Bryn’s just come back from a tour in Helmund.
When I ask how it was, he just says, ‘Hot. Yeah. It was hot there.’
He won’t talk to me about it. There’s no point because I won’t understand. Only they know what it’s like to be out there. They have their own language. They talk to each other in special terms and acronyms: L69s, SA80s, sangars, HESCOs and GMGs, VSPs, IEDs and FOBs. He won’t talk to me about it unless I ask specific questions and I know not to ask.
He’s older than the others. He talks about his leave, coming home to the wife and kids. He couldn’t wait, counting down the weeks, then days, then hours, but he’s already had enough. He wants to be back there, I can see it in his eyes. He wants to be back in the desert heat, laying up on a roof somewhere under the flutter of a camouflage net, looking down his L69 ‘long’ through his SIMRAD night sights, going out in the LAV, checking things out through his NVGs, or whatever it is they do there. He loves it and hates it. They all do. That’s why they get pissed and kick off. Trying to get that adrenalin rush, trying to generate some excitement.
‘Your dad was in, wasn’t he?’ he says to me.
‘Yeah, my grandpa, too. We’re a military family.’
‘Ever think about joining yourself?’
‘Nah,’ I shake my head. ‘It’s not for me.’
‘What do you want to do, then?’ he asks as he buys me another pint.
‘Doctor,’ I say, although that’s not me, that’s Martha. I haven’t got a clue what I want to do.
‘You can be a doctor. They’ll pay for your education. Training. Everything.’
‘Yeah, I know. But I don’t want to.’
I want to add, ‘Look what happened to Rob’, but I don’t. It’s not the right thing to say. He picks it up, anyway. The words unspoken.
‘Shit happens,’ he says quietly. ‘I miss him. We all do. He was the best. Top kill tally in the unit. Three tours and hardly a nick. Goes out on routine patrol and boom . . .’ He sighed. ‘You need eyes in your arse out there. Lose concentration. Just once and . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Could happen to any of us. How’s the boy doing? Seems all right.’
His laugh is a deep rumble in his throat. We look over to where Rob is chatting to some bird.
‘Umm,’ I take a pull on my pint. ‘That’s just tonight.’
‘Having trouble, is he?’ He looks at me, suddenly serious. Soldiers will make a joke out of almost everything but he really cares about Rob. I can see it in his eyes. ‘Having a problem settling back in, like?’
I nod. He’s guessed right.
‘He’s best off out of it, you know.’
‘That’s not how he sees it. He loved it. It was his life.’
‘Still best off out of it. It was getting to him. He was getting obsessive. Going out on little ops of his own, settling scores, strictly against orders, of course. It doesn’t do to get involved like that. It doesn’t do to forget that the target is a human being.’
‘He’s been talking about going back. Says there are ways, but I didn’t think he could. You know, with his leg.’
‘He don’t mean Army. He could sign up with one of the private outfits.’
‘You mean mercenaries?’
He laughs. ‘“Private Security Services” is what they call them.’
‘But what about . . .’
‘His injuries? That don’t matter. He’s got special skills has your brother. All they got to do is get him in and get him out. He just has to hit the target. He don’t have to put up with the rest of the bollocks.’
‘Do you think he’ll really do that?’ I wonder how Mum will react.
‘Could do,’ he shrugs. ‘It’s an option. I hope he don’t, though. Wouldn’t be good for him, you know? None of us to watch his back and those people ain’t got no scruples. No code, if you know what I mean. Work like that can do damage and there’s been enough done already.’ He had a look of a man who’s said too much and not enough. He stared into his empty pint, as if he was wondering where it had gone. ‘You want another?’
‘No thanks, I’m good.’
He leaves me to go back to the bar and I’m thinking about going when I feel a heavy arm across my shoulders. It’s Rob.
‘Where are you off to, little bro? Going after that piece you’ve had your eye on?’
‘No,’ I say, although that is what I had in mind.
‘Wouldn’t bother if I was you. No point.’ He shakes his head slowly. ‘She’s out of your league.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Most certainly.’
