The Troubles

Christmas Day

Christmas day, Elliot had volunteered to cook again, really out of no choice. Fred couldn't cook for shit, although most of that was him pretending so, in order to avoid responsibility. His dad tried, although he was a genuine failure at cooking, hence the microwave meals. He had, however, attempted to cook the potatoes, and purchased some crackers to feel as if he'd contributed some.

"What the fuck are these potatoes!" Fred exclaimed.

"Shut up, Fred, and eat your bloody beans," his dad responded, and Elliot had to stifle a laugh at the look of outrage on his brother's face.

The presents were decent, which was more than Elliot could say for last year, when he'd been presented with a cigarette from Fred (which he had given to Pete at school who bragged about his smoking habit) and a rotting tin of paperclips from his dad. Fred's reaction after he'd ripped through the brown paper from Elliot to see a pipe, and a pretty sharp one at that, was of course limited in emotion, but he gave a genuine smile when he looked at it.

"Not bad, El."

His dad seemed happy with the leather wallet as well, although to afford the pipe for Fred, he had managed to get it free as a hand me down from Frank - although he suspected Frank was aware of his slight lack of money. From Fred, he received a whole pack of Marlboro cigarettes this time, and gave a light laugh of appreciation thinking this time he'd actually bought it with Elliot in mind, although Fred shook his head.

"Look inside, you dumb fuck."

Inside were a number of black guitar plectrums, and each one embellished with gold - Elliot had to restrain himself from smiling too much.

"Jesus - Thanks, Fred!"

"Don't get gay on me now, they're Charlie's old ones. I nabbed 'em off him after I realised I had nuthin' for you."

Elliot suppressed the grin at his brother's adamancy against seeming as if he cared, and opened the present from his dad. Inside the newspaper was a piece of paper, and Elliot had to unroll it to read what it said. His eyes widened in disbelief, because on the piece of paper was a too familiar logo.

"Da'?"

"The Beatles, I know, son. Official poster - thought you'd like it. Course it were free, but seemed decent enough."

Decent was an understatement; this was the feat that made Elliot realise the coldness held by his brother and his dad was simply a facade, as if to maintain some tough exterior. Of course they cared about his music, their obsession with The Troubles was a patriotic but merely exterior one. Christmas day was one of the few examples of this, but Elliot didn't care too much about that, at least he could see it. Later on, he took a trip down to the park benches to meet Joe, who handed him a present. 

"Who in fucks name wrapped this?" Elliot said. It genuinely looked like someone had opened it and stuck it all back together again. 

"Shut up y' prick and open it."

Elliot shot him a sideways grin before tearing off the remains of the paper, to reveal a small metal bar, holes down the side.

"Wha' is it?" 

"It's a harmonica, ain't it?"

Elliot turned it over in his fingers as Joe kept talking. 

"Bob Dylan has one in practically all his old songs. Thought you'd want to give it a try."

"Your present is comin' man," he lied with a grin and Joe laughed.

"No it's not you wanker."

Elliot looked at his friend with a grin before enveloping him in a hug - not something they'd do very often, but he felt it necessary. Then Joe fell silent for a second before glancing out at the ducks, and Elliot looked sideways at him, deciphering the unusual quietness.

"What?" he asked, sliding the present into his pocket and Joe looked down awkwardly at his hands. 

"I need'a tell you somethin' El."

"Go on then," Elliot said, leaning a flat arm on the arm of the bench, studying his friend and trying to decipher his behaviour. The water ran gently in front of them, a calm hiss as the ducks floated aimlessly. 

"Fucks sake, Joe; you haven't killed anyone have you?"

"No," Joe said, the corner of his mouth turning up in amusement. "But you'd better swear to God you don't tell anyone, alrigh'?"

"Can't guarantee that, I'll probably go tell my other fifty thousand mates I have."

Joe kept the small grin, and sighed dramatically, leaning his elbows either side of him, back on the top of the wooden bench. 

"I don't ..." he trailed off, evidently not having had rehearsed this. "Oh fucks sake, how do I put it." 

"Better put it quick, I'm fuckin' freezin'." 

Joe looked at him for a few seconds, holding his gaze and deliberating. 

"You know how sometimes, the unionists, they call us poofs?"

"Yeah?" 

"And you tell 'em to fuck off."

"Yeah?"

"But I don't?"

Elliot looked at his friend for a few seconds, his head whirring in an attempt to compute. 

"There's a reason fer that, you know," Joe said, scratching his head and watching the river.

Elliot stared at his friend, the wind biting his face as he looked down, thinking of his dad, his brother, and everyone else who lived in this goddamn place, before he shared a look with Joe. His mouth spread into a grin, and he patted his friend on the back. 

"Come on, you fucker."

Joe grinned back, standing up with him, blowing the snow of his face from the side of his lip and pulling his hat up so that his eyes weren't almost enveloped beneath it as they walked back to their bikes against the tree. 

"Ye won't tell anyone, will yer?"

"What's there to tell?"

They shared a grin, before Elliot mounted his bike, and Joe sped ahead. "Two chocolate bars for the winner, you wanker!"