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"[Video] Exclusive: Noel Gallagher and Liam Gallagher kiss and cozy up in France" No. Deny. "Outrage at footage of Gallagher brothers in vacation home" Deny. "Oasis fans defend Gallagher brothers from allegations of—" No.
Anaïs turned off the phone. She knew what dad had told her, she knew what they had to do. Deny, deny, deny, and if someone asks if she has doubts, deny.
She reckoned it'd be easier if it happened during the nineties. Well, at least for her it would've been easier. She didn't watch much TV, and you don't really need it, so she could just turn it off and keep on about her day. It wasn't the nineties though, and she couldn't keep her phone off forever. Even if it meant seeing the headlines, the endless discourse in social media, the texts from people she considered friends — and many others she didn't, but still had the audacity to text her about this — and just her conscience. She needed to have music on, or white noise, or the birds chirping, or the fucking noise that the wachine machine makes— anything to make her head quiet; because the second she left free reign to her thoughts, right at the forefront of her mind she would see it.
She would see the back of Uncle Liam's torso, settled right between Dad's legs, resting his head on her father's chest. She had watched the video so many times she could probably draw it by memory: Uncle Liam just chatting, all while still lying on top of Dad, and he's rubbing his back with a smile she can only describe as incredibly fond. And then her uncle says something, and her dad laughs, in that way that he did only when his brother was around. Then. Well. The kiss. Or kisses, more like.
It wasn't anything lewd or anything like that, but. It was intimate. They were comfortable, slow, almost sleepy in their movements, and when they kissed, their faces remained close, and went for another small peck, and another. And Dad looked too fucking vulnerable lying there, legs open and his brother right over him; she wonders if he was heavy. But her dad was smiling, contentedly drawing little shapes on Uncle Liam's back. And before the video ended, you could see her uncle diving down for— No.
So they were back in Ireland. She wished they could be here on another occasion, considering how much she adores coming here. But now the entire family was here, but it wasn't a holiday, and no one was happy.
She breathed the cold Irish air, feeling its sharp shards running down her nose and throat. There was some sun shining down on the green plains, but it carried no warmth, so she wrapped her arms around herself.
Looking to the side, she could see inside the house, just a few meters away, and could make out the silhouette of her grandma pacing from side to side as she worked on their meal. Not that she had to, Uncle Liam had offered to hire a private chef but Grandma had refused, and the same thing happened most times they tried to get takeout. So most of the time, Anaïs and the rest of the kids would try to help her in any way they could. Sometimes even her uncle would join with rather unhelpful hands that got him kicked out of the kitchen more often than not. Her dad didn't help, and he didn't offer to, either.
With a quiet sigh, she walked closer to the open door, the curtain flowing with the wind. Dad and Grandma Peggy weren't talking. Well, they did, exactly three times a day: in the morning having breakfast, then at noon if her dad came back from his office to have lunch, and then at night to have dinner and say his goodbyes. Every once in a while, her grandma would say she was about to run out of one of her pills, her dad would nod and the next day whatever Grandma Peggy needed was on the table. That was as many words they would exchange.
Her dad kept insisting that he could get stuff sent here for them, and every week he asked Sonny and Donovan if they needed anything. He never asked Anäis though, so she wasn't sure if she could ask for stuff. Maybe he thought she was past the age of needing things, and maybe she was. But she did want. She missed certain foods, a few of her clothes she had left back at her Mum's, and she'd kill for a new book. Her kindle is alright but nothing compares to having the real deal in her hands, the smell of paper reaching her lungs.
Gene, however, hadn't even hesitated to ask for shit, the spoiled brat. Just yesterday he'd offered Anaïs some pot. She'd been shocked, believing for a second that there was some dealer nearby or that her cousin had actually started growing pot in the garden or something— but no, he'd simply asked Uncle Liam for some. And his dad had brought it for him, all hush-hush-don’t-let-grandma-see-you but still, he'd given it. Anaïs had smoked a bit of it, hoping it would cease her worries.
Instead, a bitter bile started to surge in her throat as her cousin kept going on about how nice the house was, that he was enjoying having some time away from the city and how nice his dad was, how cool and understanding for giving them everything they asked for. Like this was a holiday and not a fucking crisis. And then the way he spoke, Jesus— it made her skin crawl, hearing Gene ramble about Uncle Liam. She was almost certain it was just some boyish admiration and genuine gratitude to his dad, but, well. She didn't know what explanation she could give to her fear that didn't make her seem insane.
