by Geoff Smith
So they opened fire with everything they had.
'Die Blue scum!' Noah shouted.
Sophie snorted derisively from across the room.
The first soldier was hit again, this time in the arm. He looked to be finished. Connor and Noah engaged the enemy as Bart's screen cleared. But the two Blues had regrouped. His screen flashed again. Red and red and red.
Bart dropped the controller on the carpet as the image froze.
Game over. Option to restart.
Noah and Connor focused on the two Blues. With Bart having drawn their fire they were able to finish them quickly.
The danger gone, Noah looked round at Bart.
'Come on bro. Hop back in. You know where we are.'
But Bart had put down the controller.
'I've been thinking I should go and chat with the guys downstairs for a bit,' Bart said. 'You guys play on. I'll be back up in a couple of minutes. Okay?'
'Hey. That guy downstairs with your granddad,' Noah said. 'He's really that cop that got stabbed, yeah?'
'Yeah,' Bart said. 'He is. Three times in the back. He's called Wayne, and he's a good guy. You should come and say hello.'
'Looks like something out of the nineteen-eighties,' Connor said, still focused on the screen. 'Mental tache though. I like it. It's cool.'
And Bart said, 'I'll tell him.'
And he lifted his hand and ducked his head as he opened the door.
'Hey, Bartie?'
'Yes Soph.'
'We love you!'
At the door, Bart turned and he smiled. Connor and Noah didn't speak or look up, but Soph did. Of course she did. They were back in the game. All of them. He knew it and she knew it too. He felt that they loved him and his mouth widened into a broad smile.
'I love you guys too,' he said.
*
Skeletal trees lined the road into Lower Slaughter and idyllic, stone-built cottages lined the banks of the river Eye.
He passed slowly through the village, parking the Mini in front of a heavy double gate and gathering his thoughts. He got out and opened the boot, carefully lifting a large bouquet of white oriental lilies. The plastic wrapping crackled and he felt a bit sick. Still, he held them close to his chest and he walked the two doors down to the house.
The sound of the bell made his heartbeat race.
And when the door opened there was Julia.
She looked well - Breton-striped top and linen trousers - she looked really well. She was wearing her glasses on her head and her face looked strained from smiling. She'd had her hair done too. Shorter, feathered, blonder than before.
'Hello,' Bart said.
There was giggling from the lounge, but when Julia recognised him she put her glass of wine down on the sill, and her smile was gone.
'Bart. Look, you really should have let me know -'
'It's okay,' he said. He pulled the beanie from his head and stuffed it in his pocket. She hated him wearing it. 'Listen -' he said, his brain still wanting to call her Mum. 'I just wanted to say thank you.'
'Bart -'
'No M- Julia, I mean let me - I want to say you were right - I mean back when we met. I was so angry back then and you did help me through it. You really did. And you want to find your own path and I just want to say that's cool. And thanks. Okay? I mean, sure. I'm still looking for my path but - okay - I just wanted to wish you - I mean I wanted to say good luck. You look happy.'
'I am happy, Bart.'
'Good. That's good. Okay. So - well - you won't be seeing me again - I mean unless you choose to - but I do love you - and yeah - so that's it. Cheers.'
And he pushed the flowers at her and they crackled as she took them.
'Thanks,' she said. 'They're pretty.'
'Yeah.'
And he turned and he walked away. He was stiff and awkward and he walked too fast. Julia didn't close the door. She watched him walking away like that, like an over-wound clockwork soldier, and she waited and she watched as Bart pulled away and disappeared around the bend in her erstwhile husband's weekend car.
And the grass on the path was green and cold and the November light shimmered on the surface of the river. Julia removed the card from the envelope on the bouquet. Pulling her glasses down, the words came into focus.
You can go your own way.
Much love,
Bart.
X
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