I don’t know how much he’s had, but a lot by the look of it. He’s about to turn on me, I can see it in his eyes.
‘Seems like she prefers grown-up arseholes, not baby ones, like you.’
He snorts a little bit, as though that’s funny, and smiles a special tight smile. He gives me the stare, like there’s no one there behind the blue eyes. He’s always had a tendency to switch like that. Nice one minute, the next – watch out! He’s goading me, gauging the effect his words will have, waiting to see if I’ll react. He’ll go on until I do.
‘I just gotta go. That’s all,’ I say again. ‘There’s no one in here I know. I want to go on somewhere else.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided. Wherever it is, you wouldn’t like it.’
‘Why’s that?’ His voice is quiet, like he’s searching for another way in to me and thinks he’s found it.
‘It’ll be full of kids my age.’
He looks at me for a long moment. The beer’s getting to me. I haven’t been sharp enough. I have taken a wrong turn.
‘You’re ashamed of me,’ he says.
‘No, I’m not!’
I turn away. I don’t want to go into this old chip on the shoulder stuff, the resentment he’s set up against me and Martha just because we’ve opted to stay on at school and both plan to go to university when he left as soon as he could. It’s been there ever since he got back, but it’s worse when he’s drunk. It’s stupid. Something he’s manufactured to get at us. I don’t want to think that it could be more than that. Some kind of paranoia.
He grabs hold of my arm to pull me back. Not willing to let go of me or the argument he’s conjuring. It’s as though he needs it. Feeds off the aggravation.
‘Yes, you are. You and Martha. You think I’m a bit of a townie, while you two get more stuck up by the day. At least she’s honest about it. Says it to my face. You know what you remind me of? The Ruperts. Useless junior officers called Jonty and Tim and Toby. Pack of wankers. You’re just like them. You are a little . . .’ he whispers the short, blunt word in my ear, his breath hot, yeasty with beer. ‘If you weren’t such a little –’ he says the word again, louder; people are beginning to stare – ‘you’d want me and the lads to come with you. Introduce us to your Rupert mates and their posh-bird girlfriends.’
‘It’s not like that and you know it. I just want to go. Don’t be stupid!’
His grip tightens at the word ‘stupid’.
‘I told you not to call me that!’
‘Leave him go, Rob, mate. That’s it.’ Bryn is suddenly beside us. He prises Rob’s hand off my arm and holds him tight by the shoulders. The other guys are with him.
‘Yeah, man,’ one of them says, ‘let him go and come and have a pint. You’re getting behind.’
They close round Rob so he won’t kick off. So there won’t be trouble. So none of the Security notice.
I rub my arm and head for the door. I’m upset. I hate it when Rob gets that way with me. I’m not really looking where I’m going and the place is crowded now, nowhere to move. I knock into this guy, jogging his pint. The beer spills a bit and he turns on me.
‘Oi! Watch it, you little twat!’
He’s wearing an England shirt, as are his mates, the dress code has obviously slipped as the evening has progressed.
‘What are you doing in here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be home with
Mummy?’ He makes sucking noises, like he’s pulling on a bottle. ‘Get out of here!’ He pushes me into his mates, who push me back towards him. ‘There you go again! Smacking into me!’
He gives me another push, harder this time. One of his mates puts a foot out to trip me, send me sprawling. Someone catches me, steadying me up. Then he steps past me.
‘Want some, do you? Well, come on then! Have some of this!’
Rob is standing in front of me, fists curled. The guy steps into a fast jab, once, twice, so quick you hardly see it, except there’s now blood coming from his nose.
‘Anyone else want some?’ Rob glares round but the others back away, dragging their bleeding mate with them. ‘Thought not.’ He turns to me, looking me over, like I’m a little kid again and he’s saved me from the bullies. ‘You OK? No harm done?’
‘I’m fine. I’m OK.’
He drapes his arm round me. Bryn stands back, frowning, eyes assessing, wondering if he’s going to hug me or break my neck. But he won’t do that. Not now. His anger against me is gone. Dissipated. Transferred to the other bloke.
