Chapter 9
Moira
Looking back, it was fair to say that, when Moira had walked into their lives, the brothers' world had been turned upside down.
Her arrival had been precipitated by Sky's reckless bravado on the slopes of St. Anton. It was certainly not that he was an incapable skier. On the contrary, he was both experienced and accomplished. His downfall on that particularly bright and chilly morning had been the combination of last nights beer and schnapps and the black run that he was determined to conquer before they caught their flight back to Heathrow that evening.
Sleet had not attempted to talk his brother out of it. He had tried to dissuade him from similar irresponsible antics on many occasions, but had very rarely experienced success. And on this particular morning he was feeling just as worse for wear. He had consigned himself to blue and red runs for the day, and promised himself plenty of water in-between - his pounding skull demanded it of him.
The result of Sky's over-enthusiasm that day: one broken arm and one severely broken leg, a compound fracture that had him screaming in agony while he and the couple of guys who had thankfully accompanied him waited for the air ambulance to arrive. Oh, and Moira. Moira was the other result.
Upon their delayed return to the UK, his brother spent the following three weeks confined to a hospital bed, in traction. The first of these was filled with very real concern on the part of the family and very real pain on the part of the patient, after having a couple of bones pinned together. During the following fortnight, however, Sky's attentions became focused upon the nursing staff and he re-launched his normal flirtatious persona with gusto. The depths that his brother dared to plumb during this provocative banter was a source of constant amazement to Sleet. Most men would probably find themselves on some kind of sexual harassment charge for less but, of course, the combination of his peerless charm and his cheeky smile served to ingratiate him with the nurses, who hung on his every word and fussed about him constantly, as if he was in risk of fading away at any moment.
The NHS, however, needed its beds, and so, as soon as it was adjudged by the doctor's that Sky's further convalescence could take place at home, he was discharged. Amidst an incomprehensibly tearful gaggle of ladies, both young and old, who had been administering to him over the last few weeks, Sleet collected him from hospital and ferried him back to their Mother's house, where the process of catering to his every whim would no doubt continue.
Whilst their Mother was second to none when it came to tea and sympathy and the plumping up of pillows, the patient's rehabilitation required more than that alone. If he was to make a completely successful recovery he would require intensive physiotherapy. Accordingly, after a further three week period to allow his bones to knit back together, and the removal of his casts, Moira Hardcastle arrived upon their doorstep.
Moira was tall, blond and good looking. Having digested that, the brothers very quickly realised that there was nothing whatsoever superficial about her. She was intelligent, witty and more than capable of coping with their combined attempts at working their charms upon her.
Inevitably, it was Sky who received the privilege of Moira's attentions, somewhat understandably, as she was a physiotherapist and he was in recovery after suffering multiple fractures.
Having met her upon a couple of occasions, however, Sleet found himself arranging his visits to his Mother's house to coincide with his brother's physiotherapy sessions. Even to himself, he asserted that this was purely coincidental, and not at all connected with Moira's presence in the household.
Upon one occasion, however, Sky revealed that he had picked up on his brother's preoccupation with Moira.
"No offence, bro," he had commented, with a cheeky wink, "but three's a crowd, know what I mean? Come back a bit later, and bring some booze with you, why don't you?"
"What about your pain-killers?" Sleet had replied.
"Ah, don't need those anymore. I've got all the medicine I need, right here! See ya later."
Sleet had found himself staring at a closed door and, even though he didn't want to admit it, he had to concede that he felt somewhat jealous of the attentions that Moira lavished upon his brother.
Her visits, originally scheduled as twice weekly, soon became three and then four times per week. And the half hour sessions pretty quickly became hour long. Sky's rehabilitation, meanwhile, showed no signs of being problematic. With the aid of crutches he was soon hobbling about the house. It was pretty obvious to Sleet and, of course, their Mother, that the continuing visits were concerned with far more than Sky's medical condition. Moira was soon popping around for tea, and then, once Sky was even more mobile, was accompanying him down to their local on a regular basis.
Sleet had always, especially since their Father's death, spent a fair amount of time round at their Mother's house. This continued to be the case and, inevitably, he had struck up a rapport with Moira himself. It would have been impossible not to, as she was eminently likable as a person, kind and caring and, in a particularly attractive way, she was a vulnerable individual. She wore her heart on her sleeve and didn't appear to have a malicious bone in her body. She was, to Sleet, his idea of the perfect woman, the ideal companion. But his brother had beaten him to it, even if it was solely down to his reckless shenanigans on a pair of skis and a terrible hangover. Life was certainly far from fair. Having said that, Sleet would not have met her himself had it not been for his brother's broken bones. Perhaps he should be grateful for that, but to bear witness to their blossoming romance was almost more than he could take.
