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Two children in a motel making love in our own grave
And we are not embarrassed, but we're filled with worms and dirt
She puts back her copy of The Sun on the shelf with a huff; it's mostly rubbish, unsurprisingly, all about how happy Noel was when he married and how the marriage had turned sour so quickly, the same way Liam had a few months back. It's funny how all these people think they know her children, when half of what they know it's a lie and the rest is only known by her.
For example — speaking about marriage— they don't know that Liam wants to marry Noel, ever since he learnt what it was. She had laughed at first, finding William's love for his brother to be terribly endearing. Then, as he kept on saying it, she tried to explain that it was for boys and girls; but the boy would not give in. He'd go as far as to say it in kindergarten, or in the park to the other boys he'd play with. He would even start crying when Peggy insisted that brothers couldn't do that, that it was a sin and would cause them to end up in Hell — she didn't make a habit of putting the literal fear of God on her babies, but this particular situation had gone too far— and she would have to take it back for him to stop wailing.
It stopped, finally and quite tragically, when Noel asked him to. She remembers her own breath catching in her throat when little Noelín had knelt before his baby brother, holding Liam's small head between his hands, telling him that they couldn't, and that he had to stop doing this because it was upsetting Noel. William's lips had curled down in a trembling pout and his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, but still he had nodded and promised his brother he would stop. Then Noel had hugged him, as a way of thanks for Liam's understanding, and they had whispered something else then, but she had been too far to hear it. She remembers feeling like an outsider in her own home and quickly sending them off to do some errands, separately.
It is that same sensation of unease that she is feeling now. In such little time — what, four of five years?— she has become a grandmother of three children, and one of them she has never met. And only God knows how much more mayhem their youngest sons have caused, nowadays when she reads the papers she can't distinguish what's fabricated by the press and what is another very real disaster (especially because Noel always says they're lying. And that can't be, some of it has to be true.). The worst part is that when she asks them about it, all she receives in return are deflections, half truths and sometimes just straight up lies, as if she had been born yesterday. She can't even muster the energy to be mad at them some days, especially when their sons don't listen to her; and after so many chastises, punishments and sermons, Peggy's anger is starting to lose its strength. Her children are not afraid to disappoint her anymore, and they don't really care if she stops talking to them either. Lately, they don't seem to particularly care about anything.
Perhaps that's what brought on their divorces. The lack of caring, the absence of compromise. It's quite strange that both happened quite close to each other. Maybe their loyalty reached their limit (or the girls’ patience did) at the same time, somehow. Either way, it doesn't matter. As much as her boys seemed happy when they were walking down the aisle with their respective wives, it's done. Now they are staying in this posh hotel in the middle of the city, for some incomprehensible reason — why not rent a house? They both had the money for it.— and Peggy found herself walking towards it, for no good reason either. It's only right: she was already in London, she couldn't just go back to Burnage without dropping in for a cuppa with her sons. Even if she doesn't really feel up for it.
She isn't mad at them, let that be clear. She's just— confused, she supposes. They had given her the news that they weren't home anymore, gave her the address of the hotel and that was it. No explanation to why they were splitting from their wives, why they decided to stay together in some hotel room when all she ever read in the papers was how they couldn't stand each other, and most importantly: why this whole thing happened so quickly, and at the same time? Although, she wouldn't be surprised if the boys had agreed upon it beforehand. There were so many implicit rules, prohibitions and deals between them it was easy to get lost in their private logic; especially because Peggy was only aware of a few of the rules.
She guesses this must be one of those things, the type that only the two of them understand. She sighs as she walks into the hotel. She's about to walk up to the desk, but suddenly a lady is already by her side, introducing herself. She works for the boys, apparently, and she just gives her the room number when asked for it. Peggy quickly thanks her and walks to the elevator, ignoring the girl’s warnings about the boys being busy and whatnot. She knows they're not. They're probably doing drugs and that's why the lass is warning her, but she's used to it. She's not proud of them for it, but she's not going to faint if she sees a joint, is she.
She knocks on the door loudly, like she used to do on Noel's door when he was being too noisy with his guitar. When no one answers, she does the same and calls out Liam's name. She doesn't want to shout, since there's probably other people nearby. Although, she hasn't really seen anyone on this floor. The door opens, and she's graced with the presence of her youngest son looking like he just rolled out of bed, at four in the afternoon. She steps inside without preamble as they say their hello's.
“What’re you doin' in London?” Liam asks as he hurriedly tries to sweep the table that's cluttered with unwashed plates, cups and cigarette ends.
