Gary McMahon - Silent Voices

“He’ll be here. He just likes to make an entrance.” He stared out of the window, at the empty street. The sky was darkening, the clouds were low, and lights had already come on in some of his neighbours’ front rooms. He’d never noticed before just how early they came on, and for some reason the thought unnerved him.

Jane rubbed his stomach with her hand. She pressed her lips against the back of his head. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “He’s probably more nervous than we are.” Then she was away, back to the kitchen to keep an eye on the preparations. She’d kept the menu simple: a prawn cocktail starter, chicken and tomato with penne pasta for main, and a cheesecake bought from the bakers on the Arcade for dessert. Simon would probably think it was cheap, working class; no doubt he was used to eating out every night in classy London restaurants where they served small bowls of sorbet between courses.

Suddenly Brendan felt like a fool. Standing there in his cheap trousers and badly ironed shirt, he knew he was a fraud, a pretender. Why had he bothered to try and be something he was not? He should have sat around waiting in his work jeans and a T-shirt. Simon-fucking-Ridley wasn’t worth all this trouble. All they were doing was feeding his ego, making him think that he was something special.

He gulped from his can, trying to stem the sudden flow of hatred. He had no idea where it was coming from, and didn’t see any reason why he should be thinking these things, or why Simon’s imminent arrival should be affecting him in this way.

He turned away from the window and sat back down on the sofa, facing the television. The kids were still clattering about upstairs, causing a lot of sound and fury, and he expected Mrs. Broadly from next door to start banging on the wall. She hated children, and never missed an opportunity to complain.

There was a knock on the front door, followed by the chime of the doorbell. Simon was here. He had sneaked along the street, down the path, and onto the front step while Brendan had been occupied, lost in his own banal thoughts. He stood, straightened his shirt (hating himself for doing so), and went to answer the door.

“Brendan!” Jane’s voice, loud and slightly panicked.

“Aye… I’ve got it. It’s him.”

He could see Simon’s outline through the textured glass panel in the door, a slim, elegant shape. He waited motionlessly, as if he were a statue and not a real person.

Brendan paused for a moment, waited for a lull in the commotion on the first floor, and then opened the door.

The man on the doorstep was Simon, as expected, but he looked different… somehow less than he had done before. The bruising on his face had already faded, but his skin looked discoloured, slightly jaundiced. He seemed thinner than earlier that day, his garments less fitted, and when he smiled it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you okay?” He stepped back and opened the door fully, making room for Simon to enter.

“Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. Just feeling a bit tired, that’s all.” Simon held out a bottle of red and a bottle of white, one in each hand. “I didn’t know what we were having, so I brought both.” He smiled again, and this time it was better, healthier… but still there was something missing. “Anyway, I’m here. Thanks for the invite.” He stepped slowly across the threshold.

“Thanks for coming. You know the way through, yeah? I’ll just grab you a beer from the kitchen.” Brendan shut the door behind his guest and watched him walk along the hallway and enter the living room. He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out two cold beers.

“This won’t be long,” said Jane. Her cheeks were flushed. The kitchen was warm. “I’ll go and get the twins down and we can all say our hellos.” She reached out as he straightened from the fridge, her hand lightly brushing the collar of his shirt. “Nice shirt. Didn’t I buy you that?” She winked. He smiled. It was a rare moment of solidarity, one that felt like it lay outside of their roles as parents, even as husband and wife. In that moment they were friends, and they were allies.

Brendan took the beers back into the living room. Simon was sitting on the sofa, perched on the edge of the seat and watching the television. His eyes were small and hard; his face was tense.

“There you go.” Brendan handed him a can. “Get that down you, bruiser.”

Simon opened the can, smiled weakly, and took a long swallow. “Why is it that beer always makes things better? They should give it out on the NHS.”

“Let’s turn this shit over. I’ll put some music on.” Brendan picked up the remote control and switched the channel. One of the music channels was playing big-hair rock anthems from the 1980s. “That’s better… might cheer us up.”

Sounds of movement came from upstairs. Jane was herding the kids, trying to get them under control. He could hear her raised voice, the twins giggling, and then Jane joining in the laughter. He loved his family. They were all he had. Everything he needed.

Footsteps across the ceiling, then down the stairs.

“Here they come,” he said, turning towards the door.

Jane walked in first. She looked gorgeous. Her hair was in disarray, but slight dishevelment had always looked good on her. Brendan turned to face Simon, and saw him staring at Jane, too, his eyes wide, his face twitching into a smile.

Brendan turned back to his wife, clenching the beer can in his fist. He didn’t understand why he felt so anxious.

“Hello, Simon Ridley.” Jane seemed to float into the room. With both men’s eyes upon her, she became more graceful than ever. “Long time no see.” The twins entered behind her, silent for once.

Simon stood and walked to the middle of the room, where he halted, as if he didn’t know what to do. He stuck out a hand. Jane laughed, took the hand, and shook it, then she bent towards him and kissed him on both of his cheeks, left, then right: celebrity style.

“This,” she said, turning to address the twins, “is Simon. Say hello, kids. Simon, this is Harry and Isobel. Our children.” She was beaming; that was the only word Brendan could think of to describe the way she looked. At first he suspected that she might be trying to flirt with her old flame, but then it hit him. She was proud. She was glowing with pride, showing off her husband and her children. Her family. She was telling Simon, without words, how good things were for her now, and that she hadn’t missed him one bit, not one tiny bit since he went away.

The kids started to laugh, now at ease. They went to Simon and started babbling information: telling him about school, about their bikes, their friends and teachers. Simon started to relax. Brendan wasn’t sure why his old friend had been so tense when he first walked through the door, but all that was gone now. He became the perfect guest: interesting, interested, charming, and funny.

Brendan felt himself relax, too. He’d been worrying for nothing. Simon wasn’t a threat; he never had been. If anything, it had always been him, Brendan, who was the real threat. Hadn’t he taken Simon’s girlfriend off him all those years ago, and given her everything she needed?

For the first time in his life, he felt equal to Simon-fucking-Ridley. And in doing so, he opened a door inside himself that allowed all the old, suppressed feelings of friendship to emerge, returning to the light. This wasn’t so bad; he could even get used to it. Maybe he and Simon could be buddies again, after all, and once they managed to speak to Marty it might even be possible for the Three Amigos to mount up and make a triumphant return. Perhaps Simon was right after all, and they could band together to slay the monsters of their youth.