Eventually, Sky's treatment was concluded and he was well on his way to a full and complete recovery. He moved back to his own apartment. Moira's attentions, of course, were not diminished. Pretty soon she was virtually co-habitating with him. And, before too long, Sky was out carousing on the town, putting himself about as if nothing had occurred.
Sleet, free and single as he was, willingly accompanied his brother on these forays. They had always been close, best friends as well as siblings, and had always played hard together. Women and drinking had been a shared hobby for many years, but something had changed now. Sleet began to view his brother in a different light. Whilst Moira stayed at home and watched television, he would watch his brother knocking back one drink after another and trotting out the most cringe-worthy chat-up lines that, together with his cheeky smile, served to captivate the slightly tipsy females who were the all too willing subjects of his attentions.
At the end of one particularly late night, Sleet had turned his back upon his brother, engrossed as he was upon his latest intended conquest, and had walked out of the all night bar that they had been ensconced in. Sky hadn't even noticed.
Moira was obviously not ignorant of Sky's behaviour, and Sleet was mindful of condemning him in front of her, but at what point would she intervene. Surely, Sleet thought, she must say something. His brother was taking her for a fool, in his opinion anyway.
He allowed himself to become more and more inflamed with this increasingly frustrating situation and, as a result, more and more resentful of his brother. Sky didn't know what he had. How could he even think of disrespecting such a wonderful individual with his unbecoming behaviour?
On one occasion, he found himself alone with Moira and convinced himself that he had to say something to her. They were alone at Sky's apartment, awaiting his return from an alcohol fuelled lunchtime so that they could go out for dinner together. The three of them, plus a girl that his brother had playfully lined up as a blind date for him.
"Do you mind if I say something, Moira," Sleet had enquired, "just between you and me?"
"Of course not," she had replied, "we know each other well enough now, don't we?"
Sleet sighed deeply. "I know, but it's a bit personal. And I wouldn't want you to take offence, that's all."
Moira stared into his eyes for a long moment and Sleet felt himself melting. He recollected himself quickly.
"It's just," he began, "Sky. His behaviour. He's not treating you right, that's all."
She looked away, embarrassed. "In your opinion."
"Yes," he asserted, "it isn't the way I'd behave if....if I was with someone like you. That's all."
Moira stood and collected the coffee mugs from the table before them, obviously keen to preoccupy herself with something other than talk of her and Sky's relationship.
"I know you're not stupid," Sleet persevered, "you're not blind to what's going on. You deserve better, Moira, that's all."
She turned to him, a firm resolve in her eyes. "Thanks, Sleet," she said, "but it's between me and Sky, don't you think? It's really not your concern."
Sky had not materialised that evening. Sleet, as uncomfortable as he had made the situation, had hung around. They watched a television show that they both liked, and then phoned for an Indian meal to be delivered. His brother had stumbled in late into the night and, seemingly totally oblivious of their presence, had collapsed, fully clothed, onto the bed and began snoring deeply.
Sleet excused himself and headed back to his own flat, his head full of recriminations, both for his brother's behaviour and for his own. He could certainly not deny that he harboured feelings for her himself, but Sky's indifference towards Moira provided all the justification that was required for him to take on the mantle of the white knight. He knew that it would never be possible for him to admit to her how he really felt, that it would blow apart the fragile remnants of the family dynamic that had only recently been salvaged from the wreckage of their father's demise.
And yet that did not, he decided, mean that he could not stand up for her. What she had said, about it being between herself and Sky and of no concern to him, was typical of her. Under no circumstances would she ever wish to be the cause of friction within the family - she would suffer in silence rather than risk that. But she was wrong, Sleet thought. His brother's behaviour was insufferable, and could no longer be tolerated.
He allowed himself to simmer throughout the following day. He went to the gym and then visited his mother, who, having recognised the sulky mood that he was in, proscribed him as being no company whatsoever and promptly bustled him out of her house with advice to go clear his head of whatever was plaguing him so. He walked around the block a number of times, as the evening drew in, before eventually gathering enough conviction for the task that had now become as unavoidable as it was unsavoury.