It was all just too suffocating. The house seemed to be closing in on them, being so close to each other, to the point Anäis could hear her brothers and cousins through the walls. Most of the time it was just music. Sometimes videogames. But mostly just music, records, and more music until she was making a beeline for the front door in search of silence, panting into the cold air of the night.
And what was worse was that nobody was pointing a gun to her head forcing her to stay here. None of them had been forced to come here — except for maybe Sonny and Donovan because they didn't have a house of their own— and Dad had asked her if she wanted to come, same as Uncle Liam had done with Lennon and Gene. And they did, obviously, because the alternative was to pretend nothing was happening while paparazzis and journalists would stand outside their house waiting for them to come out, trying to drag any kind of information they could out of them. Perhaps it was better than this.
“Anaïs,” Her grandma's voice coming from inside the house shook her out of her thoughts as she almost jumped out her seat. “Fetch yer uncle, tell ‘im dinner is almost ready.”
It was almost two in the afternoon, mind you; Anaïs still didn't get the whole calling lunch dinner thing but she didn't dare question Grandma Peggy. She offered a curt nod and spared a look inside the kitchen before going out. Her brothers were working on something she couldn't see on the kitchen aisle, arguing as their grandma looked at them with an amused smile. At least they were putting their energy into something productive, she supposed.
Anaïs turned around, facing the seemingly neverending field, the blades of grass moving with the wind like sea waves. Last time she'd seen her Uncle he was walking Buttons on the other side of the garden. She didn't know if this counted as a garden, considering it went for miles and miles, and her dad had told her it had fuck knows how many acres of land. She hadn't paid much attention, too focused on the fact that apparently Dad had a massive house out in the Irish country that she didn't know about. Maybe he was just renting this one. She let out a snort at the thought and wondered what else she didn't know.
Well, she was wondering what Sara might think of all this. For the first three days they'd stayed here, Anaïs was almost expecting to see her former stepmother bursting through the door to take the boys away. But she didn't, no one came. In fact, it was making her go a bit mad, having the house be all lads except for Grandma Peggy and herself. She was hoping Debbie would come around eventually, but she'd only dropped by with Katie a few times and quickly left to “take care of the issue”. Right, the issue. She wondered if the woman was actually working that hard in damage control or if she just didn't want to meet Uncle Liam's eyes after what she'd seen. Or maybe she didn't want to see Dad.
With a sigh, she started to walk through the garden, the grass and flowers covered in morning dew that was dampening the fabric of her jeans. She wondered if she could ask Uncle Liam to have her clothes sent here. Would her dad be offended if she did? Maybe he wouldn't even notice, since lately he spent all his time in his office, which was not in the house, but rather in a little cabin a few meters away. Just far enough to avoid the sight of them.
She knew Sonny had gone to the cabin, mostly because he was a nosy little shit, but Dad quickly shooed him away. Her brother hadn't seen much, just papers, a few guitars, and a bed. That much she had assumed, because her dad didn't sleep in the house with them. She wasn't sure if he was even sleeping properly. He had dark bags under his eyes making him look older than he was when he came around, and he wouldn't say much.
In the distance, Anaïs spotted the almost blurry figure of Buttons running around. She seemed ecstatic as she rushed from one spot to another, mouth hanging open in a way that made it look like she was smiling. And then, up on a tiny hill, she saw Uncle Liam, sprawled on the grass as he watched the dog run around.
She slowly made her way towards him, eyes fixed in that City coat his uncle seemed to wear every day. It never smelled or looked dirty so she assumed he must have more than one. His feet were swinging slightly from side to side, and he was resting his head on his hands, simply the picture of relaxation. It was impossible to deny that she was just the tiniest bit envious of it.
“Hi,” she said, crossing her arms when a breeze blew past them and made her slightly chilly.
“Morning,” her uncle replied, not moving from his spot.
Anaïs let out a small snort. “Morning? It's past two in the afternoon, mate.”
“Well, haven't had any scran yet, and you lot like to wake up at eleven anyway, so yes, morning.” Uncle Liam shrugged. He was always miffed by the fact Anaïs and the rest of the kids (which weren't really kids, but y'know) slept late.
“About that, Grandma Peggy sent me to come and get you, lunch's ready,” she explained, a small smile inevitably shining on her face. There was something about her uncle that made it difficult to be pessimistic, something almost childish in the way he handled things, in the sense that he never took anything too seriously. It was equal parts endearing and infuriating.
“Well,” he started, “come and get me then, kidda.”
