Five(57)
He hires Brendon, a personal physiotherapist, who comes to the estate three times a week, and then every day, and then stays, and never leaves.
Danny and Brendon talk about life and the things they love and the things they hate, and they take walks around the grounds, and do exercises and therapies which make Danny stronger. To show his gratitude Danny buys Brendon an expensive watch, a bespoke suit, a carbon-fiber racing bike. They fly to Rome, to Berlin, to New York. They stay in the best hotels, they eat beautiful food. They talk and have sex and laugh, and for the first time since the death of Doreen, someone understands Danny in his entirety and sees all of him all at once.
“Are you sure about him, mate, you’re sure he’s not taking advantage?” Liam asks, not for the first time since their relationship began.
“We—are—in—love,” Danny answers him, again.
“If you say so,” Liam says, “but something’s off,” by which he means, there is only room for one hero in our story.
“Not sure I should trust you, mate,” Liam says to Brendon on another visit when they have a moment alone in the kitchen while Brendon mixes cocktails.
“You should, because I love him,” Brendon answers. “You can take your time, though.” Brendon smiles as he brushes an eyelash off Liam’s cheek.
Brendon holds out Liam’s eyelash on the tip of his finger and says, “Make a wish. Give it a blow.”
Liam walks away, but not before looking Brendon in the eye, not before feeling a ripple through him that is jealousy, that is fear of losing Danny, but that Liam mistakes for something else.
“There’s something I don’t like about this,” Liam says to Danny, on an evening when Brendon is away seeing his mum.
“You—do—not—have—to—like—it,” Danny says.
“I worry about you,” Liam says, stopping short of saying what he is thinking: I am your protector, I’m the leading man, remember?
“I worry that he’s playing a game with you,” Liam says instead.
“So—stop,” Danny says, and he means exactly that.
* * *
“I love you,” Brendon says, as he does up the buttons on Danny’s shirt for him. It is their wedding day, the five-year anniversary of the day they met. They are having a small, private ceremony on Danny’s estate. Only Danny’s other trusted staff will be present—the chef, the housekeeper, the gardener—and Liam and his third wife and their two sons.
Though it takes more effort, Danny chooses to stand today with Brendon to receive their guests. They position themselves on either side of the antique ornate alabaster table in the center of the foyer, in their wedding suits, smiling, and Danny’s heart is so full and proud. Above them, the hundreds of glass crystals on the enormous Edwardian chandelier reflect the sunlight from the windows of the cupola above it, casting tiny rainbows everywhere. A huge vase filled with dozens of peonies, Doreen’s favorite, stands on the alabaster table. Danny had hoped to have a moment with his brother before the ceremony with a cheeky glass of Dubonnet by the peonies to toast their mother on this important day.
But Liam arrives alone and bursts into the grand entryway, the heels of his bespoke loafers ringing out on the highly polished marble floor. Before Danny can even say his name, Liam lurches toward them, red-faced, shouting, “I knew it, I knew it, you thieving bastard, look, look at this!” clutching a sheaf of papers in his hand.
They are bank records, obtained by a private detective, which Liam believes are the proof that Brendon has been stealing from Danny all this time, small incremental amounts, then larger and larger ones, adding up to a half a million pounds over three years, transferred to an account in Brendon’s name.
“What are you on about, ma—” Brendon starts to say but cannot finish the sentence because Liam’s fist makes contact with Brendon’s face. He is stunned for a moment but regains his balance and says, bleeding from the nose, “Liam, we’re getting married—”
“The hell you are! Half a million? What, you thought he wouldn’t miss it?”
“I—gave—it—” Danny tries to say he gave it to him, but he cannot get the words out fast enough.
“Danny gave it to me, to help my mum and sister, look, look at where the payments go, mate, to the care home for my mum, to pay for my nieces’ sch—”
“I—” Danny starts to say but stops, he knows the other two men are not listening.
“Liar!” Liam shouts. He punches Brendon again and stumbles into the heavy stone table, where both men struggle with each other until they fall onto the ground.
Liam gets on top of Brendon and punches and punches, and Brendon can’t find his breath, and Liam gets lost in his anger. The rest of their lives are determined in the next few moments.
John, the gardener, and Max, the chef, run to pull Liam off Brendon and tussle and roll on the floor, fending off Liam’s blows.
Danny panics, in shock, at a loss for what to do. He cannot get too close to them, he’ll lose his balance, he’ll get hurt, he cannot get in and stop the fight.
Or a different truth: They do not know what it means to fight like he has.
Danny leans on his crutches on the other side of the table, his eyes dart around the room for a way to stop the chaos. He can yell and shout but the fighting men are too distracted to hear him.