The Talisman (44 page)

Edward reached out and traced his brother’s face, the scars, the broken nose, the crushed cheek and the ear, the one bent like an old boxer’s ear. His hands were manicured and soft, his touch gentle. Alex could only see his father, Freedom, standing before him, the thick black hair and black eyes, the straight nose and high cheekbones. Edward was a mirror image of Freedom.

Gently, Edward wrapped his arms around his brother. Alex went stiff, his body rigid, his hands clenched at his sides, ungiving, unwilling to bend to the embrace. He could smell sweet perfume in his brother’s hair, on his soft, shaved skin. He was helpless, so many emotions exploding inside him . . . He gritted his teeth, waiting until the arms fell away, until Edward stepped back.

This was the moment Alex had been waiting for all these years. His heart was pounding, and he swallowed. He tried to make his voice sound natural. ‘Hello, Eddie – will you have a drink with me?’

Edward smiled, and they both turned and walked away from the grave towards their separate cars. Hands shaking, Edward brought the Rolls behind the Jag. He lit a cigarette and his whole body shook. Jagged pictures flashed before his eyes. He began to sweat. As if replayed again and again, he saw his father coming towards him, his arms open wide . . . coming towards him, towards the knife . . .

Alex blasted his car horn, looking back at the Rolls, then waved his hand for Edward to follow. Alex was calm now, icy calm. He had been thrown by Edward’s resemblance to Freedom, it had unnerved him, but now he was back in control. They drove off one behind the other.

Alex stopped to pick up a bottle of rum. He didn’t know why he chose rum, he didn’t care. The Rolls drew in behind the Jag and parked, Edward locked it. He looked around the run-down street, not two miles from where they used to live. He followed Alex up the stone steps to the third landing and neither spoke a word.

The room was spartan, and Edward looked around as he took off his coat and flung it over a plastic-covered chair. The table was laid with one plate, one knife and fork, and one cup turned upside down on its saucer, the teaspoon not in the saucer but lying beside it. Every item in the small two-roomed flat was meticulously placed, even the salt and pepper, the folded paper napkin.

Opening what looked like a cupboard, Alex revealed a small sink and drainer and a two-ring gas cooker. The only glasses were two thin, polished tumblers. He put them carefully on the table and unscrewed the cap of the bottle, poured two measures and replaced the cap.

‘Rum.’

Edward picked up a glass and held it. Alex offered no toast, just gulped at the rum. It burnt the back of his throat and he coughed. ‘I don’t drink.’

‘Nor do I.’ Edward tossed his down and it burned. They both coughed, put the empty glasses down on the clean table. There was a gaping void between them. Alex topped up the glasses and they drank again.

‘We’ve got to talk, Alex.’

Alex was aware of his brother’s deep aristocratic tones. He chose to speak badly, as if separating himself from his brother. ‘Oh, yeah? I’ve got nuffink ter say ter you.’

They drank again, emptying their glasses and putting them back on the table. Edward could feel the booze beginning to take effect. He reached for the bottle and poured for them both.

The suit, the posh voice, the style, brought Alex’s anger rushing up, like vomit. Edward knew his brother was working up to something, and did not try to stop it. They finished the bottle and Alex put it away carefully. The rum was having the desired effect, and he eased up.

‘What do you want?’

Edward thought about it, licked his lips. ‘I owe you, and I’m here to . . . to . . . settle.’

Alex gripped the edge of the table. He was trying to stand up straight but the floor moved.

‘I’m a rich man.’

‘So what, so am I.’

‘But I’ll make you richer.’

‘You got nuffink I want.’

Edward gripped the other side of the table, half rose, and the floor moved under him, too . . . ‘Your floor’s uneven.’

‘Nuffink wrong wiv my fucking floor.’

Edward stood and swayed on his feet and Alex stood opposite him and swayed. ‘We’re drunk.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Yesh you are.’

‘I bet you any money I can walk dat edge of de carpet.’

Edward turned his back and walked to the carpet edge. Alex slid open the kitchen drawer and took out a knife. He had found it in a drawer at the club. It had belonged to Johnny Mask, and was razor sharp, an old stiletto, a gyppo’s cut-throat razor.

Alex watched as Edward moved very carefully to the edge of the carpet and balanced on the fringe, his arms out like a trapeze artist.

‘One million I can make it from here to there . . . you on?’

