Duncan stood in the entrance to his top-floor flat of an Edwardian town house. Pushing past him, Sarah strode to the bathroom and slammed the door.

She'd just spotted her friends looking at each other with apprehension. Perhaps they were trying to guess what her next move would be. The men would have already settled down on the stylish faux leather sofa to drink beer and pass the time with MTV.

They wouldn't have long to wait.

She changed her clothes, leaving the dress and sandals strewn across the bathroom floor, and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Emerging from the room, wearing a long, baggy Oasis t-shirt and pink cotton shorts, she hopped over to the ornamental globe which contained Duncan's liquor supply.

The men looked at each other again, as she crossed the room. Well, they could think what they wanted, sat there all quiet and controlled. She, on the other hand, was ready to let loose.

Pouring herself a large tumbler full of brandy, Sarah grabbed the remote, leapt in front of the tv, and raised the volume. A video of Republica was on playing 'Ready to Go.'

"My favourite song!"

She started to bounce around the smart apartment, betting that Duncan was praying with every bounce that the brandy didn't fly out onto his expensive sheepskin rug.

During Sarah's energetic outburst, she had glimpses of Luke leaning over to Duncan and talking to him from the side of his mouth. Smiling encouragingly at her whenever she caught his eye. She could still hear them over the music.

"Dunc - You think this will last long?"

Duncan shifted on the sofa, he'd kicked off his shoes and was tucking his feet up into a cross-legged position. His shoulders hunched.

"Guess not."

He probably hoped not.

"She's pretty whacked out from last night and work. I give her one more brandy and two more songs."

"Want to make it more interesting? How about ten quid for one drink and two songs and fifteen for two more brandy hits and three more songs?"

"Nah. She can't handle that. You're on."

"May the best man win."

They shook hands and sat back. She couldn't care less if it was her providing the show.

The living room/kitchen was a large, open-plan space. Decorated and furnished in a high-class, minimalist way. Cream kitchen counters lined the back wall, gleaming under the twice-weekly scrub from Duncan's house keeper.

A long breakfast bar split the room's dual purpose, four white and chrome stools set under the unit on the living room side. The beige sofa had its back to the kitchen, facing the tv unit with shiny, white panels.

A large, bay window took up most of the wall behind this unit, slightly to the left. A door to the right of where Duncan and Luke were sitting led into the small entrance hall with doors to the bedroom and bathroom.

Sarah was jiggling between the sofa and the tv. The guys were straining to catch the tv screen each time she danced by.

It took about thirty-five minutes and two trips to the drinks supply for Sarah to finally wear her aggression out and collapse onto the soft rug, resting her head on Duncan's legs. She began nodding gently.

She sensed him make a swift movement - probably from him giving a jab in Luke's ribs. Luke was more than likely to be drifting off.

"Luke?"

She closed her eyes and listened, while Duncan was playing with her mess of auburn hair spread over his knee.

"Guess I owe you fifteen quid, Mate."

Luke grunted and she felt the sofa move as he pushed himself down deeper.

Duncan sighed. "So it's up to me then is it? Thanks a lot, Buddy."

Sarah felt her body being raised up slowly to a hunched standing position. Duncan had his arms under and around her. She mummered and waved her head, heavy under its sleepy necessity.

"Come on, Loopy - Let's get you to bed."

The pair limped out of the room and crossed the dark hallway to Duncan's bedroom. Opening her eyes long enough to see where she was going, she saw him lean his elbow down on the metal door handle, and push it open with his foot. He helped her onto the fold up guest bed, where Luke usually slept, and covered her with the blankets.

The light from the street lamp outside his window shone brightly through the open curtains, highlighting the pale, green wallpaper design of embellished stripes. A white dado rail ran around the room, the only one in the apartment to be decorated close to an original Edwardian style. The king size bed took up most of the room, with wardrobes of glass doors built into the alcoves on either side of the chimney breast. A display of fake flowers on the marble hearth covered the sealed-off fireplace.

The night had turned cold, and Duncan went over to the window to close the little open pane at the top, being careful not to knock the camp bed as he did so. She closed her eyes and listened to the window being pulled shut and the green curtains drawn across. His presence stayed in the room with her. Just before she fell into a deep sleep, she wondered why he was still beside her. Exhaustion mentally and physically took her over and she slept.

*****

Duncan watched her steady breathing. She was so peaceful. Something that he never got to see in her during her waking hours. A twinge of sympathy spilled into his heart as he thought of all the loss she'd had to deal with in her life. He crouched down beside her as she slept, gently brushing aside stray hairs from her face. She really was pretty. Things could have been very different between them if he hadn't messed it all up with that quick fumble after the funeral. What a prat.

He got undressed in the dark and slipped into his large, empty bed, running scenarios of could have beens through his head before finally drifting off.