“Had to go to the doctor’s, some stuff they didn't have in Manchester.” She waves him off. “It was pointless though, I don't have anything. So I thought I'd drop by.” She looks around the room, it’s beautiful, more so an apartment rather than just a room, it has a kitchen and everything; but by Christ is it dirty. “Liam, the state of this…” she starts, “would it kill you to clean something? There's rubbish everywhere, look at all these dishes and, is that a sock?”
He quickly grabs it and hides it behind his back, like he's still a teenager. “Nah. It's just— we've been busy, yeah? And there's people in the hotel that clean this for us.”
Peggy clicks her tongue. “Ah, you don't have your missus to clean up your mess anymore so you came here.”
“Yeah.” Liam smiles, infuriatingly oblivious. “‘s the presidential suite, as well, it's fucking mega. There's a little office for ‘r’kid to work on his tunes and over here—” He walks her towards a balcony that opens into a lovely patio, filled with plants and lights. “The balcony’s pretty nice too. I like sitting here, just listening to music or messing about with me guitar.”
She nods as she looks around. The whole place it's beautiful, but also quite overwhelming in its luxury; like staring at a lamp that's too bright and burns your eyes with its light. She prefers her home, that she had made it so: she had molded that house with her own hands until it became their home. She wonders if she should leave, sometimes, but she can't imagine a life like this, all filled with chandeliers and marble. She'd go mad, surely. “Very fancy.” She hums. “Where’s Noelín? Is he working?”
Liam presses his lips together. “Nah, he's taking a kip. Had a late night, y'know, we're both knackered so I'm letting him sleep ‘cos I'm just the best brother ever.” He smiles at her, a smile full of sunshine that's meant to buy her over.
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “What were you two doing last night, then?”
“We had a sleepover. Didn't sleep much though, just stayed up watching some telly. So we better let him rest, d'you know what I mean?” He says as he walks back to the living room, he's smiling and yet avoiding her eyes. “Fancy a cuppa?”
She throws him a look just to let him know she's aware that he's playing dumb and says: “Only if you make it. Don't bother any of those girls that work for you.”
She sees him huff but he still resigns himself to the task of washing a cup and preparing some tea for her. He seems like he hasn't for a long time, looking a bit lost in the kitchen and it throws Peggy off. She's certain that her boys were able to cook, at some point. They weren't great by any means but they were able to throw something together, especially Liam, since he was the one that spent more time with her. She keeps looking at her son and notices that there's a certain erraticity to his movements, some little twitches here and there. His eyes seem normal, they're not red or puffy but there's dark circles underneath his eyes that do nothing to deter the beauty of his features; otherwise he seems fine. His clothes are a bit fancy for being indoors and his hair's grown long, longer than she ever remembers it being, and it makes him look unfamiliar to her.
“Are you alright, William?” She asks, when he drops one of the tea bags.
Liam shoots her a glare, opening his mouth to say something but then his hand slips and she flinches when suddenly the teacup falls from his hand, shattering as soon as it touches the ground. “Right. Fucking great.” He hisses as he looks at the mess that lies at his feet— pieces of porcelain everywhere, all bathed in what was meant to be Yorkshire tea, the dark liquid rapidly covering the white marble floor.
“I'll clean it.” Peggy stands, almost on instinct, quickly grabbing a rag. “You should change, I'll take care of this.” She says, pointing towards his son's shirt and trousers now stained from the splash.
Liam stomps towards the toilet, muttering something about geezers making his tea under his breath. Peggy sighs and crouches to clean the mess as soon as she hears the door close. As she starts to pick up the pieces of the broken mug, she wonders why her son has been acting the way he has. She can't quite put her finger on it, but she's pretty certain he's hiding something. It's in the way he stands, the way he looks at her in the eyes for only a second and then looks away when he speaks. Her William had never been a particularly good liar, all that talent had gone to Noel. Which reminds her, the topic of where her Noelín had gone.
She carefully puts away the pieces of porcelain and silently walks towards a hallway just outside the kitchen where they were in. It's dark, except for a line of light coming from under the bathroom door. She can hear Liam shuffling around inside, the shadow of his movements visible over the line of light. She hurries towards the door next to it. She's not sure her son would mind if she looked around a bit, but then again, she can never be too sure with that boy. When she opens the door, she finds an empty queen sized bed, with some pretty mild decoration and the entirety of the room is practically unpolluted. She frowns at the spotless bedroom, looking around for the uncleanliness that follows her sons. But there's nothing, not a suitcase or some clothes, not even a wrinkle on the bed sheets. She closes the door, flinching slightly at the noise.
There's another door on the opposite side. This is too grand for a hotel room. She doesn't know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't a full blown apartment. Especially when all of the space was wasted, since one of them was obviously not using the bedroom, probably staying in some girl's house. Or maybe they're staying in the same room, and that's why Liam said those dumb things about having a sleepover. She shakes her head, knowing her sons spend their nights out partying; she wishes they'd do something as innocent as a sleepover.