Alex swayed, nodded his head . . . he glared as Edward began his balancing act . . . midway along he wobbled, one foot edged off the fringe of the carpet.

‘Well, thassit, I owe you, one million . . .’

He slapped his chequebook on the table, fumbled for his pen, scrawled out the cheque . . .

‘Very funny.’

‘Not a joke, Alex, cash it, you’ll see.’

Alex moved like lightning and held the knife at Edward’s throat. This was it, the moment he had dreamed of, lain awake planning. Now it was here – he could kill Edward. But the face that stared back at him wasn’t Edward’s, it was his father’s, with the same dark eyes. Alex froze, unable to use the knife, then in a fury he hurled it across the room. Edward let out a hiss of breath, put his hand to his throat as the knife hit the cupboard door and sliced into the wood. ‘Jesus Christ.’

Edward tried to rise to his feet but Alex, having missed his long-awaited chance of revenge, felt his rage unleashed, like water bursting from a dam. He grabbed Edward by the hair and yanked his head back so hard he heard a crack. ‘You take yer fucking cheque, you cunt, and stuff it up yer arse, eat it, eat it!’

Alex began to stuff the cheque into Edward’s mouth, and Edward kicked him in the groin. Alex buckled up and backed away – then he straightened and began to roll up his sleeves. Edward slipped his tie off, broke the gold cufflinks as he too began to roll up his cuffs. Alex gestured with his hands, snarling. ‘Come on, come on then . . . come on, pay me, pay me for the years, Eddie, pay me.’

The two brothers fought like boxers to begin with, throwing punches at each other, punches that found their mark and hurt. They were one and the same, they were out in the back yard but this time there was no Freedom to yell instructions, no mother standing at the back door shouting for them to stop. They boxed, sparring, jabbing at each other until Alex smashed his fist into Edward’s face and his nose began to bleed . . . Alex then fought dirty, kicking, lunging, throwing any article of furniture close to hand. The chair crashed down on Edward’s head, and Edward hurled his body at Alex and they fell on the table, smashing it in two beneath their weight . . . They rolled on the floor, biting, slapping, kicking, shouting and screaming abuse at each other. They made so much noise that the old woman from the flat above began banging on the ceiling with her cane for them to shut their racket, but it went on and on . . . A chair was hurled through the window, smashing on to the street. Edward ran at Alex and caught his arm on the jagged glass, blood sprayed over the wall, and like a mad bull Alex charged, head down, butting Edward against the door . . . It splintered, and Edward hammered blows into Alex’s stomach . . . Alex brought his two hands, clasped together, up under Edward’s jaw and sent him reeling, sprawling backwards.

Alex threw himself on top of him, holding him up by the hair with his left hand, his right fist crashing again and again into Edward’s face. Edward’s head jerked from side to side as he caught blow after blow, and neither of them even heard the police siren, the screaming neighbours shouting that someone was being murdered.

The banging on the door as the police pounded against it, tried to force it, brought Alex to his senses, and he hauled his brother to his feet. Edward’s face was covered in blood, his shirt drenched with it, his eyes puffy and already swelling. The door burst open and the police officer gaped at the two bloody men. ‘Iss all right . . . is all right, officer . . . we’re brothers.’

Alex had to hold Edward up on his feet, hands beneath his armpits. The police officer looked around at the wrecked room, the broken windows, gave them a lecture about disturbing the peace and told them to clear up the mess in the road.

Left alone, Alex let Edward slither to the floor, ran water in the sink and splashed his face. The blood streamed from his nose and mouth and he was heaving for breath as he leaned against the wall. Edward staggered to his feet and fell down again. Alex took him a wet cloth. ‘’Ere, wipe yer face.’

Edward held the cool cloth to his bleeding face.

‘Get out, Eddie, we’re quits.’

‘I’m going nowhere without you.’

‘It’s too late, Eddie, you’re too late, go away.’

‘I’m rich, don’t you understand? I’m rich!’

Alex dunked his head in the water and stood up, shaking the drops around him. ‘So am I . . . I don’t need you, I don’t need yer money, I don’t need nuffink, nobody.’

‘You married?’

‘Noooo! Fuck off!’

Edward picked up the remaining chair, set it down carefully and sat on it, folding his arms. ‘Will you just hear me out before you throw me out?’