She blinked a few times, staring at Uncle Liam's unmoving figure on the grass. She reached a tentative hand to pull him up, but her uncle grabbed Anaïs instead and pulled her down to the ground. She yelped as she basically fell on top of him, and she could hear Buttons barking in the distance along with Uncle Liam's laugh.
Sitting on the grass next to him, she frowned. “The fuck was that for?” She demanded, but the words came out more amused than angry as the corners of her lips curled up into a smile.
Her uncle just grinned. “You're too serious, kidda. You're young, you're supposed to be buzzing, d'you know what I mean? Not fuckin' sulking and that.”
“I'm not sulking.” There was some grass getting on her jeans and she swept it off with her hand, stretching her legs as she sat parallel to Uncle Liam. He shuffled closer to her, and Anaïs opened her arms in reflex. Both Sonny and Donovan usually rested their heads on her shoulder, or her lap, like she didn't have anything better to do.
Uncle Liam apparently wasn't any different because instantly he shifted and laid his head on Anaïs legs. “Cheers, kidda, me neck's was hurtin' a bit,” he said, right before offering her some of the gum he always had in hand. Probably a singer thing, she reckoned.
Buttons appeared before them then, laying down next to Anaïs as she wagged her tail. She petted her head, and watched how her uncle's eyes fell closed with not a care in the world.
“How are you not worried?” She blurted out, the words spilling out of her lips without her permission.
“Worried about what?”
She frowned. “Y'know what.”
Her uncle didn't even open his eyes. “Nowt to worry about, love, ‘r’kid will take care of it. And the Guru's on the case as well, y'know, we just need to wait a bit and it'll be alright.”
Anaïs wondered if he really believed that. But then again, her uncle was not one to lie. It was more that he usually believed things that weren't true, his perspective of the world just slightly askew. Maybe it ought to do something with the hammer to the head and all.
Or perhaps it was just his blind trust on Anaïs’ dad. Maybe he'd told him it was all going to be alright and Uncle Liam had believed it, taking his brother's words as gospel. To be fair, it wasn't so different from how Anaïs took the news. At first, her dad had said the video was AI, and she had sat back, relaxed. Questioning the answer hadn't even crossed her mind. Until, of course, the headlines started to flood her phone, the images, the videos, the messages— too big to ignore, too loud for her father's soft words to silence.
She'd heard everyone's opinion on the matter, at this point. She didn't want to, in the beginning, but then the late nights felt too lonely, the thoughts growing heavier and heavier in her mind. So she started to look for them, reading tweets, comments, forums, even watching clips from people giving their piece of mind. It was almost a habit, at this point, because every night she'd lie under the sheets phone in hand, watching every new clip and reading every new piece of discourse that came up. During the day, she'd deny it, of course, just as her dad had asked her to. She didn't even think about it during the day.
But she never heard what Uncle Liam had to say. He'd disappeared from social media entirely, which seemed to be the wise choice, honestly. Nevertheless, it also meant she didn't know what he thought, what his reaction was. Did he immediately deny it and called it fake just like Dad had done? Did he even care?
The answers were quite literally lying on her lap, but she didn't know how to ask. She didn't know what was too far, if there was some hidden trauma she didn't know about. Maybe their piece of shit father had been worse than she knew and had done the unimaginable. Perhaps the trauma had bonded them further than what normal people could imagine. Or maybe it crossed some wires, and her Dad saw the world slightly off kilter as well, and was just better at hiding it than her Uncle.
There was a third option. It was one she read quite a few times these last few weeks, with people wanting someone to blame. In her opinion, it was just because it’s easier to see the situation in a black and white manner, to point a finger and lay all the responsibility on that one person. But she knew her dad, she knew that whatever cold and tough exterior he lifted around himself was only a façade. She knew the real thing under it, the man that used to sit with her to have tea parties in a little pink plastic table, sipping on air and talking in a posh accent to make her laugh. The same one that wouldn't let her out of his sight when she took a ride on a carousel, all anxious as he bit his nails.
Once he'd told her that Uncle Liam loved going on carousels. They didn't have a chance to go to many when they were little, so as a teen, or even as an adult, his little brother would excitedly jump on a plastic horse or a car, grinning from ear to ear as Noel watched him from afar in a mix of amusement and embarrassment. “He's like a child, y'know. That's his thing.” He'd said, and Anaïs had stored that information like the precious pearl it was. Archived wherever all the little tidbits that her father would reveal to her went. Her dad wasn't much of an open book, and he couldn't tell certain things to the boys. So there was a lot of stuff that she was the only one who knew, especially after the divorce.