Peggy crosses over to the other door, twisting the doorknob slightly. The door lets out an awful creak, almost like a mewl as she pushes it open, and the whole room is drenched in darkness. The blinds are closed and there's no light on, but when she squints she can see some clothes scattered on the floor. She steps into the dim room and pats blindly on the wall until she finds a light switch. The shine blinds her for a second and then she's met with the mess that is the room. The floor is almost entirely covered in rubbish, clothes, bags and suitcases, empty bottles, plates, cigarette ends, food wrappings— and some other substances she doesn't recognize and she'd rather not to.
Her breath hitches when she sees the figure lying on the bed. Her son is still asleep, his body contorted in a strange position: face down with a thigh up wrapped around the blanket and one of his arms bent behind his back in a way that couldn't possibly be comfortable. Almost as an afterthought she notices that he's not wearing any clothes, but her eyes are fixed on the collection of bruises Noel is wearing on his pale skin. She walks towards him, her legs moving on their own accord as she slides her eyes over the black and purple spots scattered over his thighs, waist and neck. She almost doesn't recognize him, his hair has grown long, longer than he ever had it when he was a roadie, curling at the bottom; and his torso is skinny, far too thin for being off the drugs. And he's so pale, the fair skin almost matching the blankets, only serving to highlight the bruises like pieces of coals over driven snow.
It gives her a sudden wave of nausea, seeing her son like this. She remembers the last time he had been wearing black eyes and broken bones, matching with her eldest. Peggy needs to close her eyes for a minute, reminding herself that he isn't here to hurt her babies anymore. There's no one here that can hurt her son.
A voice deep from behind her eyes whispers to her that that's not true. She tenses, her back straightening suddenly— No, he wouldn't. She tells herself. They have rows sometimes, that's all. They're brothers, it's just how it is. She waits a few beats until she opens her eyes again, letting out a trembling breath. The smell of alcohol, smoke and something else wafts up to her nose and it helps her ground herself. Better.
She's about to wake him up when she hears a miniscule creak from behind her. She turns around in one sharp movement, her breath hitching when she sees Liam standing underneath the doorway. The light from the hallway is still turned off, and the light from the bedroom only hits his mouth and chin, leaving his eyes in the dark. He's shirtless and barefoot, but his pale skin is free of marks. Her heart is beating loudly against her ribs, and she fears he might be able to hear it, somehow. She hopes he doesn't.
“Liam.” She whispers. She takes a gulp of air, suddenly feeling like she has run a marathon. “What's happened to your brother?” She tells herself that her voice doesn't tremble, doesn't shake when she asks. It doesn't.
He remains at the doorway, without moving, without blinking. She can still see his eyes, in the darkness.
“Nothing happened to ‘im, he was just messin' about and it got a bit out of hand, yeah?” He says, voice low, monotone. “What're you doin’ here, anyway?”
“It's four in the afternoon.” She reasons, voice still a whisper, and her eyes flick towards the digital clock on the nightstand. “Almost five. That's— it's not normal, Liam. Is he alright? Is he taking drugs again?” She wants to shake him, wake him, somehow. But he has the feeling that Liam doesn't want her to, so she doesn't.
Liam clicks his tongue. “Nah, ‘r’kid’s still sober, too many scares with coke and that.” He steps inside and Peggy moves a step back in tandem. He stops, staring at her: “What's that? Why are you doing that?” His eyes are wild, like an animal's.
“William.”
“Yeah?”
She swallows. “Did you do that to your brother?”
His eyes finally leave her and move to his brother, his gaze somehow intensifying. She sees blue eyes going over every bruise and mark, but there's no surprise in them, only some sort of focus. She wonders if he's on something, given the way his pupils dilate almost unnaturally.
“Yeah.” He answers, easy, his eyes still fixed on the body laying in bed.
“Why?”
He starts to walk towards the bed. “‘cos I wanted to. And he wanted to.”
Suddenly he's at the feet of the bed, his gaze still locked on to his brother. She steps aside, staring at the way her youngest climbs on the bed standing on his hands and knees as he crawls over to his brother, his shoulder blades moving under the skin, like a panther’s. There's scratches on his back, small little red lines that almost reach his waist.
“Noely.” He whispers, with a softness in his voice that is novelty today. “C’mon, wake up, mam’s here.”
For a delirious second, Peggy thinks his son might not wake up. But then he's stirring, kicking the blanket away and rubbing his eyes.
“Mum?” Noel mumbles, blinking rapidly as his eyes try to get used to the light, and Peggy lets out a sigh of relief.
“Hello darling. Are you alright?” She asks softly, leaning over the bed and brushing some strands of hair out of his face.
