Backlash

by Jack L. Pyke

  Jack’s dad sat at the kitchen table, and the silence playing around it was more than a little uncomfortable.

  Jan sat across from Greg, looking a little tense, rigid. He’d made his dress casual for the night, but there was something seriously wrong with his lean into Jack as Jack sat next to him. Hiding there at the table, Jan’s body language was no better than a bomb-blast victim caught by the lens of a cameraman, poised to run, but never quite allowed to find normality again and take a step away. Not with how the photo locked him in position. Jeans were ripped at Jan’s knees, showing a paleness to skin that best fitted a dance with dry ice, and a white shirt finished the need to get back into normality and blend in. He’d occasionally glance to his right, almost offering a smile to Jack, who looked ready to drop social and pull Jan back behind the safety of any locked door.

  Jack nuzzled almost in so close, watching Greg from the opposite side of the table. Jack’s hair had grown longer, almost done to hide his eyes sometimes, but his time in the Master Circle psychiatric unit brought back that fight not flight look of his late teens. Black strands offered their own wild cover, escaping over the nape of his neck, hiding the silver grey eyes and deep tan that trademarked Jack’s look. The hard reflection found in one of Cutter’s videos was there on display, too, giving every sign that Jack was ready to hit out at anyone foolish enough to get near what was his, but there was falseness to it. He’d fallen down hard and stood trying to hold mountains and Jan up on breadsticks. He called Jan into him with a murmur of his name, one that Jan heard, but with a small smile that said... barely.

  Slim black trousers offered a class all of its own where Jack was concerned, but like the night in the maze when Jack had first met Shaun Brennan, he still had that fuck you to authority and class by opting for a black sleeveless V-shirt. It showed off the deep tan to his arms and the muscle tone that seemed in constant flux as he tried to keep Jan close. With the long hair, the whole gypsy look was finished off with a black rope bracelet that Jan had bought Jack for his birthday. It would no doubt be the one and only time that Jack would wear it, his history with any type of collaring bloodying and bruising those caught in its wake. Jan also wore a bracelet, but his was a thin white-gold chain; Jack’s gift to Jan for his birthday, both coming in months after the actual dates.

  Gray hadn’t bought them anything. He’d also refused what they had bought him for his.

  All of the fuck-ups, anger, and lack of action on his part had caused everything that was wrong between them over there. Jan looked skinny enough to slip through any crack, Jack was ready to slip right in there to look for him, but only after glancing up and checking that Gray hadn’t caught that private jet back to Wales after all.

  And Jack was giving clear time out signals now. “Dad, fucking peach—” He eased up, seeing Gray. “It’s great as ever that you come out for my shit, but—”

  As Gray went over to the coffee percolator, he flicked a look at Jack, not liking how Jack still kept changing his natural mouth from life being fucking peachy, to great. Not always, just when Gray caught Jack off guard.

  “You’re busy, right, son?” offered Greg, not looking at Gray or Jan.

  The quiet was hard between father and son, but when it came on the back of a mother who had arranged Jack’s rape to “sort out his disorders,” it was partly understandable. Greg’s quiet had that what did I miss as you were growing up, son? look about him; Jack’s was... hard to decipher. They were both so close, usually, but Elena had worked her magic, driving a chasm between father and son and laughing at how they both teetered close to their edges. “Okay,” added Greg, “I’ll pop back in a few days and give you a rundown of what’s going on at your side of things. Steve’s handling the Strachan garage....” Greg had already lost Jack as Jack took hold of a coaster and started spinning it on the table. “It can wait another week.” It had waited for six months now, and Jack still wasn’t ready to come fully out of hiding yet. His look was all for Jan, but it tried to bury his own need to stay in his I’m not a head-case shadows.

  Jack nodded and got up, going over to Greg. His hug was... awkward, a little forced, and Greg seemed to sense it, being the first to pull away.

  Jan seemed not to notice as he gave a weary stretch and got to his feet. “I’ll get you home and—”

  “No.” Jack eased off the instant he saw Jan jolt. “It’s just....”

