Not really OOM; A drink

[the_gene_genie]

 

It’s the Railway Arms, of course. And he knows the man at the bar straight away, even though he can only see his back and his hair is different. Shorter. Grey, in places. And that’s so wrong, in so many ways, that he can’t pick a place to start.

There’s a drink waiting for him though and that’s good, because he knows what to do with that. Truth be told, he knows what to do with this bloke too. So he lets the difficult questions slide away and simply lights a cigarette, then goes and takes his place on the empty stool.

Neither of them say anything for a moment.

 

 

‘Alrigh’, Geno?’

‘Don’ call me that.’

The response is automatic and obviously expected as the man just half-smiles, raises a shoulder and lets it drop. Gene looks at him for the first time, taking in the age lines and speckled hair. Then he turns back to his drink, fiddling with the rim of his glass.

‘Cleaned up then, ‘ave you?’

‘What d’you think? Don’t I look it?’

He just sniffs and keeps his focus to the front.

Moments pass.

 





 

‘What’re you doin’ here?’

‘Came t’see you. Gotta say, mate, thought I’d get a warmer welcome.’

‘Expect a lot, don’ you?’

‘Don’ be like that.’

Gene can’t look at him. For years afterwards, he’d thought of endless things he’d want to say, if he could only have a few more minutes with him. Sometimes he thought about the punches he’d throw and the swearing; sometimes it was less violent than that, more like how it used to be. He never once thought it would be like this, with no words coming to him at all.

He gets another drink. They appear like magic; there’s no sign of Nelson.

 ‘Didn’ think you carried on aging. After, like.’

It’s something to say. And it is a bit unnerving, seeing him as older when he’ll always be twenty two in his head.

(Not thirty two, when he saw him dead. He never remembers him that way.)

Stuart just looks at him. Eventually, Gene looks back and they stare at each other, identical blue gazes locked until time seems to have no meaning.

‘What ‘appened, Stu?’

It’s enough to make him look away.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So you bloody should be.’

He means it, too. It hadn’t been a barrel of laughs, being left behind with parents who each died in different ways. He’s only glad it was their father that went the literal route.

‘The ol’ man’s not goin’ t’show up, is he? Or maybe he should. I could do with a good punch-up. Be jus’ like old times.’

‘Still haven’t let it go, Geno?’

‘Have you?’

Stuart shrugs again.

‘Not much point holdin’ on to it, where I am.’

He never thought it would be awkward. They’d never been awkward. They both turn back to their drinks and Gene’s vaguely disappointed, aware of a slight desperation growing in his gut. He’s afraid of losing this and he feels he should be saying more but he just can’t think.

‘Gene.’

‘Mmm?’

‘I want you to tell you something and I want you to promise you’ll try an’ remember.’

‘Ain’t senile, Stu. Nothin’ wrong with my memory.’

Stuart half-smiles again and Gene wonders why it looks so sad.

‘I want you to try an’ remember that it wasn’t your fault.’

‘...you what?’

His brother turns properly and grips his shoulder.

‘I never knew it would be so difficult, bein’ without you. I was stupid. But – an’ yeah, I know this won’ mean anythin’ to you now, but I want you t’try an’ remember...it weren’ your fault, OK? It were mine.’

Gene stares at him, confused and a bit pissed off.

‘Never thought it was my fault, Stu. I tried everythin’ t’get you t’stop.’

The hand tightens on his shoulder for a moment, then drops away. Stuart looks sadder than ever and Gene doesn’t understand.

‘What is all this, anyway? How’re we talkin’? Or is this really just a dream?’

‘It’s the place you’re in. Magic, ain’t it? It’s not a dream. You get to talk t’dead people.’

‘It’s a bloody loony bin.’

‘Yeah. But it means I get t’buy my little brother a drink. Been a long time since I’ve seen you, Geno.’

‘Yeah.

...made DCI, eight year ago.’

There’s a huff of a laugh and Stuart lights a smoke as well, gets a refill.

‘You always wore the Sheriff’s badge. Always ‘ad it written all over you. An’ I was always th’ Red Indian you shot in th’ street.’

‘Yeah, well. Suited you better.’

‘Shut it. I can still take you.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

 

They’re grinning at each other when Gene wakes up, sweating and scared. No one had warned him that this could happen here. But it’s not the meeting that scares him; no. It’s that when he tries to remember what Stuart told him, he finds it has melted away, only the edges of it visible in some dark place he can’t access. Try as he might, he can’t recall the words and he feels like he’s lost something important, this thing his brother asked him to keep. The one thing Stuart’s ever asked of him and he couldn’t even do that.

Before sleep takes him again, a thought rises, clear and bright and for a second, he really knows what fear is. Because for that one moment, he can’t remember which one of them was supposed to be dead.

When he wakes in the morning, he remembers nothing.