by Rob Sinclair
‘It doesn’t matter. Please. It’s not an affair. It was a mistake. It’ll never happen again.’
‘Of course it matters. Who is he?’
Alice hung her head. ‘Craig. From the office.’
I sat stunned. I knew him. I’d met him a few times when I’d accompanied her on nights out with her colleagues. He was a little weasel, an arse-licker who thought he was all that, both in his job and when it came to attracting woman. In fact I could recall countless times when Alice and I had joked about what a twat he was. Yet she, a married woman – supposedly happily married – had somehow fallen for his cocky charm.
‘We were just drunk,’ she said.
‘I’ve been drunk plenty of times, Alice. It’s never led to me sleeping with someone behind your back.’
Alice cringed. Tears had been streaming down her face since the moment I’d sat and waited for the inevitable. I felt for her – seeing her so weak and vulnerable. But I wondered whether some or all of her appearance was just an act. Did she really regret it? Or did she only regret that she’d had no choice but to confess?
‘It’ll never happen again,’ Alice repeated. ‘I mean it. That’s where I was tonight. I think Craig thought it’d be open season for him now. He asked me out for a drink. That’s where I was when you texted.’
‘Did you sleep with him again?’
‘No! How can you even ask that? I only said yes to him tonight because I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to tell him what a mistake it had been. That there was nothing between us, and there never would be. And that I love you.’
‘It’s a strange way of showing it.’
‘I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Ben, but it really was a mistake. I never wanted it. We all went out for some drinks. I told you where we were. We haven’t had a team night out for months. We were having a good time and I needed to let my hair down. The last few months have been really hard. I’ve been on my own week after week.’
‘Oh, so it’s all my fault now?’
‘No,’ Alice said, putting her hand on my knee. I brushed it off. ‘Not at all. I’m not saying that. But you have to admit it’s been tough. And then there’s the whole baby thing. I’ve just been so down. And I’ve had no-one to turn to.’
‘Well, I can see how jumping into bed with someone else could solve all that for you. What, you were hoping Craig could do the business and get you pregnant where I’ve failed so miserably?’
‘That’s not it at all,’ Alice snapped, her tone tinged with anger and a hint of resentment. ‘That’s just ridiculous and you know it.’
I huffed and stared at her. She held my gaze for only a second before turning away.
‘We were just drunk,’ she said. ‘He kissed me and I don’t know what I was thinking, but I kissed him back. Then, at the end of the night, he said he’d help me get a cab. We ended up back at his apartment and –’
‘Did you use protection?’
I immediately felt uncomfortable at my own words. I really didn’t want to hear any more of the sordid details of how they’d wound up with no clothes on and his dick inside her, but my mind was still mulling what I’d said just a few moments before. What she’d said too – about the difficulties we’d been having in conceiving. And it was something … no, it was the only thing left that I had to know.
Alice stood up from the sofa, facing away from me. She didn’t say a word. I could hear her sobbing. I waited for her to respond to my question. After a few moments, I realised her silence had given me the answer. Disgusted, I got up from the sofa, grabbed my coat, and was out of the door without either of us speaking another word.
Several beers and whiskies later, the conversation was still playing over and over in my mind. The sordid encounter she’d had flickered in my thoughts as I replayed my own interpretation of my wife sleeping with that creep.
Had she enjoyed it? Had he made her come? Had she moaned and screamed out his name as she rode on top of him, the two of them climaxing in ecstasy? Had they lain panting, smiling, glowing, in each other’s arms afterward?
Or had it just been a fumbling, humping mess for two and half minutes, followed by an awkward conversation and a quick exit?
I would never know. Because I would never ask. But that didn’t stop my mind imagining the many unpleasant possibilities on non-stop repeat.
I downed the whisky shot in front of me and asked the barmaid – a chesty young lady with an impossibly tight top, cleavage spilling over – for another. She frowned, probably realising I was already wasted, but nodded and got the drink. I ordered a cold beer too and took two long, satisfying sips before necking the spirit.
I swivelled on my stool to face the stage, where two topless women were busily acquainting themselves with a shiny upright pole.
I’d never been a fan of strip clubs. I’d never really felt the need to pay to see a woman’s breasts when I had a beautiful wife at home. Still, over the years I’d been to plenty. Always as part of a larger group, though; never on my own before. I stared over at the dancers, their toned bodies writhing and gyrating on the stage and up and down the poles. I felt nothing. I saw nothing. My mind was too busy thinking over my wife’s betrayal. And, increasingly, filling with ill temper directed toward one person. Not Alice, but Craig Fletcher.
My eyes scanned my less-than-salubrious surroundings. Even as far as strip clubs went, the place was a dive. It was in a rundown back street in Digbeth. Once a heart of industry, the enclave near the centre of the city had gone through decades of downfall, and it had only begun recovering in the last few years. Full Spread was a club from a bygone era. With trendy wine bars and lounges, nightclubs and new apartments springing up here, there and everywhere, its days were surely numbered. And yet even on a cold Thursday night it was pulling in plenty of punters.