‘You can be a little twat,’ he hugs me closer. ‘You know that? But you’re still my little bro. That girl,’ he looks round like maybe she’s still here, ‘the one you fancy? Go for it. Yeah!’ He laughs a little, like it’s a joke only he is sharing. ‘Why not? She could be good for you!’
He reels off with his mates and I’m left on my own.
It was always like that. He could beat the living shite out of me but if anyone else touched me, they’d better watch out.
I walk along the street thinking about that, trying to find reasons for it. Rob was always unpredictable. When we were kids, he’d be nice and friendly, playing with me, sharing toys, telling stories, then suddenly he’d turn. He’d say things to upset me. Hurt me. Do things to scare me. Lock me in dark places. He’d tell me to climb up into the loft and then take the ladder away. Take me out into the woods, tie me to a tree and then go away and forget about me. Make me eat dirt. He wouldn’t stop until I was crying and begging for mercy. The stupid thing was, I’d do it. On occasion, I’d fight back, but it always ended with me getting beat and running home crying.
Sometimes he’d get caught. Martha would tell. Or someone would find me, still tied up with the clothes line, or bruised and sobbing, snot dripping. Mum would want to know why, what on earth happened.
‘We were playing a game.’ I’d hiccup. ‘It was only a game.’ I would never tell and he knew it.
He’d turn back just as quickly. It was as if he liked to see just how far he could push me. When he thought that I’d reached my limit, he’d smile and give me his favourite toy. I’d put up with anything, just for that moment.
Martha was different. He usually left her alone. She was only small but she could do some damage and she’d tell Mum in a blink. Or Grandpa. Then Rob would get in trouble for being mean to her. It wasn’t just that she was a girl. She didn’t care. That was the difference. She didn’t want him to like her. She didn’t want to be one of his gang. Martha’s dislike of him has slowly crystallised into something that borders on hatred. She thinks he’s a psycho. I could never feel like that about him. She says that’s because I’m suffering from a co-dependency that borders on Stockholm Syndrome. I tell her to take her AS Psychology and shove it.
I check out a few pubs. Most of my friends have left or gone to a club. There are only two in town and they are both useless but I take a look, anyway. Stand in line again, waste even more money. I’m still kind of hoping that I might find Caro, but there is no sign of her anywhere. I decide to call time on a crap night and go home.
I’m just walking past the town hall, when I see him there, sitting on a bench. Caro is with him. I don’t stop to think why she’s there. I just know I can’t leave him. Not in the state he’s in.
‘Is he all right?’ A man comes over. Fluorescent jacket. Black and white reflective police flashes. He squats down.
‘Yes, he’s fine. He’ll be fine. We’ll look after him.’
‘If you’re sure?’
He’s not fine and the copper knows it, but it’s chucking out time. He looks up, his eyes questioning, asking permission to leave us. There’s shouting at the other end of the street. A girl screams. High, excited. Something going down. The policeman walks away. There’s plenty to keep him busy.
Rob leans forward. I think he’s going to throw up, but he just gobs a mouthful of blood and mucus. His lip is split. His left eye is puffy and closing. Blood leaks from his nose, dripping on to the ground. Spots of blood, shining like garnets in the street light, begin to form a pool. His blue shirt is torn at the shoulder, the front stained dark. He holds his ribs as if they are hurting. He must have had a kicking. His right hand looks swollen with cuts across the knuckles. He must have got a few in before they got him down.
She looks at me expectantly, like I’ll know what to do.
I look about at pavements slippery with vomit, the road glittery with glass, gutters strewn with kebab boxes spilling strips of discarded salad. I feel helpless.
‘It’s his leg,’ I say. ‘He can’t run. So, if he gets cornered?’ I shrug. ‘How come you’re with him?’
‘I’m not with him,’ she says carefully. ‘I was on my way to the taxi rank and I saw him sitting here. I recognised him from the club and came over to help him. See what I could do.’
‘What happened to the guy you were with?’
Her turn to shrug.