And yet. He called him a child, yet he pried his lips open with his own, arms sliding over skin in a way that was not fraternal. Or at least Anaïs didn't think it was. She wouldn't do that to her brothers, even if they didn't share the same mother. She'd rather stab herself. She'd rather do anything else. So, how could it be? How could those hands squeeze the pale skin, lick the lips and spread your legs for the one you were supposed to look after, the one you watched grow up?
Her hand was on Uncle Liam, she realised, her fingers playing with the zipper from his jacket. She halted the movement, her palm resting over the warm skin of her uncle's neck. Maybe it was different when you grew up with nothing, in a little room with no future, with a brain boiling in booze and E, with nothing to look forward to. Perhaps she wouldn't get it because she'd grown up in a massive house, and had always had her own room, all pink and filled with everything she wanted.
What else could she do except ask? She opened her mouth and closed it again, thinking about the best way to go about this. In the meantime, her uncle was simply resting his eyes as he scratched Buttons’ belly.
“How long have you been in love?” She ended up asking, looking down at him. It was ambiguous enough, she hoped. Her uncle could just say the date he started dating Debbie or something if he wanted to dodge the question. She didn't ask about what her father had done, because that would be an accusation, and she wasn't accusing Dad of anything. There was nothing to accuse him of, was it? Otherwise her uncle wouldn't be so loving, so calm and forgiving. Surely he'd say something.
Tell me he didn't do it, she begged in her mind, the words burning heavy in her throat like an iron rod. Because she knew, there was no running from it. Tell me it's alright for me to love him anyway.
Uncle Liam looked up, blue wide eyes so open and transparent Anaïs wondered why he wasn't scared like the rest of them were. Why would he let himself be this open, this easy. “I think I’ve always loved ‘im, y'know,” he said, a few blades of grass rustling as he shifted in place. “Can't remember a time I didn't, d'you know what I mean?”
She swallowed spit, something heavy burning in the back of her throat. She could hear her breaths speeding up and yet it was like no air at all was getting into her lungs. Her hand twitched, the one that was still resting on her uncle's neck. She was tempted to close her hand into a fist around his throat, if only to see what would happen.
Because the way he spoke about it almost made it seem like it was something inevitable, foreseen, even. And perhaps that was the most frightening thing of them all, that maybe she had no way of avoiding this, that whatever happened was simply what they were. Then what had crawled in her father was already in his blood and therefore it was in hers as well, and in her uncle's, her brothers’ and her cousins’. It was in the house, floating in the air they breathed like a disease.
A shivering breath shook her frame, and a reassuring hand rose to pat her arm.
“It'll be alright,” Uncle Liam assured her, a small smile tugging on his lips. “It always is, yeah?”
She nodded, trying to think of an answer.
He kept going though, hands gesturing wildly as he spoke, “And if you need summat, you need to tell our kid, yeah? Or me, y'know, I don't mind. Maybe summat to help you relax and that?”
“My clothes,” she supplied, rather uselessly. It seemed such an irrelevant thing, now. “But it's not— it's not a big deal, I can manage with what I brought.”
“Nonsense.” Her uncle waved her off. “I'll take care of it, I'll send someone for your clobber, yeah? And maybe some of mine as well. Someone needs to have a sense of style ‘round these parts, so it's up to you and me, d'you know what I mean?”
It was quite endearing, even if it didn't help. Because that was the moment she should've said something, the moment for her opinion to be heard, whatever it was. She wasn't sure what it was, but surely it deserved to be heard, at least. But then Uncle Liam's head snapped up, looking in the direction Anaïs’ back was facing.
With a turn of her head, she saw him. He was making his way towards them in slow but sure steps, dark glasses hiding the blue eyes and the dark circles below them. Her hand tightened around the neck, and her uncle just quietly pulled away from her, sitting up as they stared at the figure coming their way. He was wearing that jacket she didn't like, and some plain shirt she didn't give much thought to. He didn't wave to them, or smile, but when he was closed enough, he tipped his head just enough to be considered a nod. “Alright?” Her dad greeted, and his brother returned the greeting with a fond smile that reached his eyes.
“Very productive day you're having then, yeah?” Her dad deadpanned while he sat down next to them, his eyes flicking between Anaïs and his brother.
“Yeah man, I'm tanning, playing with Buttons and looking after me niece— fuckin' multitasking, mate,” Uncle Liam explained, shuffling until he was resting his head on Dad's lap. “Also, our Anäis ‘ere wants her clobber back, she's been wearing the same shit for like three weeks, mate, you gotta do summat about it.”
