Chapter Text
Liam knew from a young age that Noel was too big for a brother. He didn’t know when he learned this, only that it felt like something he had always known, the way you know not to touch the oven or run into the road.
He thinks it started at school, back when he was still in Year 2. That day, after school, he was meant to walk home with John like usual. John was one of his best mates, loud and fast and always trying to race everyone even when there was nowhere to go.
They got as far as the gates before John slowed down and kicked at a stone.
“Can’t come,” John said. “Me mam’s here.”
Liam followed his finger. By the railings stood a woman in a coat, and next to her was a small kid.
“Oh, that’s my brother!” John added, already moving. “‘R kid.”
Liam stayed where he was for a second. Brother?
John had talked about his big brother before, said it was just the two of them at home. Liam had imagined someone taller, like maybe a teacher or a footballer, or someone who lived in a different bit of the world. But this brother wasn’t like that. He was only a bit bigger than John, close enough that John leaned into him without thinking.
So that’s what a big brother looks like, Liam thought.
John ran over and started talking straight away, words tumbling out of him. His brother put an arm around his shoulders like it belonged there. Liam watched until John waved and shouted, “See you tomorrow, Liam!” and then they were gone.
The walk home felt longer than usual, and Liam didn’t know why. He just felt something sitting low in his chest, heavy enough for him to notice.
His own brother wasn’t like that. Noel was too big, twenty years older, and too old to wait by school gates or walk anyone home. Noel was someone who existed in photos and stories, having had already left before Liam had learned how to spell his own name.
At home, Burnage was loud like always. Uncle Greg’s house was never quiet, aunties talking over each other, cousins running in and out, doors opening and closing without warning. Irish voices everywhere, filling the rooms until it felt like the house itself was talking back.
Liam liked how busy it was, how no one ever stayed sad for very long. But sometimes, usually when things went quiet for a second, he felt like something was missing. He didn’t know what, only that it couldn’t be filled by noise.
Everyone said his mam had died when he was born. His dad wasn’t talked about at all. Liam didn’t think much about that yet, because he knew some things just weren’t there.
What was there, though, was Noel.
Noel was talked about a lot. Aunties said his name with smiles, uncles shook their heads like they couldn’t believe it. Noel was on the telly sometimes, and then in the papers. Noel played guitar in a band called Oasis, and everyone seemed proud in a way that made Liam feel proud too, even if he wasn’t sure why.
When it was just released, Definitely Maybe played in his room almost every day. Liam didn’t know all the words, but he knew how the songs felt. They made his room seem bigger. Sometimes Noel’s voice made him feel warm, other times it made him feel far away from something he couldn’t see.
Noel lived in London now. London sounded huge, probably bigger than Burnage or even Manchester, it might as well have been another country. Sometimes Noel would come home, but when he did, it was quick, like he was just passing through. Sometimes Liam missed him completely because he was at school. It felt unfair, though Liam couldn’t explain why.
Then, in spring 1996, when Liam was around eight years old, things changed. The news came through one of the Sweeney houses like most things did, between cups of tea and conversations.
“I’ve heard they’re playing Maine Road, Noel already got us tickets,” someone said.
“Oh! Our Noelín?”
“Yeah, two nights,” someone else added.
People argued straight away and the uncles complained. “City ground,” one of them scoffed. “Should’ve been anywhere else.”
“Why not Old Trafford?”
“I haven’t got a single feckin’ clue. That little lad’s a City fan because of his cunt of a father.”
Maine Road was close. He had walked past it loads of times, and up until then, it just felt like somewhere real instead of somewhere famous; and the idea of Noel standing there, playing songs Liam already knew, made his stomach flip in a way he liked. Apparently they were all going, Liam included.
Aunt Mary said in between her sips of tea, giggling while pointing her chin to Liam, “He’s been before, you know.”
“Yeah, well, that wasn’t an Oasis gig, was it? It was for Inspirals… Noel roadied.” Niall, Liam’s oldest cousin, laughed along before ruffling the boy’s hair. “You were as tiny as a pup, William. Noel took you in and carried you everywhere. Remember that?”
