The Returners

by Gemma Malley

  Planting evidence. Yes. An image of Claire flashes into my mind. You have to tell someone official. You have to say that in court.

  We have to save Yan.

  ‘Save Yan. Yes. He didn’t do it.’

  ‘Yes, he did. You’ve got it wrong, son. No one’s planted any evidence. We just need to tie up everything. Lock the boy away. He killed a man, son. He’s a leech, just like his father.’

  ‘He . . . He did? Are you sure?’ I ask. My mind is buzzing. Locked away. Away from Claire. He’s a leech. This isn’t his country. He’s got no right stealing what’s ours. What’s mine.

  ‘You were there. You saw it, remember?’ Dad says. ‘You remember. You saw him with your own eyes. Saw him stick the knife in. Didn’t you, son?’

  My forehead is creasing in concentration. ‘I saw . . . I saw . . .’

  ‘You can teach the girl. Claire. You can bring her round. She likes you. I can see that now. I was wrong to stop you seeing her. Just trying to protect you, that’s all. It’s that Yan’s fault. He’s infecting her with his ideas. He’s preying on her. You need to protect her, son. This is your chance to make things right.’

  Make things right. No more Yan. Claire to myself.

  ‘He was holding the knife,’ I say tentatively.

  ‘That’s right. He was kneeling over Mr Best, wasn’t he? Holding the knife. That’s what you saw, isn’t it?’

  I nod.

  England for the English. Foreigners Out.

  ‘England for the English,’ I say.

  Dad looks surprised. He thinks for a moment, then he smiles. ‘That’s right. That,’ he says, ‘is the future. England for the English is what Patrick wants, what we all want, son. There’s a new breed of politician. A party we can believe in. All of us. A party that sees the world like the rest of us do.’

  ‘A party?’ I ask.

  ‘Patrick’s party. Getting stronger every day, son. It’s full of people like us, people who want what we want. They run the school you’re going to go to. They’ll see you right, son.’

  I digest this. ‘They’ll look after me?’

  ‘They’ll make you stronger. Turn you into a man, just like Patrick said. A leader. We need leaders, Will, people who aren’t afraid to stand up for what’s right. People who will reclaim our land,’ Dad says. ‘Reclaim our jobs, our taxes, our schools, our churches. Getting rid of the thieves who came here to take what’s ours.’

  ‘Thieves like Yan?’ Can you steal a person from someone? Yes. He stole Claire. He’s stealing her right now. I can stop him.

  ‘Thieves like Yan.’ Dad nods.

  ‘This party. They want to get rid of them all?’

  ‘Send them back home,’ Dad corrects me. ‘Send them back to where they came from.’

  ‘And they can’t come back?’

  Dad shakes his head. ‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’

  ‘So Yan could be sent away? Not sent to prison?’

  ‘Yan committed a crime. He’s got to pay for that, son. You know that. His dad never paid,’ Dad says looking down. ‘He never paid for what he did. His son isn’t going to get away with it like he did.’

  ‘What did Yan’s dad do?’

  Dad looks down and swallows. ‘He’s responsible,’ he says under his breath. ‘He knows what he did.’

  I feel my stomach clench. ‘Mum?’ I say.

  An image. A memory. I had forgotten; now I remember. Dad, angry, pinning me down on the sofa. ‘Has that man been here? Have you seen him in the house?’

  I am scared. I don’t know what to say.

  ‘Son, I’m asking you. We’re on the same side, me and you. You’re my boy. You tell me the truth and everything’s going to be OK. I just need to know. Has he been in the house?’

  Mum is in the other room. They have been arguing, fighting – things have been smashed. I have been sitting on the sofa watching the television loudly. I look up at Dad. He lets go of me. He is calmer.

  ‘Just tell me, Will. Just tell me the truth. You know we’ve always taught you to tell the truth.’

  I take a deep breath. I nod.

  ‘He was here? In the house? With your mother?’

  I nod again.

  ‘Thank you, son. Thank you.’