‘He’s the Art teacher guy, right? The one who got the sack?’
‘Yes, he is.’ She turns to look at me. ‘I suppose Martha told you all about that, too.’
She takes a bottle of water and a wad of tissues from her bag. She pours the water over Rob’s head and face. The shock of it seems to revive him a little bit. His head snaps back and she uses the tissues to begin to wipe the blood from his nose and mouth. Her touch is gentle but I put my hand up to stop her.
‘Careful,’ I say. ‘State he’s in, he might lash out.’
‘He seems quiet enough.’
We’re talking about him like he’s an animal. He sits still, slumped forward again, hands dangling between his knees.
I’m just wondering how to get him to the taxi rank and if any of the cabbies will take him when I hear a shout, the sound of feet running. I’m up with my back to Rob and Caro. I don’t like fighting, but I can look after myself. Rob taught me that much. If it’s the same lot still after him, I’m not going to let them get him, not going to let them do him any more damage. If it comes to it, I’ll fight for him. He’s my brother. They’ll have to go through me.
It has to be them. They are strung out across the road, coming in a line, taking their time, strutting, fists curled. The girls with them are bunched together, shouting insults, mostly directed at Caro, and egging their lads on. I think I’m done for, but I stand my ground and just hope none of them are carrying.
They begin to speed up, like predators circling in on an easy kill. There’s another shout and running feet. Rob’s mates. The mob coming for us take one look and veer off in another direction to find some other kind of trouble. The girls follow them, stumbling on their high heels, still shouting insults, whether at us, or them, isn’t clear.
‘How you doing, then?’ Big Bryn takes hold of Rob’s chin and tips his face to the light. ‘There’s a mess on you, all right.’ He turns to me. ‘Lost track of him in that bar. He went off after some girl and then we couldn’t find him. Looks like he found some fun, like. We’ll take care of him now.’
He signals to two of the others, who pick Rob up between them as if he weighs no more than a child.
Bryn goes to the kerb to hail a cab. The first one speeds up when he sees the state Rob’s in but the next one slows when Bryn waves a £20 note. They push Rob into the back seat and climb in after him.
I give the cabbie Grandpa’s address. The cabbie shrugs. He can hardly speak English and doesn’t know where it is.
&
nbsp; Bryn swears and beckons to me. ‘You’ll have to show him. Get in!’
‘What about her?’
I don’t want to leave Caro but there’s no room.
‘There’s a cab coming,’ she says and smiles. ‘I’ll be fine.’
I get in reluctantly. I’d been hoping to see her home, hoping something good could come out of a pretty rubbish night. The cab pulls out. She waves to me. I wave back, then I realise that she’s just hailing a cab.
Chapter 9
Been asking around, has he? Continuing his enquiries. I’m sure Martha and her little posse will have filled him in on everything, all the scandal about Charlie. Not that I care. She’d like me to, they would all like me to, but the opposite is true: I rather enjoy my notoriety. She will have told him about me being expelled, no doubt. Too good a story to miss out. Then there’s the time the Head saw me on the six o’clock news – everyone loves that one.
I went down to the demo on the bus from the university. No one else from school would come with me, so I went on my own. What can I say? It was my best day. As soon as we got to the rallying point, I remember thinking: ‘This is what I’ve been looking for. This is it.’
It began quietly, peacefully. Disappointingly ordinary. The crowd moved slowly, ambling at walking pace, chatting and joking. It got better when the chanting started up and the drumming and whistles blowing. Then it felt like we were all part of something, that we owned the street, the city. It was like a festival, a parade where everyone could take part. A Mardi Gras for the masses.
The shouting up ahead was turning into booing and catcalling, consolidating into the consistent, heavy chant: Shame on You! Shame on You! I began working my way to the front, wanting to see what was happening, find the action. The crowd was closing up, moving in a great surge towards the front line. I could see flashes of police fluorescent jackets, the glint of perspex. The police were advancing, reinforced from behind, pushing with their shields, lashing out with their batons, pulling out individuals, kicking them on the ground.