Frankie looked at herself in the mirror and sighed out her frustrations. She was an attractive woman, could still pass for twenty-five if she wanted, even without the plastic surgeries and breast augmentation. Her features were softer than her brother's, fairer in almost all respects; her eyes were silvery blue, her hair sandy brown (though she rarely wore it naturally), and she was petite and short in stature, only around 5'2 and seven-and-a-half stone—half Freddie's size in any case. She took pride in her appearance, which was why it was so shocking to look at herself in that state; hair a mess, eyes red and puffy, face splotchy from the crying.
She couldn't look like this when Fred showed up. Her mother Beth often liked to remind her that a woman's looks were all she had, and even then a good-looking woman's use dried up quickly, because she only stayed good looking for so long—living on borrowed time, so to speak.
At thirty-two, Frankie was starting to feel the reality of it hitting her hard. There were times that she thought her mother was only projecting her own age onto her, which she still believed but at the same time the older she got, the greater the fear in her grew. She had ambitions, certainly, and she'd never been anyone's housewife (she'd only been married two-and-a-half years, she didn't have much choice), but having raised her son almost single-handedly for the past sixteen years, she had to put aside the things she wanted to for the responsibilities she was tied down with.
She loved her Junior, and God bless him, she wouldn't change a thing. But he was running her to the end of her tether and she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold together.
That's where the Dexedrine came in handy. That or the pain pills, whatever she could get her hands on. Her magic pills, she called them, what helped her compose herself just enough that she could sort things out.
Without even thinking about it, she plucked the familiar bottle from the mirror cabinet with trembling hands and dumped two into her hand, swallowing them with a gulp of water from the tap. It was probably a placebo effect she reasoned, but the moment she did so she felt the stress already begin to drift away from her body.
The rest of the pieces of herself slowly started fitting themselves together again. Now that her hands were steady, she fixed her hair and re-applied her make-up, and was satisfied when she finally looked composed.
'Junior,' she called into the other room, clearing her throat to make sure her voice was steady. 'Your uncle's coming over, so get ready.'
Junior inspected his bloodied knuckles and sighed. He should have known his mum wasn't going to understand, then again he hadn't really thought of the consequences, hadn't thought the headmaster had the balls to expel him. He wasn't about to rely on his uncle or their family's reputation to get him out of trouble, but he was annoyed with the fact that their good name hadn't been enough to keep something like this from happening.
His dear old mum had insisted, in between clipping his ears and shouting at him, that kids like Vinny Smith weren't worth ruining the only chance people like them had of getting out of their life and making a name for themselves, a name that normally only had the chance of being followed by a series of numbers. But Junior insisted the opposite; that he was worth it, was worth showing that the Evanses weren't people to be fucked around with, weren't people you slagged off. If only she could understand that.
His uncle would, though. His uncle Fred understood everything. His mum liked to say they shared the same brain waves, which both annoyed her and warmed her heart in the same breath. They thought in the same ways, made the same decisions, and came to the same conclusions about things. It was because of this similarity that Junior was so fond of him.
Freddie had been there for as long as he could remember. Ever since his dad Donny fucked off, Fred had taken the role of his father figure without question. Perhaps it was always meant to be that way; his mum named him after the man after all. Of course that had been one of the many reasons his piss-head father had chosen to fight with Frankie about, so in the end it was a good thing he'd run off back home. They didn't need him anyway, she always reassured Junior. They were Evanses, they were tough. And Freddie had taken care of them through the whole lot of it, even when he'd been banged up.
He supposed it was only a matter of time before his mum rang him—he always helped with the "serious business" as she liked to call it—and soon enough he heard the front door open and their hushed voices follow a moment later. When his uncle's heavy footfalls approached his bedroom door, Junior straightened himself out and made himself presentable.
The door opened and there was Freddie, big as he always was, and the concern in his face startled Junior. He was taking the situation seriously of course, even if he thought his mum was overreacting, but when Fred got serious Junior knew he was in for a real man's talk. And he also knew he couldn't chat himself out of it.
Fred closed the door and then lowered himself ahead of Junior, expecting the large bump on his forehead. 'Fucking hell, mate. Other bloke's worse I take it?'
His uncle's seemingly amiable nature suddenly relaxed Junior and he sighed, smiling. 'Yeah, I done him real good. Won't say a dicky-bird about the Evanses from now on, I reckon!'
Fred saw the pride in his nephew's eyes and sighed. He was a good lad, his Junior, the spit of him and all, but at the same time his heart broke for him knowing that their similarities ran as far as they did. Now, Freddie was pleased as punch with his life but he knew it took a certain type of person to be the man he was and to do the things he did. He wanted what was best for his family but now he was starting to see that Junior, like him, was incapable of living a normal life. Violence and bloodshed followed him wherever he went. And while his sister saw that as a death sentence, Fred knew it could prove fortuitous. There was a certain way of living in the Evans family and Junior was proving how much of an Evans he really was.