  The image disappears. Dad closes his eyes for a moment, then he looks me right in the eye. ‘That’s right, son. That boy’s father as good as killed your mum,’ he says. ‘He as good as took a knife and plunged it into her. You remember now, don’t you?’

  I search my mind; my head is starting to pound. An image. Mum, in the water. I can see her. She is trying to stay afloat.

  ‘He killed Mum?’

  I am sweating. I am hot, cold. There is a man there. She is drowning, going under. I can’t help. I can’t do anything. He is letting her die.

  ‘Now do you want to see Yan pay? Now do you understand?’ Dad asks.

  I can’t breathe. My chest is constricting. Mum. Mum. No! No, please . . . It is too late. My mum has gone. She will never come back. Everything is over, everything is changed.

  ‘Son? Son, are you all right?’

  Claire does not love me. She loves him. She lied. He has taken her from me.

  They will pay. They will not take what isn’t theirs any more. They will see that I am strong, that I am stronger than them. They will pay for what they have done. I nod. ‘He’ll pay,’ I say. I am seething. I am full of red-hot fury. I will make them wish they’d never crossed me. I look down at my hands and Dad reddens.

  ‘We’ll get rid of this, shall we?’ he asks, taking out some scissors and cutting the tape. ‘Like I say, son, I was just trying to protect you. You understand, don’t you? We’re on the same side me and you. We’ll always be on the same side, won’t we?’

  He looks at me expectantly, hopefully. I hold his gaze for a few seconds. Then I nod. I am not good. I am what I am. Douglas was right.

  ‘The same side,’ I say. I am strong. They will see. I will make them see. No one crosses me.

  ‘Good for you, son. I knew you’d come round.’

  He grins and I grin back. It feels good. We are in control. We are together.

  ‘Father and son, changing things for the better. Sounds good, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ I agree. I am not alone.

  g

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I go to school. My idea; Dad said I should stay at home. But I don’t intend to hide. Why should I? I am who I am. I am proud of who I am. I can see clearly now. Douglas was right. Why fight my destiny?

  Anyway, I want to see her. Want to have the satisfaction of telling Claire I know the truth. I want to look at her with my cold, angry eyes. I want her to know, want her to see. I will enjoy it. She thinks she has control over me but she doesn’t. She is nothing to me any more.

  When I get there, I see Claire standing at the school gate, waving. I walk past, ignoring her calls.

  I walk down the corridor angrily, pushing people aside, not caring when they shout at me, when they turn round and threaten me. What are they going to do exactly? Nothing that worries me, that’s for sure.

  I go to the boys’ toilets. Yan’s brother is there. He’s looking at me hopefully. There’s the hint of a smile on his face – tentative, friendly even.

  He approaches me.

  ‘Hodge, I . . . Claire talked to me. She said that . . .’ His eyes cloud over as he talks. He isn’t getting the reception he was hoping for. He clears his throat. ‘Claire said that you . . . that this would stop. That you wanted it to.’

  I stare at him. ‘Nothing ever stops,’ I snarl. I remember now. Pinning him against the wall, hitting him until he emptied his pockets. It’s a memory. It’s part of me. I am that person now. ‘So give me your money.’<
br />
  His eyes widen. ‘But Claire said . . .’

  ‘You shouldn’t listen to girls,’ I say. ‘They lie. They’re pathetic. You should remember that.’

  We’re nose to nose; I’m holding him by the scruff of the neck. He nods. He hands me his money. A crisp five-pound note. I take it.

  ‘You’re a loser,’ I say. It makes me feel better.

  I can see the terror in his eyes. Yan’s brother is a parasite. He deserves this.

  I let go of him and he slumps to the floor. I stay there, standing above him, for a few seconds. Just looking at him.

  ‘You thought things were going to change,’ I say. It isn’t a question. He is too scared to answer anyway. ‘Things don’t change,’ I say. ‘Nothing ever changes. We are who we are. I’m who I am, and you’re who you are. A snivelling wretch. A pathetic loser. You’ll never fight back, and your brother’s going to prison. That’s it. So get used to it.’