*****

In the living room, Luke sunk further into the sofa. He pulled a cushion around to form a pillow on the armrest and stretched himself out to sleep. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

The street lights, subdued by the expensive, cream curtains, sent shadows of thin, black lines reaching out across the furniture and floor. Their spider-like fingers crept over Luke's body, caressing his black jeans and light blue shirt. Easing their way over the open buttons and onto his broad chest, running through the blonde hairs and out again on up the back of the couch.

As he passed from consciousness to the realm of sleep, the sound of the coming storm interrupted Luke's rest. The electricity was building around him. He gulped hard at the air, catching his breath and ran his hands through his hair. Once the storm had him fully awake, a single thought occupied his mind: He would have to face his brother tomorrow.

It was only a quick visit while he was on leave from the army, but it was enough to give the younger brother sleepless nights. He hadn't even told his best friends about his strained relationship with his sibling. Only Clara had known.

She'd come back with him to stay over at the farm one night. Her mother was on holiday from work and drinking incessantly over the week, and he knew that Clara had had enough by the time Friday had arrived. Sarah's house was out of the question at the time due to her father's extreme behaviour.

Chris Tyler was a bully. Always had been. However it was never a physical torture that he dealt out to his little brother, only a psychological pattern of verbal abuse. Only.

Clara had been in the bathroom when Chris caught Luke alone in his bedroom. The shorter, older brother would never have dared to risk a smack round the back of the head from their father on the rare occasions he got caught 'teasing'.

Chris had strolled into Luke's room and kicked over the chair in front of the computer desk, then he'd swept a hand over his cropped scalp and sniggered. Luke had been sitting on his bed, tying his boot laces.

"Got yourself a bird at last, wimp?"

Luke had tried to ignore his brother, but the words had been repeated so often, for so many years, that the hurt was imprinted on his soul.

"Mind if I give it a go? Bet she'd like someone with a prick bigger than a worm! Has it got any bigger, wimp?"

Luke had stared at the floor, concentrating on the grey, square design. Wishing it to be over.

"Too scared to speak, big man?" Chris had gone over to the desk and pushed off the collection of computer magazines onto the floor. " When are you going to grow a pair, wimp? Guess that's why nobody likes you hey? No girls at least, you fag. Bet she only came here 'cause she wants to get a better look at a real man like me! Queer boy, stick to looking at girls on that stupid computer game, you loser. No one's ever gonna go out with you, fatty."

With one last sneer, Chris had left and gone downstairs.

Clara had come out of the bathroom and into Luke's room. She'd sat next to him on the bed, said nothing, and taken his hand.

He remembered the soft, light touch of her slender fingers and the gentle smile on her face.

Wet tears edged their way out of Luke's sleeping eyes as he dreamed of her again.

*****

Sarah slept fitfully. The muffled tones of the storm slowly gained in strength with each passing flash of lightning. She threw herself round in the narrow bed, feeling constricted by the wrappings of the blankets like a mummy cocooned in its bandages. A sudden boom of thunder shocked her awake and she sat up, breathless from the scare.

Another dull flash tore a slit of instant light into the cotton material of the curtains, a knife of white slicing a zigzag line.

Sarah yawned, rubbing her already aching temples and forcing her eyes to focus on the form in the large bed. Duncan's feet were poking out from under the loose covers, his toes were long but the toenails were cut close and square. The big toe on his right foot twitched erratically, keeping company with whatever dream he was in.

Laying back down again, she turned her back to the window and curled up on her side. The pillow smelt of Luke's aftershave, a subtle, masculine aroma. She guessed that Duncan hadn't bothered to change the sheets since last Saturday night. The pillow and sleeping bag which she used on the sofa last week, were stacked up on a chair next to the door.

The rain began to patter against the window, blown sideways by the increasing winds. The rapid staccato easing her tired mind with its rhythm.

Tomorrow would be a trying day. It was time for her monthly visit to her father. She realised that this was probably another reason for her exaggerated party behaviour. Visiting her father always brought up suppressed memories of her childhood and teens.

The expression on his face never seemed to change anymore. The flecks of passing emotions in his eyes were the only sign that he knew she was there. She recalled only a handful of times when he wasn't vacant or raving, times when he'd acted like a 'real' father should have. That part, in general, had been played by her grandfather.

Her grandfather was the one who had taken her to school, made sure she had a meal on the table each evening, and driven her here and there for parties and after school clubs. He had been the only one who truly cared for her.

She had a vague picture of her mother. A quiet woman with long, dark hair plaited together in a thick braid. It hung over her shoulder and had tickled Sarah's nose whenever she'd hugged her mother. She had had a handsome face, too strong to be called pretty, yet striking in her features. Sarah recalled her singing a kind of Gregorian chant while they'd sat together in the living room in front of a roaring, open fire.

She couldn't remember the words of the choral chant, but the echo of the tune stayed with her.

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed heavily. There were so many missing pieces to the history of her childhood. Maybe tomorrow would be the day that she would finally get some answers. Or perhaps pigs would actually learn to fly. A more likely reality would be of her oblivious father staring out the window and ignoring her. Unaware that his only child prayed every day not to follow in his path of madness.