“What're’ you doin’ here?” He asks, slurring the words, his voice rough in accordance with the collar of bruises on his neck. His eyes are open fully now, and she sees the second he seems to realize how he looks, his eyes widening. “Oh, fuck— Gimme a second to get dressed, yeah?” He turns towards Liam. “Why didn't you tell me she was coming? Could've woke me up, you cunt.”
“I didn't know, dickhead.” Liam bites back, giving him a light slap on his thigh. “Not my fault you're sleeping until fuckin’ four pm anyway.”
They bicker for a bit and Noel asks her to leave the room so he can make himself presentable. When Liam closes the door behind them, he turns to her. “See? Told ya he's alright. Don't know why you're lookin’ like you seen a ghost or summat.” He mutters as they walk towards the living room again.
“You still haven't told me why you hurt him.” She glares at him. She really doesn't appreciate when Liam plays dumb, not with her. “Are you two fighting again? Thought you said you were alright.”
“We are! Never been better.” He says, spreading his arms in exasperation. “And I ‘aven’t done anything to him he didn't ask me to, yeah?”
He stomps away, leaving her with more questions than answers. She sighs with resignation and drops on the couch. Liam is looking out the window, not paying her any mind. She's exhausted, the trip, the doctors, the entirety of London that stresses her out with ease and then this. They were always a handful, these two, poor Paul had never given her this much trouble. She takes a deep breath and she catches a whiff of the tea that Liam spilled before. Right. She should probably make herself a cuppa, just to avoid any further incidents.
She's pulling three mugs out of a cupboard, already aching to be laying on the couch again when Noel walks in, a slight limp in his movements as he grabs his lower back, before turning on the telly and dropping on the couch without elegance. Liam is still standing at the window, in silence. She pours water into the mugs, trying to control the shake of her hands. She hears Noel groan, muttering something about a headache and then he's standing up again.
“Mum? You want summat? I can ask for room service, you don't have to make anything, y'know.” He says, coming up behind her as she's finishing up.
She shakes her head. “I want to make it myself.”
He huffs. “Alright. We got any scran, then?” He asks, turning towards Liam.
Peggy looks at Noel's arms resting on the counter as the lads chat. They're littered with bruises, some of them more recent and others already turning yellow. She notices two identical ones on Noel's wrists, purple and angry, both circles of bruises going all the way around the delicate wrists. She knows what they're from, she's had a few of those herself after a tight grip around her own; but never like that. She keeps her gaze on them, memorizing the shape of them and the wave of dread that washes over her as she makes out the shape of cruel hands and fingers in those marks.
“Mum?” Noel's voice shakes her out of her thoughts. She blinks a few times. He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out hoarse. “Liam’s gone down for some scran, yeah? ‘cos the phone is not workin'. Well, either that or they got tired of us calling for room service.” He laughs.
Peggy gives him a small smile. She tries to focus on Noel's eyes, instead of the bruises on his neck and arms that his shirt can't hide. Worst part is, he doesn't seem to mind, resigning himself to sip on his tea quietly. Her eyes slip down, flicking only for a moment towards a particularly nasty one almost on his collarbone; and Noel notices, or course. He sighs and puts his mug down.
“Mum, am alright, yeah?”
“Are ye?” She questions, putting her own mug down.
“I am, swear down.”
She presses her lips. “Who did that to you, then?” She nods towards the bruises, trying to keep herself calm.
Noel rubs his face with both hands. “A bird.” He mutters. “Can’t even remember her name.”
Peggy frowns. “Liam said he gave you those bruises—
“Liam's an idiot.” He cuts her off, rolling his eyes. “I brought a bird here, right, it got a bit funny and now he's pulling my leg— fuck, ma, I don't wanna tell you what I do with birds, y'know, it's fuckin’ embarrassing but I need you to stop lookin' at me like that, yeah?”
“Like what?”
“Like I'm a kicked puppy, on the street, starving on a rainy day.” He says, with an annoyed tilt of his head. “I'm sound, yeah?.”
She stares at him. It's funny, a few years ago she would've believed him, most likely. But she knows better than this, even if her middle child is an outstanding actor by nature. Those marks are far too big to be from a girl, and either way Peggy has known for a long time about Noel's inclinations. She doesn't understand why he would keep lying about that to her.
“I don't mind it if you've been with lads, love.” She says, as softly as she can.
“Fucking hell.” Noel mutters, hiding his face behind his hands. “Am not doing this—
“I just don't want you to get hurt, alright?” She insists, laying her hand over his. She gives him a half smile, hoping it's reassuring, but Noel shakes his head and continues to sip his tea.