Alex sighed, and at that moment the chair collapsed beneath Edward and he landed in a heap at Alex’s feet. Alex swore and hauled him to his feet yet again, and they caught sight of themselves in the mirror and started to laugh. Alex left his arm around his brother’s shoulders and they laughed, laughed at each other . . . and their roaring laughs turned into sobbing tears. They clung to each other like lovers, holding each other, afraid to let go. With tears streaming down his face, Edward held his brother’s broken and bloody face between his hands, kissed him, and Alex buried his head in his big brother’s neck.

‘We’re brothers, Alex, remember, and we’re going to be them again, I promise you, I swear to you.’

T
he brothers’ reunion did not unite them immediately. Alex was not that easily won over; he could not rid himself of the bitterness he felt towards Edward. All that he had been so proud of acquiring appeared small and shabby when reviewed by Edward. He felt self-conscious under his brother’s scrutiny; Edward’s ever-present sophistication threatened him. Alex balked at changing his name; in fact, he turned against everything Edward suggested. He had been his own boss and, in his own way, happy with his accomplishments. To have them derided, almost sneered at, made him react violently.

Edward knew he had to take his time, yet he was impatient for Alex to match him, to be able to stand alongside him. As things were, he was an embarrassment. Edward made sure they were never seen together in public, and he always made the approach when he wanted to see Alex.

He had been waiting for Alex for over two hours, sitting in his car parked outside Alex’s squalid flat. He watched the Jaguar draw up, watched his brother carefully wipe the fingermarks off the bonnet. Alex looked like a crook, like a cheap con man, and Edward decided it was now or never.

Alex looked up as he approached, then turned back to inspect his motor.

‘Can I come up? Got a minute?’

Alex nodded, and walked into the building. As he waited for Edward to catch him up he could smell his cologne.

‘You smell like a whore’s bedroom.’

‘Fifty quid a bottle makes her high class, you got that kinda bird working for you? Business must be looking up.’

Alex tossed his coat over a chair and snapped, ‘Yeah, go on, Eddie, any chance you can to get a dig in. What d’you want? Get off me back, will yer?’

Edward looked around the bare room then down at his polished, manicured nails. He noticed that the chair they had broken in the fight had already been replaced.

‘I’m going to give it one last try, Alex, then, if that’s the way you want it, I’ll walk.’

‘You do that! What’s wiv this Barkley crap, eh? Who d’yer think yer kiddin’, poncin’ about? You should watch out fer yer motor, kids round ’ere don’t know yer, you’ll ’ave no wing mirrors . . .’

‘Oh yeah? They leave the crooks’ cars alone, do they?’

‘I’m no fuckin’ crook, but I’m known around here, all right?’

Edward began to unbutton his coat, shaking his head. They always had to go through this banter, it was beginning to get on his nerves.

‘Okay, Alex, I’ll give it to you straight. I’ll buy you out for any price you want, and I’ll put one million aside for you on top.’

‘Look, I heard you the first time, I’m not interested.’

Edward stared at him, his face set, then he sprang forward and gripped his brother by the neck, pushing him towards the mirror.

‘Take a good look at yourself, Alex, a real good look. The cheap suits, the face . . . what do you see? How far do you think you can go, Stubbs? You’ve got a record, and it’s stamped right across your forehead – ex-con!’

Alex swung round, shrugging his brother away. ‘I am what you made me, Eddie.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that? You think I come here grovelling out of anything but guilt? I’m rich, I want to help you. I want to put things right, and you won’t let me. So tell me, what will you let me do?’

‘Nothin’ . . . I don’t want nothin’ from you. Stew in yer guilt, Eddie-boy, fuckin’ stew in it.’

‘Okay, so you won’t do it for me – how about doing it for Ma, for her? You know all she ever wanted was . . .’

Alex could feel the tears welling up inside him. He jabbed the air with his hand. ‘You got no right to even mention her name, you bastard! You got no right to come into my life an’ make everythin’ like a piece of shit. I worked for everythin’ I got, an’ I’m proud of what I done. I don’t need yer, I don’t want you around. You keep pushin’ me an’ I swear I’ll fuckin’ kill you. This time I won’t chuck the knife away, you’ll get it just like you gave it to Dad, hear me? You hear me?’

Alex was spoiling for another fight, as if it was the only way he could communicate with Edward. There had been too many years lost between them. Edward chose his words carefully, knowing he was on dangerous ground, clinically talking his brother down, determined to win him round. He began with flattery, telling Alex just how impressed he was with his business, saying that if he had given the impression he was not, he wanted to rectify it.