He tried to remember, but there really was nothing.
The night before the first Maine Road gig, he lay on his bed with the record playing. Don’t Look Back in Anger was on and Liam just lost himself in this bubble of his own brother’s voice. He didn’t think about what he’d say to Noel, or about what Noel might say back — if they got to see each other, that is. The thought felt too big, thinking too hard about it might just break him.
The morning of the first Maine Road gig, Liam woke to noise. It’s the louder Burnage noise, full of voices talking over each other, laughter breaking out and then rising again instead of the steady thump of doors or the clatter of someone already boiling a kettle.
Across the room, his cousin Coley groaned and rolled onto his side, muttering a complaint. Liam nearly joined in. It was Saturday, and Saturdays were for staying still a bit longer. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the duvet up, but the noise only grew, cheers and footsteps and the sound of someone calling out from downstairs.
For a second he wondered if it was someone’s birthday, but then the thought of Oasis — woke him up.
He yawned and rubbed his eyes, the sleep slow to leave him, and sat up. The noise slipped into something clearer now, words carrying through the ceiling. As he swung his legs off the bed and stepped into the hall, he heard a voice. It’s one that he knew so well it felt like it lived inside his chest. The voice he’d listened to through speakers and crackling records, trying to imagine what it would be like to hear it without the radio between them.
Liam stopped halfway down the stairs, leaned over the banister and looked.
Noel was there. He didn’t look like the Noel from the telly, or the flat-faced version from magazines or Top of the Pops. This Noel was real and standing in Uncle Greg’s living room, hair thicker than Liam expected, his bangs on his forehead looked careless rather than styled. He had a mug in his hand, one arm slung over the back of a chair, listening to someone talk. He looked like he belonged there, absolutely not like a person who’s about to play the biggest gig Manchester had seen in years. Liam’s stomach twisted.
He didn’t know what to do now. Going back to his room felt wrong, but stepping into the room felt worse. He didn’t know how to say hello to someone who was meant to be his brother. He told himself he wouldn’t greet him, he would just go downstairs and be there. He could get some water; the kitchen was tucked away enough that he wouldn’t have to look at Noel straight away.
So he moved slowly, careful not to make the stairs creak too much, and slipped into the kitchen. The tap squeaked as he turned it on, filling a glass and drank, eyes fixed on the sink, listening to Noel’s voice drift in from the other room. It felt strange hearing it like this, without lyrics he knew by heart.
Before he could finish the glass, Aunt Mary appeared in the doorway, plate in hand. She stopped short when she saw him. “Liam! Oh, you,” she said, bright as ever. “What are you doin’? Your brother’s right there.”
Liam cringed. She said it too loud.
She then reached out and guided him forward, her hand warm on his shoulder, steering him out of the kitchen before he could think to protest. Suddenly, he was visible, standing in the middle of the room with too many eyes on him.
His heart started banging hard against his ribs. He stared at the floor, then at the wall, anywhere but Noel.
“Oh, look at him,” Aunt Mary said. “He’s shy with our kid.”
Something hot rushed up Liam’s neck and into his face. He turned back on her, pushing at her arm, hitting without really meaning to hurt, trying to get away. The room burst into more teasing laughter, calling his name.
“Leave him be, Mary.”
“Look at his face!”
“He’s gone all red!”
Liam didn’t hear most of it because his ears rang. He swore at Aunt Mary, the words tumbling out messy, and then he bolted, feet pounding up the stairs, the noise chasing him all the way back to the bedroom.
He shut the door and slid down it, sitting on the floor with his back pressed hard against the wood. His hands were shaking, his cheeks burned. He then gulped down the rest of the water from the glass he’d somehow kept hold of, swallowing too fast and choking a little.
He felt like he had ruined something without even knowing what it was meant to be.
And the worst of all, he hadn’t seen Noel’s face when Aunt Mary said his name. He didn’t know if Noel had smiled or frowned or done nothing at all.