  “I brought him here, Jack,” Jan said softly. “It’s okay. I’ve got big-boy bouncer surveillance too.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Ray will make sure you get home, Greg,” Gray said distractedly, giving him a gentle brush on the arm. Greg offered a small smile, but there was a lot haunting it.

  “I can take a taxi.”

  “No.” Gray focused on Greg. “Ray’s on night surveillance at yours this week. It’s his job.”

  Greg had the same look in Jack’s eyes then: that flare of anger at being under I’m a grown man surveillance. “That’s not necessary.”

  Gray put the percolator on. “Yes it is.” A text through to Ray ensured it, and the kitchen went quiet as the wait for an offer off Jack to walk Greg to the door wasn’t met. Jan looked at Greg, then over at Gray.

  “I’ll see you out.” Jan eased Greg toward the kitchen door. “I picked you up some whiskey.”

  “Glenfiddich?” Greg looked wary.

  “Of course. There’s no other sort of whiskey, is there?” Despite everything he’d been through, Jan offered such an air of gentleness that had Greg easing the tension in his shoulders. He hummed approval, then glanced back at Gray, at Jack. “Night, son.”

  Jack dug his hands deeper in trouser pockets. “Yeah. Night, Dad. See you in a few days, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jack didn’t catch the grief there in his eyes, but Gray did. “Night, Greg.” He got a nod back.

  Jack came alive as soon as they left and he eased over, grabbing Gray’s mug and taking over his coffee so fast Gray was left looking down as the mug was stolen from his hands.

  “Hungry?” Jack grinned over.

  “You need to talk to him, Jack.”

  Jack’s look wasn’t kind then. “And say what? Hey, Dad, sorry for fucking up your life?”

  “You didn’t fuck up his life.”

  “I always fuck up life, and you know it.” Jack’s tone was a little harder. “Besides, he’s my old man.” He started back on the coffee. “Some things a parent doesn’t need to know.” He shouldered it away. “You need some grub, mukka?” That bounce was back in Jack’s eyes, but the familiarity with being called friend stung Gray a little more than it should.

  “Just a coffee.”

  Jack shifted over to the unit and started pulling pots and pans out to go on the stove. Still lost in sorting through a cupboard, Jack glanced back, more under his arm as he knelt there messing with the pans. “Yeah? So what did you get at work?”

  “Food.”

  “What kind?”

  “The edible variety.” Gray looked enviously at the empty coffee mug, hating the sickness that turned his stomach. “Just a drink, Jack, please. No fancy food, no interrogation over what kind of food, just... a coffee. One sugar—”

  “Yeah, yeah, no fancy cream, just a nut-capful of sterilised milk, leaving it strong enough to lighten the soul but harden the heart a touch.” Jack winked as he eased to his feet, letting the pots and pans hide back in the cupboard. “Coffee it is.” He seemed to think for a second. “Got any arsenic for—”

  “Ed,” said Gray as he saw his grandfather come in and eye up Jack’s position. Jack jolted slightly, leaving behind his Cold War stand-off as he eyed Ed back. Give him his dues, Ed ignored Jack’s wild rush to fight, instead settling at the kitchen table and opening the paper Jan brought him. “Mine’s milk with two sugars, Jack. Thanks.”

  Jack didn’t move for a moment, looking torn between biting back calling Ed all the fucks under the sun and knowing that he couldn’t, now that he knew Ed wasn’
t... the butler. Jack had a rough side, but his usual love of, and for, family blocked him at every turn. Grumbling to himself instead, Jack came back over to Gray, pulling a second mug out of place and adding it next to Gray’s. Gray caught Ed’s smirk, then just stared a little harder as Ed started to hum softly to himself. Jack was oblivious to exactly what Ed was humming as he finished the coffee and took one over to Ed.

  “Cheers, son.”

  Jack mumbled something, then turned his back. “That for me?” He came back over, dragging Gray’s attention away from Ed, that smirk—that fucking humming he was still doing. Jack pointed at the envelope in Gray’s shirt pocket.

  “It’s got your name on it, stunner. You really have to ask seeing that?”

  “It’s got your name grafted on it, too, old mukka. And Jan’s. So fucking dibs on opening it first.”