  I push open the door and walk through, letting it swing back with a bang. I enjoy the noise; I’m full of adrenaline. I want a punchbag, want to run somewhere – anything to let off the steam that’s accumulating in my body. Is this how it always feels? Yes. It’s a good feeling. It is a feeling of power, of omnipotence.

  I stride down the hallway. I have History now. I’m going to enjoy myself. My teacher will learn not to disrespect me. I will make her wish she’d never picked on me.

  I sit down at a desk near the back. The other desks begin to fill up and then Claire walks in and I feel my chest clench for a moment, then I breathe deeply and relax. She has betrayed me. I feel nothing for her.

  She smiles at me and I look away. She looks confused, then hurt, then she shrugs and sits down.

  I try to freeze. I feel nothing.

  No, it’s not true. I cannot ice over. I clench my fists but it’s no use – I can’t stop looking at her. Only when she’s looking away, when she can’t see, but my eyes won’t leave her alone. My head is full of images of her laughing at me with Yan, holding his hand, telling him that I’ll do exactly what she tells me to. The two of them together, walking away from me. Yan smiling the way his dad smiles at mine – the smile of a victor, the patronising smile of someone who’s won.

  They took Mum and now they have taken Claire.

  But they haven’t won yet. I do my best to steel myself.

  The teacher walks in. She notices me, gives me a wry smile. A ‘nice of you to join us’ kind of smile. I look back stonily.

  ‘I’ve marked your essays on the legacy of the Second World War,’ she says. ‘Those of you who submitted them.’ She’s looking at me again, with a raised eyebrow this time; I look away, bored. ‘You made some interesting points, some of you,’ she continues. ‘Claire, I particularly liked your point about the huge changes that the war brought about but that change is rarely long lasting; as soon as another drama comes along everyone forgets and moves on to the next thing.’

  I shoot a look at Claire, who is blushing slightly, like she always does when she receives praise.

  ‘Of course nothing changes,’ I say, more loudly than I’d intended. I was aiming for ‘under the breath mutter’ but I pretty much shout it.

  The teacher looks at me quizzically. ‘And why’s that, Will?’

  I fold my arms. Everyone’s looking at me. I brazen it out. ‘People are people,’ I say.

  ‘People are people? Will, insightful though that is, I’m not sure it’s really an argument, is it?’

  Her lips are moving upward at the edges; she’s laughing at me. Like Claire. Like Yan. They’re all laughing. But they won’t laugh for long. They’ll be laughing on the other side of their faces soon. I can feel the white anger descending. But now I’m in control; now I know what I’m doing. This is who I am, I repeat silently.

  I stand up. ‘You think the Second World War saw the last holocaust?’ I ask, my voice icy. ‘You think that people aren’t killing each other, torturing each other, all over the world, all the time? You think that there aren’t children being beaten, women mutilated, men killed, every single minute of every single day? That’s life. That’s humanity. That’s who we are. You’re either an abuser or a sufferer. You’re strong or you’re weak. No one learns anything from history; they just repeat it, over and over and over.’

  The teacher is looking shocked; her mouth is open. Her eyes narrow, then she walks towards me.

  ‘Just what are you trying to say, Will?’

  ‘I’m saying that this is a waste of time,’ I say levelly. ‘Learning achieves nothing. We are achieving nothing sitting here.’

  ‘You may be achieving nothing,’ she says. ‘Perhaps if you applied yourself –’

  ‘Applied myself to learning about weak men who allowed others to brutalise them? What’s the point?’

  I stand up and head for the door; I turn back to see her looking at me, her mouth open in astonishment. I smile to myself. She knows I am right.

  ‘There is no point,’ I say. ‘If I were you, I’d pack it in now.’

  It’s only when I reach the school gates that I realise Claire has been following me. She calls out my name; I turn round.

  ‘Leaving lessons early? That’s not like you.’ I sound cold.

  ‘Will? What’s wrong with you? I thought yesterday . . . I thought you were OK. What’s happened?’

  She looks concerned. I remind myself that it’s all an act. ‘What’s happened,’ I say, ‘is that I know what I’m doing. And I know what you’re doing too.’