I looked at the men sitting around the stage, some in groups, many on their own. I wondered what had brought them all to this dark and dingy and sleazy place. Had any of them just found out their wife had cheated on them? Or were they the cheaters? Perhaps visiting this place was the dirty little secret they kept from their spouses.
One of the groups of lads was getting overly rowdy and two burly bouncers came over to their table. The boys quickly settled down on their seats. I was disappointed that their bravado hadn’t escalated – it would have been fun to watch the fight.
Action had certainly kicked off the only other time I’d been to the club. I’d been with a group of four other guys from our office. It was late, we were horrendously drunk, and one of the more senior guys in the team had insisted we come. I’d assumed he wasn’t getting laid at home – he’d been banging on about going to a strip club the whole night. It was unspoken knowledge that some of the dancers at the club would give a little extra if you were prepared to pay for it and I’d assumed that was why he’d chosen the place. The fact he’d even said he’d pay for all our drinks meant no-one had seriously objected.
As invariably happens, though, when you put a group of five drunk men in front of scantily clad woman, it didn’t take long for our obnoxious sides to show. Before long some of the guys were hurling abuse at the dancers, and then one decided to give a waitress a slap on her backside as she walked past.
Next thing we knew, four bouncers were descending on our table. Bizarrely – and this is a testament to just how deranged alcohol can make you – three of our group, just regular guys, scrawny office workers, saw it as a challenge and squared up for an improbable fight. Luckily one of our group knew better. At first I thought he was just being a peacemaker. That wasn’t the whole story, though.
‘Guys, for fuck’s sake,’ he said as he struggled to hold back two of the men stupidly egging on the bouncers. ‘We need to apologise and go. Seriously. Do you know who owns this place?’
The answer was, I didn’t. None of us did. Not then. We were eventually frog-marched out of the club and hurled into the street. The peacemaker then filled us in on the details of who owned the club. Which was the exact re
ason I was back there tonight. I wasn’t interested in crying into my drink as I ogled the girls, pitying myself and the position I’d found myself in. I was there to see someone.
As I continued to scan, my eyes set on the table in the raised area of the club. Roped-off, it had a panoramic view overlooking the whole grubby expanse. I gazed over at the group of people clustered around the two tables there and found the man I was looking for. The man I’d come to see.
Callum O’Brady.
CHAPTER 14
‘What made you want to meet a man like Callum O’Brady, Ben?’
‘Anger,’ I said. ‘A need for revenge. It’s stupid, puerile, I know. But that’s the answer.’
‘I can understand feeling that way, but to actually act on it? That’s something quite different. It seems so out of character for you up to that point in your life.’
‘What, you think I’m too weak to have done something like that?’
‘If anything I think it showed a certain amount of weakness that you thought Callum O’Brady was the solution.’
‘You’re probably right,’ I conceded. ‘But I was desperate. I had to do something.’
‘Do you see yourself as a violent person?’
‘Not at all. I never have been. Like any kid I got into scrapes when I was younger, but I can count on my fingers the number of times I’ve thrown a punch at someone in my life.’
‘What about your sister? Your father?’
‘Dani? She was always physically superior to me. I mean, I’m bigger and stronger, but she’s so much more athletic and agile. She was great at every sport she tried. I wouldn’t call her a tomboy exactly, because as a kid she did all the things girls do too. But she’s always been able to handle herself, that’s for sure.’
‘Did you ever fight with her?’
‘Of course I did.’
‘Physically?’
‘Yes, but only when we were very young. I quickly learned it was a no-win position for me. Yeah, I’d get angry with her, and we’d come close to an all-out physical fight, but as we grew older I’d always back down before it escalated. I was doomed to come off worse. If she knocked me out, I would be the guy who got beaten up by his sister. And if I knocked her out, I would be the guy who beats up girls. She could always get away with so much crap because she knew I was in that bind.’
‘Did you harbour a grudge against Dani because of that?’ she asked.
‘In a way, yes. Not that she would ever have noticed that. She was too busy trying to be the superstar of anything and everything.’
‘And what about your father?’
‘Did I fight with him? Did he hit me? What’s your question exactly?’
‘Both of those questions, yes. Was he a violent man?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t fight with him. And he didn’t hit me. But was he a violent man? He was more used to violence than I am, I’d say, but no, he wasn’t violent.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He was a good man. A real man. He grew up in a different age to me and Dani. Our upbringing was comfortable; our parents weren’t rich, but we didn’t want for anything. My dad, though, couldn’t have had it more different. He was brought up in a tough working-class neighbourhood. His parents, my grandparents, were really poor. He told me so many stories of his childhood there – the violence on the estate where they lived, the constant struggle to make ends meet. He was the first kid from that area to break the mould and get out and make something of himself.’
‘You’re proud of him?’
‘Of course. Actually, I think I was in awe of him too.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because in many ways I wanted to be like him. But I just didn’t have the same edge he did. The same edge Dani has.’
‘Can you describe what you mean by that?’
‘Dad told me once about his family moving to a new area when he was thirteen, fourteen. The other kids shunned him, made him an outsider. So what did he do? He challenged the biggest, hardest kid on the street to a fight. My dad wasn’t that big but he was clever. He went for speed: hit the guy hard and fast before he knew what was coming. And that was it – he was accepted.’