He had rapped insistently upon his brother's front door. Had virtually barged into the house when Sky had opened it to admit him, concerned that some desperate emergency had arisen. Sleet vaguely recalled the quip that Sky had made upon perceiving the steely determination in his demeanour, something along the lines of "you're not here to have a beer and watch the footy, then?"
Sleet had launched into him with an immediate verbal assault, his anger spilling over, a convenient tool that allowed him to disregard any other emotion that might paint him as anything less than a shining pillar of righteousness.
Sky had taken great offence at his brother's attitude towards him. What the hell had it to do with him in the first place? Who did he think he was, storming in here and ranting and raving like this?
"Are you sure you're not just jealous?" Sky had intended it as a taunt, but the look that came over Sleet's face and his sudden loss of words betrayed him. "Bloody hell, you are! You bloody fancy her, don't you?"
"She deserves better than you, that's all. I can't bear to see you treat her the way you do any more."
"So," Sky had snarled, "you think you could do a better job, eh? Is that what it's about?"
Anger had overtaken any embarrassment that Sleet had felt at that moment. "I know I could," he answered.
Sleet quite often wondered what would have happened next. They had not fought in earnest since they had been about twelve years old and had always been particularly close throughout their teenage years and had maintained that close bond ever since. Any misunderstanding or grievance had been the merest blip, any rift dividing them had always been quickly healed.
But, at that exact point in time, fate had intervened in what was certainly the most unbelievable and inexplicable way and, as a result, Sleet would never know whether their dispute would have spilled over into violence or whether, just maybe, they could have reached an understanding, as they had always managed to do in the past.
For it was at that precise moment that the demonic host had tumbled instantaneously out of thin air into the centre of his brother's living room and, with their foul screeching and their brightly burning eyes, had proceeded to reduce his brother in moments to something that resembled the mummified remains of a hapless Pompeian victim, whilst he was held petrified by their will alone. And when it was done and the beasts had fled, startled by that bus that had rattled down the street outside, Sleet had been left alone. Alone with a bitterness that he could never assuage and the stirrings of a long dormant madness that now took full advantage of the weird situation and neatly slipped through the carefully constructed guards which had shielded Sleet from the horror of violent death for oh so long.
Her arrival had been precipitated by Sky's reckless bravado on the slopes of St. Anton. It was certainly not that he was an incapable skier. On the contrary, he was both experienced and accomplished. His downfall on that particularly bright and chilly morning had been the combination of last nights beer and schnapps and the black run that he was determined to conquer before they caught their flight back to Heathrow that evening.
Sleet had not attempted to talk his brother out of it. He had tried to dissuade him from similar irresponsible antics on many occasions, but had very rarely experienced success. And on this particular morning he was feeling just as worse for wear. He had consigned himself to blue and red runs for the day, and promised himself plenty of water in-between - his pounding skull demanded it of him.
The result of Sky's over-enthusiasm that day: one broken arm and one severely broken leg, a compound fracture that had him screaming in agony while he and the couple of guys who had thankfully accompanied him waited for the air ambulance to arrive. Oh, and Moira. Moira was the other result.
Upon their delayed return to the UK, his brother spent the following three weeks confined to a hospital bed, in traction. The first of these was filled with very real concern on the part of the family and very real pain on the part of the patient, after having a couple of bones pinned together. During the following fortnight, however, Sky's attentions became focused upon the nursing staff and he re-launched his normal flirtatious persona with gusto. The depths that his brother dared to plumb during this provocative banter was a source of constant amazement to Sleet. Most men would probably find themselves on some kind of sexual harassment charge for less but, of course, the combination of his peerless charm and his cheeky smile served to ingratiate him with the nurses, who hung on his every word and fussed about him constantly, as if he was in risk of fading away at any moment.
The NHS, however, needed its beds, and so, as soon as it was adjudged by the doctor's that Sky's further convalescence could take place at home, he was discharged. Amidst an incomprehensibly tearful gaggle of ladies, both young and old, who had been administering to him over the last few weeks, Sleet collected him from hospital and ferried him back to their Mother's house, where the process of catering to his every whim would no doubt continue.
Whilst their Mother was second to none when it came to tea and sympathy and the plumping up of pillows, the patient's rehabilitation required more than that alone. If he was to make a completely successful recovery he would require intensive physiotherapy. Accordingly, after a further three week period to allow his bones to knit back together, and the removal of his casts, Moira Hardcastle arrived upon their doorstep.
