The Punk Composer (prog/punk fanfiction)

To Know When To Let Go

Yes, it was him.

Niall; her brother, so long unseen to the point of assuming his imprisonment or - even worse, but totally possible - death, was now standing in front of her in that dark alley of Omagh.
He was wearing informal and worn out clothes, and who knows how long he'd had them on for, with all that was going on... no time to bother about looks or hygene.
Indeed, he'd changed, and that even counted all the scars on his face and body. Nobody would have recognised him, perhaps not even their mother, but Eleanor had spent too much time with him not to remember. After all, she could say he was the man she'd known the longest for; she couldn't certainly say the same about her father, someone she'd almost never had a true interaction with: yeah, there was the biological bond, but how much did it mean? She'd never truly known her dad; only the his drunk side, a side that made him a total stranger to her eyes.
In the end, Niall had made his mistakes too, but... did they matter as much now?
The initial anger she felt had gradually turnt into concern and fear as he stopped replying to her letters, while he was far away, fighting the bloodiest war.
He could've been imprisoned or even dead, and the relief of seeing him there suddenly swiped away all the rancor left inside her.
His eyes, however, were not changed one bit. She could not define him for what happened in 1973, when he was only 23: the same age Eleanor was now.
In addiction, Eleanor was aware of the sinful nature she'd grown in those years, so how could she have the right to blame him more than she could blame herself?

"S-seamus?" Peter frowned, casting a wary look to the guy, to then lay his eyes on Eleanor's face, waiting for some explanation.
She hesitated one moment before replying, and for certain Peter's steadiness made it even harder to explain everything.
What could she say? What could've Peter thought about that situation? Had she ever even mentioned about having a brother to him?
It wouldn't even be surprising if she hadn't, considering the troublesome interaction they had so far... and after all, would it change much even if they didn't fight at all? In a way, the bond she had with him was completely different from the one she grew with Henry: all what ever concerned the bond between Peter and Eleanor was nothing but work. Even that one time she was invited by him for a tea, the previous december, it ended up being a simple meeting for a further collaboration between the two for the album "A Black Box". Right there, for the first time she felt that actual detachment. Peter was not a friend, so he'd never been: he was nobody but her new manager. That's how she saw him now... and so he saw her as a musician.

"Yeah, she does know me, as you can see. I'm a far relative of hers, I'm here to bring news about her brother. He's in jail."he intervened in the most self confident attitude.
Eleanor flinched and tried hard to not show any surprise, Because she knew she had to keep up her brother's act.
"J-jail?" the manager stammered, taken aback. He stared at Eleanor in disbilief, trying to process whatever was going on. However, her face was inflexible; the matter was too serious to allow any mistakes in her play.
"You see how things are here. You either survive, or try to live at the price to end up imprisoned... if not dead. She's not heard of him in years, so now, excuse me, we shall have a yarn... in private" the irish boy remarked, looking more and more impatient at each second that past, as if all the time in her absence had lasted too long for him to wait any longer. Now that she finally was beside him, he could not permit any more delay. The urge to hug and cry in both joy and despair devoured the two siblings to the point of driving them to become as convincing as ever in that "play".
"I didn't know you had relatives in Omagh, El..." Peter observed, seemingly not too willing to let her go.
"I've not been here in ages, Peter, but yeah, why else would you think I'd choose my second date in Northern Ireland? I may've come across my aunts and cousins in Belfast, but a-hem, sorry if I say that, but you english seem to be all thinking that the entire Northern Ireland is Belfast. Right, as always, if it's not about England, then it doesn't matter" she scoffed at Peter, perhaps strengthened by her brother's presence... or to give back to Peter all the bitter words he'd said to her, for the true they were. But once again, her cowardice was leading Eleanor to show attitude only in a circumstance which she knew to be in her favour.
Peter tried hard to keep his composure.
"It's not like the North of England is..."
"Shut up Peter, you act the Mancunian but did you seriously think that I don't know that you really are a cockney?"
Peter froze on the spot. Such thing was not necessary to be pointed out... and not the safest, especially there in Northern Ireland.
"Is he?" Niall chuckled, rising an eyebrow in sincere astoonishment "Well, with all of their troups here, at this point I ain't even more surprised"
That was too much for the man: for the calm he'd tried to be, now there was no more point to carry on that ridiculous show, whichever the actual intentions were. In addiction, Eleanor's tour had ended right that night, for Omagh was the final date. He turnt his back at them and started to walk away.
"You know what. Have your yarn for as long as I want, I don't care. Unless you decide to rot your brain some more, I'll be waiting for you in London, Eleanor. Because yes, you may criticise Londoners and that city as much as you want, but their accent also is yours now, and so your life... look at the people here, and don't you dare compare your "oh so stressing" tour life to the tragedy that your connationals have to face everyday. Your tour is over now, it's no longer required for me to stay here with you. Take as much drugs and drinks as you want, you're free now. The tour went well, congrats, so I guess my help is no longer required... not that you let me help you any, after all, but let's pretend I contributed some... Atleast, just to not upset Henry. He'll have a true row to hoe with you..."
"Wind yer neck in, ye!!!" Niall growled in his sister's defense, but Peter's words had triggered something deep inside her mind, enough to hold her brother still and let Peter walk away, to the cab.
"Oh, by the way: hope things will be well with your brother" the manager added with a cold voice.
Niall was too angry to keep silent, however.
Eleanor's blood froze in terror and silently shook her head to prevent her brother to say... that.
But she knew Niall; nobody would be ever really able to stop him. She'd had enough proof throughout all those years spent with him and by all his fights with Their dad that she had to witness since she was just a toddler.
"I am her brother, eejit!" he shouted in return.
"Niall, houl yer whist!" she exclaimed, trying to keep calm.
Her body filled in nervousness; if he'd decided to fake his identity before, there must've been a serious reason to, therefore that sudden revelation felt like a massive danger to say out loud.
Peter stopped and turnt back again to look at the both of them from afar and say the last, decisive words to end that argument.
"... Now I understand who taught you to become such a good actress, Eleanor" he remarked in a half and sarcastic grin.
The way he now spoke and walked had Eleanor realise that he'd never genuinely cared.
Now that the tour was over, she "could take as much drugs and drinks as she wanted". It was none of his business anymore and there was no doubt he'd ask Henry to be replaced by him or someone else.
No, Peter no longer cared...
... but neither did Eleanor.
All that mattered, right there, was her brother. By his side, she didn't even feel El o'Con anymore. In that situation, her self was split in two: the side of hers Peter saw, and the one that only Niall could know; she'd never stopped being the little and naive girl she was in early 70s, to her brother's eyes.
But who was she, really?
Was there any of her true self left, actually?
The way she'd spoken to Peter... was it a simple unjustified outburst after all the times he'd bitterly scolded her, or, once again, her demons taking over? Surely, those demons hated Peter as much as her pride despiced the ways he'd shown towards her. In a way or the other, that argument with him would've happened regardless.