Chapter 7 #2
It doesn’t take long for my embarrassment to turn to rage.
My blood starts to simmer. Three years of college with us and he still can’t tell Brendan and me apart.
Granted, Brendan and I are twins. However, though we share similarities in some of our features, we aren’t identical.
Since we turned sixteen, we have more closely resembled brothers as opposed to twins; many people have told us this.
So, really, Ben should know the difference between us or at least have the decency to pretend he does.
What an arrogant asshole. I squeeze my hot chocolate cup with rage, denting the cardboard while Ben looks at Mr O’Leary.
Mr O’Leary’s phone starts to ring in his breast pocket. Politely, he excuses himself to deal with whoever waits on the other end. It’s likely a judge, barrister, fellow solicitor or alleged criminal. This leaves Ben and me alone. Just the two of us.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Ben asks me.
“It has.” I take a sip from the cardboard cup, even though there’s nothing left inside.
“I heard you’re living on the southside, is that right? Donnybrook?”
The question is a dagger to my heart. I used to live on the southside, used to live in Donnybrook.
I used to live with Tom, the love of my life, in his beautiful house.
Now, I’m not sure where I live. At the moment, I guess I’m living out of an old gear bag in my twin brother’s spare bedroom.
Ben doesn’t need to know this, however. He doesn’t need to know that I’m dangerously close to hitting rock bottom, while he’s at the top.
“That’s right,” I lie.
Ben kicks the heels of his shoes against the path. “Must be nice.”
“It is.” Before he can ask a question about Tom, I blurt out, “Well done in that appeal last week, by the way.”
It crushes me to have to compliment Ben like this, but if providing praise stops him from mentioning Tom, I’ll say anything.
Ben smirks. “Just doing my job. Pity about the Murray case. I just heard the verdict come through.” He pauses for a moment. He looks down, hiding his earlier smirk. “I’m sure you did your best.”
To an outsider, his words would appear kind and compassionate. However, I am not an outsider. Because I have over three years’ worth of knowing Ben, I believe these words were spoken to subtly belittle me. I exaggerate my stance, eager to appear more powerful.
“I’m going to appeal it,” I state sternly.
“I think you should. It’d be stupid not to.”
The sound of his voice annoys me. The way he stands annoys me. His beautiful face annoys me. I cannot pacify my sarcasm when I respond, “Thank you for your approval and wisdom.”
“I’ve upset you. My apologies,” Ben says, holding his hands up placatingly.
I want to shout, roar. He’s making me feel like the bad guy. Some of the paralegals turn to us. They smile warmly at Ben, glower at me and then return to their conversations. As usual, perfect Ben Kehoe comes out on top.
I briefly close my eyes and count my breaths.
I can’t afford to explode and make a scene, with my boss mere metres away.
I feel Ben studying me from beneath his creased brow.
I notice a sparkle in his vibrant blue eyes.
He’s taller than me, much taller. If I were to look straight ahead, all I’d see is the knot in his tie.
Ben makes an attempt to break the silence, and I harden myself in anticipation of what he might have to say.
A critique more than likely, probably about my performance as a solicitor in the Murray case.
Fortunately, Mr O’Leary returns before Ben can speak.
“Sorry about that.” He claps his hands together. “Now, where were we?”
I attempt to answer, but Ben beats me to it. “I was just talking to Nick about the verdict in the Murray case. Awful pity, isn’t it?”
“It is. But we’re hoping to appeal it.” His voice grows animated, like it did earlier when he called to Ben. “Actually, before I spotted you, I was saying to Nick that you’d be a great barrister to work on the appeal.”
Ben’s brows knit together.
Mr O’Leary continues. “We heard about your victory at the Court of Appeal last week. Great work, young man.”
Great work, young man, I hiss in my head.
“Thanks, but—”
“So, what do you think? Will you take the case on? It’ll be great for your profile, and you’ll get to work with Nick on it.”
My insides twist sickeningly at the thought of working with Ben on such an important case. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ben’s jaw tightening. Eventually, he releases it. “Yes. I’d love to take it on.”
“That’s excellent,” Mr O’Leary sings. He and Ben shake hands, solidifying the agreement. My insides twist again at this sight. Mr O’Leary turns his focus to me, his eyes wide with joy. “You two will make an excellent team. What do you think, Nick? Are you happy to work with Ben?”
Inside my pocket, my phone starts to ring; it sends vibrations through my thigh. Happy for the interruption, I rush to answer the call. After fishing the device from my pocket’s fabric, I see the name Focus Facility written in large white letters. At seeing the name, dread pools in my stomach.
I look up at Mr O’Leary with apologetic eyes. “Sorry – I have to take this. It’s urgent.”
“Of course. Duty calls. But you haven’t answered my question, Nick.”
The phone is still ringing; it feels like it’s burning a hole in my hand.
I need to answer this call before the person on the other end gives up; I’ll have to acquiesce.
“Yes,” I reply to Mr O’Leary’s question, exasperated.
“Yes, I’d love to work with Ben.” Mr O’Leary nods approvingly, and I turn and start to speed walk away.
“See you at your office tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. sharp,” Ben calls after me.
I ignore him. When I’m far enough away from everyone, I answer Bethany’s call.