Anaïs wanted to protest, because she didn't say that, and she certainly hadn't been wearing the same outfit all month, ‘course, but then her father was looking at her, eyebrows raised. Their gazes met for a second and then her eyes flicked down almost by inertia. Her dad's hand was resting over Uncle Liam's neck, the same place her own palm had been before, as if erasing the touch.
“Oh, why didn't you tell me then?” Her dad asked, his thumb rubbing circles on the skin.
Anaïs could hear her own heartbeat speed up against her ribcage, a feeling of vertigo unsettling her stomach. She had a better question, why didn't he tell her? If this was what happened, then why not let her in? She thought that she was the one her dad trusted, the one who got to know all the secrets, the feelings, the fears. And yet this one just slipped past her, past everyone. She wanted to complain, to stomp her feet like she used to when she was little. As if she'd tell anyone, as if she wouldn't forgive him. She just wanted to hear it, to understand.
“Didn't wanna bother you,” She mumbled.
Blue eyes finally met hers, locked into her own gaze. “You don't bother me, darling.” There was something like a smile tugging on the chapped lips as he spoke, the juxtaposition of soft words and the intense gaze making her a bit dizzy. “Just tell me what you need and I'll get it for you, yeah?”
She nodded at her dad's words and couldn't help her eyes darting down to Liam's figure. The hand was still there, curled over her uncle’s neck, whose eyes were closed, hands relaxed over the grass. In this way, he seemed younger, the lines of his skin gone for this peaceful moment. She couldn't help but trace with her eyes the silhouette of his profile, the straight line of his nose, the rather plump lips, the long, dark eyelashes over fair skin that seemed to shimmer under the winter sunlight. He was beautiful, she realised, and now it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world.
“Is dinner ready, then?” Noel asked, his head tilting just the tiniest bit to the side.
Anaïs cleared her throat. “Yeah. Grandma Peggy was looking for you,” she said as she pointed to the house, so far away it was like it was in another continent. “We should go. She's gonna get angry otherwise.”
Her dad let out one of those small breathy laughs she had grown so used to. “You go, kidda, we're not hungry.”
Her eyebrows rose on her own, her gaze flicking down to her uncle again. “Yeah, we had some scran in the office and that,” Uncle Liam hummed, eyes still closed as he basked under the sunlight. “Tell Gene and Lennon to help with the dishes though, them lazy cunts have been wriggling out of it.”
She stood up, but neither of them moved, even when the breeze blew stronger, lifting leaves and dandelions and carrying them through the air. Her hair moved with the wind, covering her face. Liam's chest rose and fell slowly, peacefully, and the hand was still over his neck, not squeezing, just resting. She wondered if this is how they were, back when they were little and they came to Ireland on holiday, meeting Grandma Peggy's family. She imagined small chubby hands intertwined with each other as they ran through the fields with no real direction. She wondered if anybody noticed they were like this, even back then. They never seemed as cold as Anaïs felt now, as she wrapped her arms around herself. Maybe the sun shone brighter back then.
She started to drag her feet back to the house, the wind carrying their chit chat to her ears. Her hands were tingly as they missed the feeling of warm skin under them, and she quickly shoved them inside her pockets. Some music coming from the house could be heard then, as she came closer to it.
For some reason her thoughts strayed to Molly, to her soft voice and reason. Anaïs wished she was here, not for the first time. But her cousin was far away, with a family of her own, with a life of her own. So she'd only text Anaïs every once in a while, asking how things were going and asking for pictures. Anaïs didn't know how to tell her that she wasn't taking pictures any more. Something in her vision was off, the angles all wrong and the lights rather unflattering. Like whatever her eyes saw and what the lenses saw was not the same.
Still, she turned around, pulling out her phone. Once the camera opened, she zoomed in. The image was quite blurry and bright in a way that made it look old and distant. You couldn't distinguish their expressions, but you could see her dad hunched over with a hand on her uncle's cheek, cradling him as he looked up towards his big brother. From this angle, you couldn't see more than one continuous, shapeless silhouette, their bodies indistinguishable from one another.
She turned off her phone and looked back at the hill, the two figures still shaking with laughter, and she could see it perfectly. She saw her father's eyes disappearing into thin lines as he cackled and the light blush spreading on her uncle's cheeks— even if the camera couldn't. She turned around and walked into the house, the wind hitting her back and pushing her inside.