's hairy cock pissing into the bucket surfaced in Gabriel's mind, but he managed to push it away.