'All right, lad,' he said, clasping his broad, tattooed hands around the boy's shoulders. 'Listen to me. I understand why you did what you done, but you're not gonna do that no more, you understand me? What we're going to do is put them fists to good use, so your dear old mum can be proud of her son instead of crying her minces out over you. I'm going to make a proper man out of you but that means you need to listen to what I tell ya, all right?'
Junior was attentive and nodded, and so Freddie went on: 'You're done with school, but that don't mean you're done learning. From now on, you're coming to work for me. And you're gonna get straight and behave. You can make some real money and take care of your mum proper, the way she deserves. But if you balls it up you'll be stuck paving drives and tidying lawns the rest of your life. You want that or you wanna do summink worthwhile?'
Junior cleared his throat and spoke firmly, to impress his uncle: 'I wanna work for you, Uncle Fred. I'll do good, and I won't let you down. I promise you that.'
'Yeah, well it ain't me I'm worried about,' responded Freddie, glancing back at the door. Junior followed his gaze, and he knew that the boy understood he was referring to the woman currently busying herself in the kitchen. The most important woman in both of their lives.
A moment passed before he turned back to look at the teenager, and took his face into his hands. 'Do good, and make it up to your mum. Tomorrow, I'll take you out to the warehouses. You can meet the boys and see how things is done. You do everything I say and you'll be making a decent wedge in no time. All right lad?'
Junior smiled, which in turn made Fred smile. He knew he was making a good decision, knew the lad wouldn't let him down, and most importantly knew this was the right thing to do. Junior didn't have a chance anywhere else, and it was silly, he thought retroactively, to have ever presumed he did. They were one in the same, the two of them.
And he'd need someone to take over the family business once it was his to give, eh?
He patted his nephew fondly before excusing himself from the room, and let the boy think on the prospect of an exciting new career. As he headed out, he saw Frankie hunched over the stove, pulling out a few rashers of bacon from an economy package. She was tense, frustrated; he always could read her like a book even when she never let on about how she felt. And so he approached her from behind, clasping his broad hands upon her narrow shoulders.
'Just thought I'd make a couple of bacon sarnies, if you wanna stay for tea,' she said, her voice steady though he could tell she was purposely avoiding looking at him. She needed to remain composed, that much he knew about her. Then again, he knew everything about her. At least, he liked to think he did.
He said nothing at first, only kissed the top of her head, and he felt her instantly relax to the touch, as if she hadn't even realised how pent-up she'd been until right then.
'He'll start working for me tomorrow,' he explained softly against her hair.
Frankie sighed deeply, almost painfully, and let her eyes fall shut. She didn't want to question her brother, but the love she had for her son was great, as great as it was for him, and she couldn't help but worry. 'Are you sure that's a good idea?'
'He's a big lad,' Fred went on to explain. 'Sixteen years old now, inn't he? And he'll have his uncle looking out for him.'
He could tell she still wasn't reassured, and so he said more firmly, 'Well, it ain't like he's got a choice, is it?'
Frankie shrugged off his touch then, not even sparing him a glance as she dropped the rashers into the cooking fat. Suddenly, Fred was annoyed. Why couldn't she see the reason in it? Junior was an Evans, and hell, so was Frankie. By then, she should have realised the harsh truth, the way things worked around there. That you took the world by the bollocks or you became some nine-to-five, and even then it wasn't like the lot of them had even a chance at that. Manual labour was about the only choice any of them had and then it was hardly a choice at all, wasn't it?
'I wouldn't put me own nephew in harm's way, can't you see that?'
Frankie dried her hands before moving to stride towards the cupboard in order to grab the bread. 'I'm not saying that.'
'Then what are you saying?' Fred insisted, grabbing her by the upper arm before she could take two steps away. She shrugged out of his touch violently and turned to face him.
'I'm not saying anything at all, Freddie,' she explained firmly, jabbing an acrylic nail at his chest. But her bitterness was soon replaced by furious exasperation. 'How can I, when you've come in here and whisked him away like you have? I get no say in the well-being of me own son. I tried so bloody hard to keep him in that school and what's happened now? He's turned out to be a bruiser just like you!'
Her vitriolic words made Fred's temper flare and he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head harshly backwards so that he could get right into her face. But her expression didn't falter, and her eyes met his intensely, her lips pressed into a firm line. He knew deep down she didn't mean the words, that it was only her voicing her worries in the only way she knew how, but she was the most important thing in his life and because of it she knew how to get under his skin. He hated her for that, sometimes. Hated her and loved her in the same breath and he knew it was the same for her.
But he also knew that no matter how much they wanted to hate each other at times, they could never get away from each other, not even if they wanted to. They had a connection that ran deep, down to the very being of the both of them, and it was something neither of them could ignore nor forget. It had been that way for as long as he could remember.
For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the bubbling cooking fat, the over-head fan oscillating lazily, and a few papers scattering in the spring breeze rolling in through the window. Fred could see the mixed fear and anger in his sister's eyes as she anticipated a fight, but his hand relaxed its grip from her hair and he could see the intensity instantly melt away from her expression. And then, he took her face in either of his hands and kissed her.