It doesn't really bother her, really. She will always love her children no matter what, even if Noel's tastes had come as a shock at first. It's not that she didn't expect it, it's just that she didn't expect to witness it firsthand. She recalls coming in from work earlier, the house in complete silence when she arrived, which was strange, since her boys always had the telly or some record on when they were inside. She can't really remember which year it was, or where Liam and Paul were; but she knows she climbed the stairs in silence, assuming whoever was home was asleep. Perhaps that was her mistake, because as soon as she reached the first floor, she could hear the soft little whimpers and the creak of the bed coming from the boys’ bedroom. She remembers panicking for a second, because it sounded like her son was being stabbed or punched, all little mewls and almost whispered pleas. Until she peeked through the barely opened door and saw someone's bare back wrapped in Noel's milky white legs. It's a wonder her son didn't notice her, because Peggy could perfectly see him lying on the bed with his face all flushed under the brunette curls sticking to his sweaty forehead, as his lips opened in a constant gasp. She recalls standing there for a minute, half horrified and half relieved that her son wasn't getting hurt; until the moans and grunts became too much for her and she walked away discreetly.
She's playing with the thread of the tea bag, mindlessly, when Liam practically kicks the door open while spewing curses under his breath. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Noel still sipping his tea with a wary look in his eyes.
“You alright?” Peggy asks him, and as soon as the words are out of her mouth she realizes how pointless they sound.
“No, yeah I'm fuckin' buzzing, honestly. Fuckin’ jolly I am.” Liam mutters sarcastically as he drops some bags on the table. “Fuckin' rubbish hotel with all these fuckin' useless cunts workin ‘ere, can't do nothing.” He pulls the chair back, the slide of the chair legs against the floor crying out an awful sound that makes both her and Noel flinch. “Should've gone to the restaurant.” He sighs after he sits down, breath still heaving.
“Somebody’s gonna see, and they're gonna take fuckin’ pictures of us if we do that.” Noel points out, clicking his fingers against his mug.
Liam glares at him. “Let ‘em, what we got to hide, hmm?”
Noel stops the tapping of his fingers and returns the glare. “For starters, the fact that we're living here. If the press finds out that were staying here they're gonna be knocking on our door every fuckin' day, yeah?”
“Right.” Liam laughs before biting his lips, a nasty look on his face that lets her know he's about to say something awful. “Don't want the papers to see all your pretty bruises, don't ya, Noely?”
“Liam.” She chastises on reflex. She sees Noel's jaw tense, face contorted in a frown, but he remains silent.
“Got nothing to say, ey?” Liam sneers.
She turns fully to Liam, then. “William!” And this time it comes almost as a shout, her fists clenching the table top. “Cut it off, I swear to God.” She hisses.
Peggy has no idea what is going on anymore, they're not even looking at her, both pairs of eyes fixed on each other, waiting for something; or perhaps daring each other to do something. She has the age-old impulse of clipping Liam behind the ear like she had to do when he was a teenager, but she's not certain why she would, Noel is not even defending himself, not even reacting— and then again, she's not sure it would work. She looks at Liam again, his back is unnaturally straight, as if in ready to stand up quickly and pounce.
There's a shift between them, barely visible, but then Liam is turning slightly to look at her again. “Did Noely tell you why he looks like that, mum?” He asks, very softly, and it angers her even further that he sounds exactly the same as he did when he was a child and would ask her all sorts of questions— like a taunt that he hadn't forgotten that innocence and softness, he just couldn't be bothered to dig it up.
She glares at him, and her eyes shift to look at Noel for a moment. She's met with her middle child's eyes, filled with something akin to panic. She doesn't understand why. She doesn't understand why Liam is so angry lately either, why Noel is so quiet. There's pieces missing and she's not certain what to do. She opts for the truth, then.
“He told me it was from a lad.” She says, trying to keep her voice level. “Y'know, gettin' a bit wild in bed and all that. But that's alright, and you, you shouldn't mock your brother for that—
Liam stands up in one sharp movement, the table sliding a few inches with the push. “He said what?” His voice is completely devoid of any softness or humor; only a dry growl. He's wearing this manic look in his eyes, his pupils barely visible, and it makes Peggy's heart skip a bit.
“I didn't fuckin' say that!” Noel squeaks, voice high pitched in panic as soon as he stands up from his chair.
Peggy's head turns so fast she almost gives herself whiplash. Liam is striding towards his brother and with each step Noel steps back, his back almost clashing with the furniture a few times. “I didn't fuckin' say that, I swear— I said it was from a bird, I dunno why the fuck mam would say that, Liam— Fuckin' Christ just listen to me!” Noel is babbling, his volume growing louder until his back hits the wall and Liam has him cornered, fists clenched at his sides.