Moira was tall, blond and good looking. Having digested that, the brothers very quickly realised that there was nothing whatsoever superficial about her. She was intelligent, witty and more than capable of coping with their combined attempts at working their charms upon her.
Inevitably, it was Sky who received the privilege of Moira's attentions, somewhat understandably, as she was a physiotherapist and he was in recovery after suffering multiple fractures.
Having met her upon a couple of occasions, however, Sleet found himself arranging his visits to his Mother's house to coincide with his brother's physiotherapy sessions. Even to himself, he asserted that this was purely coincidental, and not at all connected with Moira's presence in the household.
Upon one occasion, however, Sky revealed that he had picked up on his brother's preoccupation with Moira.
"No offence, bro," he had commented, with a cheeky wink, "but three's a crowd, know what I mean? Come back a bit later, and bring some booze with you, why don't you?"
"What about your pain-killers?" Sleet had replied.
"Ah, don't need those anymore. I've got all the medicine I need, right here! See ya later."
Sleet had found himself staring at a closed door and, even though he didn't want to admit it, he had to concede that he felt somewhat jealous of the attentions that Moira lavished upon his brother.
Her visits, originally scheduled as twice weekly, soon became three and then four times per week. And the half hour sessions pretty quickly became hour long. Sky's rehabilitation, meanwhile, showed no signs of being problematic. With the aid of crutches he was soon hobbling about the house. It was pretty obvious to Sleet and, of course, their Mother, that the continuing visits were concerned with far more than Sky's medical condition. Moira was soon popping around for tea, and then, once Sky was even more mobile, was accompanying him down to their local on a regular basis.
Sleet had always, especially since their Father's death, spent a fair amount of time round at their Mother's house. This continued to be the case and, inevitably, he had struck up a rapport with Moira himself. It would have been impossible not to, as she was eminently likable as a person, kind and caring and, in a particularly attractive way, she was a vulnerable individual. She wore her heart on her sleeve and didn't appear to have a malicious bone in her body. She was, to Sleet, his idea of the perfect woman, the ideal companion. But his brother had beaten him to it, even if it was solely down to his reckless shenanigans on a pair of skis and a terrible hangover. Life was certainly far from fair. Having said that, Sleet would not have met her himself had it not been for his brother's broken bones. Perhaps he should be grateful for that, but to bear witness to their blossoming romance was almost more than he could take.
Eventually, Sky's treatment was concluded and he was well on his way to a full and complete recovery. He moved back to his own apartment. Moira's attentions, of course, were not diminished. Pretty soon she was virtually co-habitating with him. And, before too long, Sky was out carousing on the town, putting himself about as if nothing had occurred.
Sleet, free and single as he was, willingly accompanied his brother on these forays. They had always been close, best friends as well as siblings, and had always played hard together. Women and drinking had been a shared hobby for many years, but something had changed now. Sleet began to view his brother in a different light. Whilst Moira stayed at home and watched television, he would watch his brother knocking back one drink after another and trotting out the most cringe-worthy chat-up lines that, together with his cheeky smile, served to captivate the slightly tipsy females who were the all too willing subjects of his attentions.
At the end of one particularly late night, Sleet had turned his back upon his brother, engrossed as he was upon his latest intended conquest, and had walked out of the all night bar that they had been ensconced in. Sky hadn't even noticed.
Moira was obviously not ignorant of Sky's behaviour, and Sleet was mindful of condemning him in front of her, but at what point would she intervene. Surely, Sleet thought, she must say something. His brother was taking her for a fool, in his opinion anyway.
He allowed himself to become more and more inflamed with this increasingly frustrating situation and, as a result, more and more resentful of his brother. Sky didn't know what he had. How could he even think of disrespecting such a wonderful individual with his unbecoming behaviour?
On one occasion, he found himself alone with Moira and convinced himself that he had to say something to her. They were alone at Sky's apartment, awaiting his return from an alcohol fuelled lunchtime so that they could go out for dinner together. The three of them, plus a girl that his brother had playfully lined up as a blind date for him.
"Do you mind if I say something, Moira," Sleet had enquired, "just between you and me?"
"Of course not," she had replied, "we know each other well enough now, don't we?"
Sleet sighed deeply. "I know, but it's a bit personal. And I wouldn't want you to take offence, that's all."