  “Fucking dibs?” Gray eyed him up. “Which bush were you dragged out from?”

  “An alley, mate. Find all sorts of MI5 diamonds pulling out the rough from there.”

  Gray snorted a smile and handed the letter to Jack. “How did the meeting with Halliday go today?” Jack and Jan were both still on weekly visits for counselling with Halliday, and Jack flicked a look up as he opened the letter.

  “Be better if Halliday could convince soft lad to take his sessions with me.”

  “Jan’s time, his pace, Jack.”

  “Yeah, I know.” There was a wistful smile there as Jack pulled the letter free. “Halliday’s a top bloke; just don’t let him near a car. He couldn’t tell a 110 alternator switch from a detonator.”

  Gray ignored the customary waggle of eyebrow as Jack opened the letter, because Jack’s bastard side seemed to slip when his gaze ran over the contents. He buried the need to take the invite from him. Only before he could, Jan padded back into the kitchen.

  “Oh mail call.” He came over. “Anything interesting?” Jack didn’t have time to reply before Jan had taken the letter from him and stood reading it.

  “A bit of a knees-up,” said Jack.

  “Party?” Jan’s tone was a little less interested. “Whose?”

  “Ours,” said Jack. “Well, a belated birthday bash for us. And mukka, too, as we missed his.”

  Jan stiffened a little, but it wasn’t because of missed birthdays.

  “MC invite for a private venue in a week’s time.” Jack added a lot of softness to his voice. “No one else, just you... me... old mukka here.”

  Jan looked back down at the letter. “Not here?”

  Gray took the letter off him and gave a hard sigh. He knew the invite would take them away from home, away from a surveillance routine that would need to be transferred to the venue; it would take Jan outside of his comfort zone of work and here, whereas Jack?

  He still didn’t do social for a reason.

  Jack snuck behind Jan, an arm slipping around a slim waist. “No? Just us, an hour away from here. A soft tread away from the woods back into life, things? Good food, better wine... lousy music if Gray’s on DJ duty and raring for a good ol’ knees-up, but really interesting if he’s our stripper gram.... We can see if he’s really up for a secret... servicing.”

  “And the barman will be there,” said Gray as Ed choked on his coffee. Jan was left chuckling.

  Jack stopped and glanced over at him. “This an Ed thing? Because you know three in a bed is more than enough for me.”

  From the kitchen table, Ed’s hum turned a little louder.

  “Just an hour,” Jack said quietly, going in close to Jan’s ear. “You’ve worked fucking hard, Jan. You need time away from work, from the manor, from all this surveillance bollocks. Normal.” Jack closed his eyes as he rested his head against Jan’s. “Christ, we need some normal now, soft lad.”

  “You finally itching to get back to work, things? Get back into normal too?” Jan offered a weak smile back. “If the party helps... maybe—”

  “Yeah?” Jack’s eyes lit up. “Seriously? That’s good enough to run with for now.” And he bounced out of the kitchen, leaving Jan standing there possibly wondering where the wild wind had taken him to. Ed just carried on humming.

  “Stop it.” Gray picked up his mug and glanced at Ed.

  “What?” Ed offered an innocent look over his paper before starting back on his hum.

  “Just stop it.”

  Jan frowned between them.

  “Hen Wlad fy Nhadau,” added Gray to Jan in Welsh and only weighing down his confusion. “Land of My Forefathers.”

  Jan didn’t quite get it and Gray offered over his coffee, thinking he might need something to choke out when he told him. “The Welsh National Anthem.”

  “Oh.” The coffee never even reached Jan’s lips as he choked a longer—“Ohhh!”

  “We’re not going home,” Gray said to Ed.

  “Cases are still packed.”

  “Yours are. And it’s getting very tempting.”

  Ed only smiled at him over his paper before flicking the edge at him again.

  “This party. It’s not something we have to dress formally for, is it?” Jan asked, and Gray ignored how it made him feel seeing Jan wrap his hand around Gray’s mug . “I’m not really into wearing a suit,” he mumbled into the mug.

  Ed glanced over as Gray took the coffee mug back and finished off the heat. “You don’t have to do anything, Jan. Remember that.”