She can feel her heart in her throat in a way that it hasn't in years, practically decades. She takes a gulp of air and stands up. “Liam! Liam, he didn't, he said it was from a lass, and I— I thought, y'know, it must be from a lad because, but, luv, calm down, alright—”
“Noel's not a fuckin’ queer.” Liam cuts her off, turning to look at her in disdain and Peggy is just relieved he's not looking at Noel anymore. “He doesn't shag blokes. Ain't that right?”
“Yeah.” Noel chokes out, still glued to the wall behind him. “I don't.”
Peggy takes a trembling breath. “Alright, ‘m sorry.”
Then, as if nothing happened, Liam is slowly shuffling to the couch and he sprawls there, closing his eyes in annoyance. She takes a hand to her chest and feels her heart jackrabbiting against her ribs, at the same time all the air in her lungs floats away in a weary sigh. She spares a look at Noel, sees him shake the scare off and straighten up again, as if there's nothing going on. But that is an old sight, Noely putting on his mask. He has been doing it for longer than she can remember. However, she could swear that at some point she was allowed to see behind it. She looks at him, expectantly, and he acknowledges her with a nod that's supposed to calm her down but it doesn't really work. She sits back down, the chair creaking under her weight.
She keeps her eyes on both her children, switching her gaze between them every few seconds, as if she let them out of her sight everything would go wrong again. Noel is sitting at her side again and opening the bag that Liam had brought. It has biscuits inside but they are a bit roughed up from all the carelessness of her youngest, but they both eat a few anyway, if only to calm their nerves.
Peggy has never seen Liam act that way— well, that's not entirely true. She has seen him act that way, carried only by blind wrath, but never towards his brother or herself. It had been towards their bastard of a father, and it had taken all of Noel's patience to calm him down. And a few times with some men that had bothered them, whether be the press or some boys at school giving him grief, but that's all. In their home, he wasn't the violent, reckless and loud storm that was Liam Gallagher, he was just her little boy William; the same one that cried his soul out when she had to leave him alone in the house and it tore her apart to hear him scared and lonely. She wonders where that boy has gone, now.
Perhaps it's the drugs and the booze that has him acting this way, she sort of hopes it is, because if it's not, then. Then— Then what? Is it because of the fame, the money, what? Is it Noel? She watches them, sitting the exact same way, almost exact mirrors of each other, only Liam is relaxed on the couch and Noel is rather tense on the chair by the table. And the bruises, of course. She thinks back to what they've said and wonders. It sounded like disgust in Liam's voice, but could he really raise such anger to the simple fact that his brother dated men? No, there was something else laced under his voice, behind his leaden eyes and clenched fists that gave her a little wave of acid in her throat. It felt like envy, a deep jealousy simmering just below the surface. And she thinks, again, of a little Liam trying to hoard Noel's time, following him everywhere, learning new games and tricks just to get his attention, and if that didn't work, well, he'd just start to bother him, giving his best effort to get a rise out of his brother. Liam would take any attention Noel would give him, even if that was anger or even hatred; the only thing that mattered was that his kid's eyes were on him.
There's a tiny, treacherous thought in the back of her mind — from the part of her that always manages to picture the worst case scenario— that tells her that Liam never stopped, only escalated. Her eyes slide through the marks of violence on Noel's skin once again, and it's strange, she’s almost used to them by now. She fixes her gaze in the ones on the boy's wrists, practically identical, and tries to picture the hand that could've done them. She mentally lets out a bitter laugh when her first thought is Tommy, his cruel claws already sealed in her mind as the cause of every evil that came down upon her children. But he's not here anymore, and Liam's hands are the same size as those bruises. She's scratching her own wrists, an unconscious impulse that leaves with her own red and slightly swollen marks, in a gesture caused by something akin to solidarity. The ones on Noel's throat are the worst ones, especially because you can easily tell where the palm rested, the weight of it meant to cut off the air. Christ.
“What’re you going to do if you have to go out?” She blurts out, and the question shocks Noel, who recoils for a millisecond but quickly recovers.
“You mean this?” He asks, pointing towards his neck. She nods and he sighs in resignation. “I’ll just cover it up. I got some leftover powder, and I picked up a few things from all the times we went on the telly and from Meg, like.”
Not the first time it happened, she realizes. There's a certain tired look on her son's expression and the way he's not panicking, he's just— accepting it. Whatever it is. Her heart clenches, just the thought of it. She looks at her youngest, she can't even conceive it. It is simply not possible. If it is, then why the hell Noel is living with him? Why come to him, as close as he possibly could from dusk to dawn? Why not tell her? It's not, then. It can't be. Noel wouldn't let it happen, and Liam would never, he couldn't, there's a line that he can't cross, perhaps the only one. But then she thinks back, to all the invasions, all of the violations of privacy and autonomy between them; and knows that Liam would sew them together if he could. A shiver goes up her spine, her hands twitching and her legs ache for running out the door.