Moira stared into his eyes for a long moment and Sleet felt himself melting. He recollected himself quickly.
"It's just," he began, "Sky. His behaviour. He's not treating you right, that's all."
She looked away, embarrassed. "In your opinion."
"Yes," he asserted, "it isn't the way I'd behave if....if I was with someone like you. That's all."
Moira stood and collected the coffee mugs from the table before them, obviously keen to preoccupy herself with something other than talk of her and Sky's relationship.
"I know you're not stupid," Sleet persevered, "you're not blind to what's going on. You deserve better, Moira, that's all."
She turned to him, a firm resolve in her eyes. "Thanks, Sleet," she said, "but it's between me and Sky, don't you think? It's really not your concern."
Sky had not materialised that evening. Sleet, as uncomfortable as he had made the situation, had hung around. They watched a television show that they both liked, and then phoned for an Indian meal to be delivered. His brother had stumbled in late into the night and, seemingly totally oblivious of their presence, had collapsed, fully clothed, onto the bed and began snoring deeply.
Sleet excused himself and headed back to his own flat, his head full of recriminations, both for his brother's behaviour and for his own. He could certainly not deny that he harboured feelings for her himself, but Sky's indifference towards Moira provided all the justification that was required for him to take on the mantle of the white knight. He knew that it would never be possible for him to admit to her how he really felt, that it would blow apart the fragile remnants of the family dynamic that had only recently been salvaged from the wreckage of their father's demise.
And yet that did not, he decided, mean that he could not stand up for her. What she had said, about it being between herself and Sky and of no concern to him, was typical of her. Under no circumstances would she ever wish to be the cause of friction within the family - she would suffer in silence rather than risk that. But she was wrong, Sleet thought. His brother's behaviour was insufferable, and could no longer be tolerated.
He allowed himself to simmer throughout the following day. He went to the gym and then visited his mother, who, having recognised the sulky mood that he was in, proscribed him as being no company whatsoever and promptly bustled him out of her house with advice to go clear his head of whatever was plaguing him so. He walked around the block a number of times, as the evening drew in, before eventually gathering enough conviction for the task that had now become as unavoidable as it was unsavoury.
He had rapped insistently upon his brother's front door. Had virtually barged into the house when Sky had opened it to admit him, concerned that some desperate emergency had arisen. Sleet vaguely recalled the quip that Sky had made upon perceiving the steely determination in his demeanour, something along the lines of "you're not here to have a beer and watch the footy, then?"
Sleet had launched into him with an immediate verbal assault, his anger spilling over, a convenient tool that allowed him to disregard any other emotion that might paint him as anything less than a shining pillar of righteousness.
Sky had taken great offence at his brother's attitude towards him. What the hell had it to do with him in the first place? Who did he think he was, storming in here and ranting and raving like this?
"Are you sure you're not just jealous?" Sky had intended it as a taunt, but the look that came over Sleet's face and his sudden loss of words betrayed him. "Bloody hell, you are! You bloody fancy her, don't you?"
"She deserves better than you, that's all. I can't bear to see you treat her the way you do any more."
"So," Sky had snarled, "you think you could do a better job, eh? Is that what it's about?"
Anger had overtaken any embarrassment that Sleet had felt at that moment. "I know I could," he answered.
Sleet quite often wondered what would have happened next. They had not fought in earnest since they had been about twelve years old and had always been particularly close throughout their teenage years and had maintained that close bond ever since. Any misunderstanding or grievance had been the merest blip, any rift dividing them had always been quickly healed.
But, at that exact point in time, fate had intervened in what was certainly the most unbelievable and inexplicable way and, as a result, Sleet would never know whether their dispute would have spilled over into violence or whether, just maybe, they could have reached an understanding, as they had always managed to do in the past.
For it was at that precise moment that the demonic host had tumbled instantaneously out of thin air into the centre of his brother's living room and, with their foul screeching and their brightly burning eyes, had proceeded to reduce his brother in moments to something that resembled the mummified remains of a hapless Pompeian victim, whilst he was held petrified by their will alone. And when it was done and the beasts had fled, startled by that bus that had rattled down the street outside, Sleet had been left alone. Alone with a bitterness that he could never assuage and the stirrings of a long dormant madness that now took full advantage of the weird situation and neatly slipped through the carefully constructed guards which had shielded Sleet from the horror of violent death for oh so long.