  ‘What I’m doing?’ She frowns. ‘What do you mean? Will, you’re not making any sense.’

  ‘Yan,’ I say. ‘You’re doing all of this for Yan, not me.’

  ‘Doing what? Will, what are you going on about?’

  ‘It’s about him,’ I round on her. ‘It’s all about Yan.’

  ‘Of course it’s about him. He’s in prison, Will, for something he didn’t do. But it’s also about you. Tell me what happened since last night. You’ve changed. You’re different.’

  I shake my head in derision. ‘I haven’t changed,’ I say. ‘I’m just being true to myself.’

  ‘Which self?’ Her eyes are challenging; she’s standing there, arms crossed, jaw firm.

  ‘Look, just leave it, will you?’ I grunt. ‘Just go back to your boyfriend and leave me alone, OK?’

  She blanches; I realise it’s the truth. Even though I knew it before, it still hits me with a thud. ‘You know about me and Yan?’

  ‘I do now.’

  ‘Is that what this is about?’

  I swing round angrily. ‘What this is about? No, Claire,’ I say icily. ‘No, this is not about you and Yan. This is about me, actually. Remember me? No, I didn’t think so. I’m hardly important, am I, unless I can help your precious boyfriend. All that crap about believing in me – you just wanted me to save your boyfriend’s arse.’

  ‘No, that’s not it. You’re a good person, Will,’ Claire says, her voice choking slightly. ‘I just wanted you to see that.’

  ‘You wanted me to testify against my own father,’ I said.

  ‘You have to,’ Claire says tentatively. ‘You still have to – you know that.’

  ‘No, Claire, I don’t have to.’ I stare at her for a few seconds; she walks towards me.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ she says insistently. ‘Will, don’t run away from this. Yan needs you. You have to do the right thing. My parents spoke to the Police Commissioner this morning. He said if you go to the police station right away, he’ll interview you himself. You have to go. You have to tell the truth.’

  She’s in my face, with that superior expression of hers, like she knows it all, like I’m just a child. My breathing quickens; I feel cornered, feel trapped, like she’s bearing down on me. I want her out of my space. I push her. I don’t think about i
t; I just have to get her away from me. She falls to the ground, protecting her face with her hands. She looks up at me, shocked, scared, as if she’s seeing me for the first time. I’m backing away. Then I’m running, out of the school gates, down the road, towards the river. Always the river.

  I reach a bench and sit down. I’m panting; my mind is racing. I can still see Claire looking up at me. She was scared of me. I pushed Claire. She said I’d never hurt her.

  She was wrong.

  Your life is not going to be easy, Will. You must prepare for that. Douglas said those words to me. But he was wrong. My life is going to be very easy. No one will cross me; no one will dare. I am powerful. I am strong. They are weak – all of them, even Claire. Especially Claire. She will not learn; I cannot help her.

  I close my eyes. Images fill my head, clamouring for my attention; I give in to them.

  Claire again, her eyes wide with fear. She is older, much older. She is begging me, she is pulling at my arm and imploring me, her voice high and agitated. ‘You can’t do this, Will. You can’t get rid of them like this. They’re British citizens, they belong here. This is wrong. This is so terribly wrong.’

  I see it now. It is a new holocaust. I am the architect. They have brought it upon themselves; they had every opportunity to go. Now they will go on my terms. They are told the ships will take them home, but in truth they have no home – no one will take them. So the ship will take them to their deaths instead. Out in the ocean, out at sea, where no one has to see, no one has to take responsibility. The bodies will be disposed of in fires, bright flames that signal the future. England for the English. We will take our jobs back, our money, our houses, our land, our dignity.

  ‘They are parasites and they don’t belong here,’ I say coldly. ‘I must protect our people. I am saving us. Saving our country.’

  ‘Then this isn’t a country I want anything to do with. You put them on the ship and I go too.’

  ‘You are English. You belong here.’

  ‘No, Will, I don’t. I belong with Yan, with my children. This isn’t my country any more.’