But she can't, it's just their babies, isn't it? This, this is just her paranoia, the image the papers and the news had tried to paint of her sons— it is only a mirage. She knows Liam, he wouldn't, not her angel boy. She lets out a shaky breath. Perhaps she should go, the place it's not good for her and whatever her boys have going on between them it's just another row and they won't be able to settle if she's still there.
She starts to pick up the empty mugs, the lingering scent of the tea that was spilled earlier still in the air. She wonders if she can leave them alone for the moment it'll take her to go to the kitchen, and does anyway, mainly because she needs the space. She walks away, mugs in hand, dreading the silence that fills the ambience. Once in the kitchen, she gets her hands in the sink and washes the cups. When she's done with that, she picks up the rest of dirty dishes and starts to wash them as well. Her mind finally rests for a moment as her hands move on autopilot, drawing little circles with the sponge against the ceramic. She starts to hum a little tune under her breath and she feels a small wave of relief when she hears the brothers talking in the other room. She can't make out the words beyond some whispers and some giggles but it doesn't sound like they're arguing. She keeps at her task then, humming a bit louder, her posture dropping just the slightest bit as the tension slowly leaves her body.
She gets lost in the easy, almost mechanical sequence of movements and the muffled background noise of her children's voices. It gives her a certain sense of peace, and if she closes her eyes she can almost imagine she's back in Burnage and her sons are safe and little, waiting for her to tell them to come down to have dinner. She can almost smell the rain too.
Peggy is not certain how much time passes, but by the time she's done, it's already getting dark outside and she should be getting home, or at least getting a room in the hotel. She walks back into the room and finds both of her sons sitting on the couch, Noel skimming through a magazine and Liam simply rests his eyes, his head laid back on the backrest of the couch.
“I should probably get back, ‘s getting late.” She says.
“It's getting dark already.” Noel replies, shaking his head. “Why don't you stay in a room here? Just put it to my name, yeah?”
“Yeah, we can have dinner in the restaurant downstairs, y'know. Easy.” Liam agrees, nodding along Noel's words.
She has the impulse to say no and already embark on the way back to her home, but she resigns herself. They seem to be in a good mood once again, and it's not like she gets to see the two of them together that often. She sits on the couch opposite to the one they're sitting on and they start to chat, catching up about the little things. What's going back in Burnage, a few neighbors who had passed away and who obviously they didn't even remember. Also, how were the kids doing, when she could see them again. And a rather nasty tale of how they both got drunk and burned a few things that belonged to Patsy and Meg in some bonfire, which apparently tickled them both to the point of cackling. Outside, she can see the last of sunlight go out, the artificial lights of the city making themselves present from the top of the hotel. They look like stars from here, but Peggy still doesn't particularly like the view.
Liam stretches his arms, letting out a small groan. “Right, ‘m bored. Love, can you turn on the telly?” He asks, softly.
Peggy nods and looks for the remote, but she can't see it. Then, the television is on, and she turns to see Noel with the remote in his hand. He hands it to Liam, who gives him a small smile and a little cheers under his breath. Noel doesn't really react, both of them fixed on the screen, their posture almost exactly identical, knees touching, and the only difference is that Liam has an arm on the back of the couch, going over Noel's shoulders.
There. It's such a silly thing, and yet she can tell nothing it's the same anymore. This is the instant she has realized, the thought constructed in her mind, complete and crystal clear, undeniable and unavoidable. Liam has never called her love, especially not that naturally; there was a certain familiarity in it, like is an age-old habit. But what was really telling, truly, was Noel. His posture relaxed, leaned towards Liam, his response completely instant, no surprise in his expression. Only the familiarity of his brother's body fitting next to his.
She finds herself staring at them from somewhere else, almost as if she was outside of her own body, but everything seems clear now, bordering on painfully obvious. The unused bed, the two suitcases in the other bedroom. The secrets, the divorces, the bruises, the secrecy, the jealousy, the songs— she almost can't herself think with how loud her heart is beating, she can feel the beat of it in her ears, in her head. Her mind is racing, trying to pinpoint the exact moment where it all went wrong. She can't tell, where was that singular instant when something shifted, where it rotted into this. She goes through every memory, and she can't remember a time where they were different, even before the band they were this attached, this attuned to each other, orbiting around each other like planets. She tries to locate where she failed, where she let them out of her sight. She rubs her hands together nervously, her calloused fingers going over her self inflicted scratches and—
The scratches on Liam's back, red swollen lines across his shoulderblades, some of them drawing blood; mirroring the ones from back then, of when she found Noel on his back, the unknown boy thrusting between his spread open legs. She can't recall seeing his hair, much less the face; she can't remember where Liam was, but she knows he was supposed to be home. And he was. Not unknown at all, far too familiar.