  He got a nod, followed by a scratch of head. “That secret code for talk Jack the hell out of it, please, Jan?”

  Gray hid his smile behind his coffee mug. “Maybe.”

  “The whole Knees-up Mother Brown still not your thing either? I’ll see what I can do.”

  Guilt crept up and Gray looked away. Where was the justification over jealousy when Jan looked and spoke like that?

  Chapter 3

  Lost in the Moment

  Despite Jan’s quietness over the party invite, he hadn’t convinced Jack to back down. Or Gray’s concern was there how Jan’s quietness had seen the party slip out of memory for a while. Maybe Jan needed time away? Maybe they all did? Gray hadn’t pushed them both either way, knowing this had to be their decision. He gave a hard sigh as he stood in his reception hall and looked down at his mobile before they left for the nightclub.

  You? A birthday party?

  Gray snorted seeing the instant message off Trace.

  No poisoning the punters, bright eyes. Relax. Enjoy. And if Jack gets you to wear one of those pink Fuck Me Quick party hats, send me a picture.

  Gray thumbed a reply, but it wasn’t pretty; then he slipped the phone back in his suit pocket. Ed was out checking up on Mrs Booth tonight, so Jack could find some peace for a few hours if he did decide to stay. But Jan was caught staring at a piece of artwork just over by the staircase, a frown to his face as he tried to place exactly where he’d seen it before. Gray went over and slipped an arm around his waist, shaping him from behind. There was a slight flinch, but Jan settled.

  “I know this,” said Jan. “I mean, I’ve seen this somewhere before.”

  Gray said nothing, just let him study it. Sometimes Jan seemed to lose his focus as tiredness took over, and it was showing more and more lately. A few months back, Jan had celebrated his birthday in a London art museum, taking a tour of the artwork, but staying on the edge of the crowd. It was a day that shouldn’t have been spent alone, so Gray had made a point of being back in the country, even if he had been in the background, out of sight, and just keeping an eye on him in the crowd.

  Jan had seen this painting there.

  Stood farther back and almost out of sight in the gallery, Gray had been pissed off when the docent had fucked up the only element that seemed to ground Jan: his love of art and interpretation. The docent leading the tour had stood beneath this painting and recited how it was the only rendition of A Welsh Funeral by David Cox.

  Bullshit, he’d nearly called. Cox had covered this particular funeral procession a few times in different forms, sometimes darkening the sky to give
Bettws-y-Coed and the surrounding mountains of Caernarvonshire, North Wales, a more sombre tone. Gray had walked those mountains, had walked the same footsteps that the funeral procession took, just as Cox had done, and the bite had been there to drag the man out and rough him up for his ignorance; that or sit Jack there with him and force the man to try and stop Jack from setting fire to the art, with how much he hated wasting time on interpretation. Gray would be there with Jack, preferring to have the art torn apart over hearing bad interpretations of Welsh home soil.

  But in the art gallery, a wry smile had touched Jan’s lips in the same moment that the art discussion had pissed Gray off, and in many ways it had settled him. Jan had seen through the ignorance of the man, and the need to make a few people disappear had come and gone within the wake of a weary smile. Jan hadn’t even corrected the man, and the difference between them both was there: the gentleman, then Gray.

  It had been good to see him that day. But where Jan had been quick to interpret this work on the day in question, he struggled to place it now. And that was a concern.

  Jack seemed to come from nowhere, although the Tigger footfalls on granite stairs gave him away a little too much. He finished wrapping the black tie around his throat, more content with letting the loose ends rest on his shirt. He always seemed to carry that fuck getting dressed, we’ll get naked soon enough look about him, even if it was unconscious most times.

  “You look good.” Jack came in close to Jan, his arm also slipping under Gray’s jacket to stroke his back and no doubt keep his triad close. He rested his head against Jan’s, briefly closing his eyes as another touch cuddled Jan in close too. “Smell...” Jack took a deep breath, shifting slightly as if to climb into Jan’s soul. “You smell so much better, baby.”

  Jan still fought with the origins of the painting, only looking at Jack when his name was called.

  “You okay, breakdown?” Jack frowned, his hand finding Jan’s neck and stroking gently.