‘You’re proud of your father because he could handle himself in a fight?’
‘Well … yeah. I know that sounds silly, but I bet nearly every guy has macho tendencies like that. Everyone wants to appear heroic and brave.’
‘That’s how you saw your father?’
‘In some ways, yes. I would never have done something like that as a kid. But it was a different world back then. Fighting was more or less a hobby for boys. They didn’t have mobile phones or games consoles where you get to beat up the bad guys on screen and shoot thousands of aliens.’
‘So they just beat up each other instead? It sounds horrible,’ she said, her face screwed up. ‘Don’t you think? To be brought up so close to and so used to physical violence? You know, a lot of people would say such violence has a habit of creeping into home life too. Isn’t it better that we live in a more liberal and less violent society today?’
‘I’m not sure I agree. There was something pure about how life was back then. It’s a natural instinct in humans to act like that. They were just boys. The way we bottle up emotions in this day and age, the way we shy away from conflict, it makes things worse, because the end result is so much more extreme.’
I saw a flash in her eyes at my words and I knew what she was thinking. She didn’t say anything and I carried on.
‘We have horrific violence today,’ I said. ‘These kids were fighting, but they were fair fights, noble. It was all about testing each other. They didn’t take knives and bottles, they weren’t out to inflict serious harm on each other. There was nothing cowardly or malicious about it.’
‘So when you reached out to Callum O’Brady,’ she said, ‘was that you trying to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, to be more like Dani and your father?’
‘Maybe at the time I thought so.’
‘And now?’
‘In hindsight, I think it was the opposite.’
‘How so?’
‘Like you said, it showed weakness on my part. Dani and my dad would have just sorted out the issue themselves. They would have figured out a way on their own, without needing someone like O’Brady.’
‘But you couldn’t?’
‘At the time, O’Brady seemed the obvious and immediate solution. I guess you never quite know how a good person is going to react when they get put under immense stress. In the heat of the moment going to O’Brady was the only option I could see.’
CHAPTER 15
I threw back the rest of my beer then got up from the stool. As I began to walk, I realised just how drunk I was. The room swayed with each step I took and I wobbled clumsily across the floor, but somehow managed to keep my blurred vision focused on my destination.
As I approached the rope barrier, I stopped. I’m not sure what I’d expected to happen. I could see O’Brady sitting up on the platform in front of me. He had two glammed-up girls next to him – one hanging off each of his shoulders like fashion accessories. To my right sat another man, also with a girl by his side. They were busy examining each other’s tonsils. To my left sat a giant, scowling man I would later come to know as Elvis.
O’Brady’s steely glare was fixed on me as I hovered by the rope, but neither he nor his company made any attempt to accommodate me. Taking matters into my own hands, I put one leg over the rope, my mind made up that I’d just go right up to them. No sooner had I done so, however, than I was grabbed suddenly from behind.
I did my best to shrug off the man who’d taken hold of me, but his huge hand and thick fingers held firm.
‘I’m here to see Mr O’Brady,’ I slurred over to the group, trying to break free from the vice-like grip.
I looked up at O’Brady. He was still staring at me.
‘I have a business proposition.’
O’Brady looked on b
ut said nothing, his expression devoid of emotion. The man holding me jerked me backward, taking me off my feet, and began to pull me away, my scrambling legs dragging on the floor. My ill-thought-out plan was already on the rocks.
But just then O’Brady nodded. In an instant the man holding me pushed me up and let go. I was caught by surprise and wasn’t ready to take my weight and almost fell backward into him. He kept me upright and then nudged me toward O’Brady and his group.
As I moved away I turned around and looked at the bouncer who’d grabbed me. He stood, arms folded, with a smug look on his face. I shook my head, showing my distaste for him, acting way cockier than I had any right to be in that situation. He raised his eyebrows. I wondered then whether that indiscretion would come back to bite me.
I stepped forward over the rope barrier and up the three steps toward O’Brady’s party. All six people were now staring at me coldly. The three women had distanced themselves somewhat from their chaperones and were glaring at me, clearly unimpressed by the intrusion.
I got to within six feet of O’Brady’s table before he held a hand up to stop me.
‘Mr O’Brady. My name –’
‘Do I know you?’ O’Brady queried in his raw Irish accent. He squinted his eyes as he spoke as though trying to gauge the answer to his own question.
‘No, I –’
‘Then we have no business,’ he said.
‘But I … a proposition –’
O’Brady leaned forward. ‘We. Have. No. Business,’ he said.
‘Won’t you at least hear me out?’ I said, my gaze flicking over to Elvis who was now on the edge of his seat, clearly eager for a nod from his boss to allow him to take action.
Despite the vast amount of alcohol coursing through my bloodstream, I felt a moment of clarity and suddenly realised that maybe O’Brady was right. I could already see that I was getting in way over my head.
‘Okay,’ O’Brady said, to my surprise. ‘So what do you do?’
I frowned at the question. ‘I’m a … I’m a management consultant,’ I said, cringing at my own words. ‘But that’s not –’