She's in the bathroom before she can even realize, dry heaving towards the toilet. How old was he? She doesn't remember the year. Noel was working, she can't recall if he was already out on tour as a roadie or if he was still with his father and Paul but Christ— Liam was in school, she remembers him acting in that school play; what was he sixteen, fifteen? She wants to scream, to rip her eyes out. There's a soft choir of voices outside of the door, probably worried. A sob is is ripped from her throat and her legs give out under her. Whatever she was thinking before, whatever violence she thought was being committed by her youngest, would be better than this. She wishes it was forced upon, wishes it was something forceful so she could at least excuse him. There's a knock on the door and she has to repress the impulse of kicking it in response.
“Mam? You alright?” Noel asks, his voice muffled.
She sobs again, and this time she can see the doorknob rattling insistently. Stop. The knocks get faster, louder. Stop. Make it stop. He can hear him calling out her name as he tries to force the door open. She's mumbling something too. Stop, make it stop. I've had enough. She sees, at the front of her mind, the face of her youngest, all soft angles and pale skin, with those lovely baby blues— Stop. The door is opened then, and Noel is there, filled with bruises and cuts he undoubtedly deserves, crouching next to her, mumbling insignificant questions and reassurances. She sees his lips moving, can't make out the words. Closes her eyes and she's shaken then, rough hands that grab at her arms and that she immediately slaps away with a violent rejection. She pushes, her eyes opening again to the confusion of blue eyes in front of her. He's asking what's wrong, she realizes. As if he doesn't know. As if he hasn't caused it.
“You were supposed to take care of him.” She whispers, her words coming out wet.
Noel looks at her, his body covering the light and casting his shadow over her. “I am.” He says, low.
She shakes her head, the movement only making her even more dizzy. “You're not, this is, this—” She coughs, her breath catching in her throat.
Noel leans forward, resting his forehead against her own “I am.” He whispers, voice soft as he wraps his arms around her.
She tries to squirm out of the embrace but can't find the strength in herself. She resigns, decides to wrap her arms around his torso as well, digging her fingers into the sides of his waist where she knows the skin is coated with bruises; and they don't let each other go.
At some point they stand up, Noel's arms still wrapped around her in an embrace that she isn't sure if it's meant to hold her up or down. They slowly cross the hallway and Liam is at the end of it, the light coming from the living room shining behind his head like a halo. He looks beautiful, she distantly realizes, with his clear marble skin, his gleaming blue eyes and his ever pretty hair— it's terribly unfair. An act like this, this sort of perversion should be taxing, should be punished, in some way. Such a sin should not come freely, she thinks, as he sees her son in the pinnacle of success and beauty. There should be something visible, some clue of this unnameable thing, a sign that would've allowed her to notice. Peggy is not really sure what she has done wrong. Maybe it was all that time that she left them alone, or maybe it was the coddling she did to compensate. But as she stares at her boys, she wonders if this can be forgiven.
For either them or her, since she's the one that lets them. And she will keep on letting them, because she can't bring herself to hate them or punish them. She could try and separate them but she knows better than anyone that it would be futile. Perhaps one day it will all come to a head and they will separate themselves, this volatile friction between them finally exploding. The papers would certainly be happy to know they were right. For now, she buries her head in the fabric of Liam's sweater and breathes in the cologne that both brothers use, and something else, something older that's only describable as Liam, her child; the one she almost grabbed and ran away with when he was only a baby, the untouched one. She runs her trembling hand through his hair, and feels him lean towards her. For a minute she wonders if this whole ordeal is his fault, if Noel is only giving him what he wants, if this is only another thing from himself he has given away for his little brother. She holds William tighter, doesn't let herself wonder any more, it won't do her any good anyway. They will not change, because they don't think they've done anything wrong. They're not embarrassed, they're not hiding from her— she was only a bit behind to realize it.
She lets him go and he nods, whether it is to comfort her or to let her know she understands, she's not sure. They accompany her to the door, Liam still walking close to her, less erratic than before; while Noel walks behind them, still keeping his distance. With only the artificial light of the hotel, his skin looks paler, sicker, and the bruises and the bag under his eyes look even worse. She looks at him for a second in which he looks back, and he doesn't seem ashamed either, or even hurt. He looks at home. She wordlessly gives them her goodbyes and they do the same. She's staying in the hotel, but they know she's not coming back to their room. Peggy's not seeing them again, at least for a while. She wants to believe that this will bring shame to them, that they will reconsider and they will end it. But they will not. An image of two joint graves comes to her mind, and she shakes her head, it's not good to have such grim thoughts before bed.