This Is Not Forgiveness

by Celia Rees

  ‘But why? Why would you do something like that?’

  ‘I used to like to see the blood.’

  I don’t say anything, just think how much hurt she must have felt to make her want to harm herself. The scars are like a bar code, the little lines containing the key to the self she wants to hide. She puts her hand to the place, as if to shield it from my gaze.

  ‘It makes you feel better,’ she says. ‘Lets out the pressure. It’s no big deal.’

  I shake my head. It is a big deal to me.

  ‘Do you do it now?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ she shakes her head. ‘I don’t do it any more.’

  That doesn’t mean that the hurt has gone. I want to hold her, make her understand that I want to take some of that pain away, but I’m not sure how she’d take it. I don’t want her to think I feel sorry for her, she’d hate that. I hesitate just too long. The camp is stirring. A man emerges from one of the tents and the moment is lost.

  The guy’s tanned a dark brown, like he’s been there all summer. He’s wearing flip-flops and an old, faded pair of raggedy cut-offs. His hair is long, tawny from the sea and sun. He stands for a moment, taking in the morning. Then he sees us. He waves and comes over.

  ‘Hi, Caro. Nice to see you.’ He smiles at her but when he looks at me his expression hardens just a little. ‘And this is?’

  ‘This is Jamie,’ she says. ‘He’s a friend.’

  ‘Hi, Jamie. I’m Theo.’

  He puts out his hand but his look stays hard and appraising, his smile doesn’t get near his eyes. He’s older than I first thought. His hair is streaked with grey and thinning. The stubble lining his jaw is like a dusting of iron filings.

  ‘I haven’t seen you before, have I?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Welcome,’ he says, but I don’t think he means it.

  He leads us over to where a woman has got a fire going. She has a couple of kids with her and a mongrel dog. Her fair hair is in long braids and she is wearing a brightly coloured wrap-around dress like one Mum brought back from her trip to Thailand. She throws some bacon and sausages in a pan. The smell brings other people out of their tents.

  ‘You hungry? Molly will give you something to eat,’ Theo says to me. ‘Caro and I have got some catching up to do.’ He turns to Caro. ‘Let’s walk.’

  It’s pretty clear I’m not invited.

  ‘You nearly missed us,’ he’s saying. ‘Business in other places. We need to be where it’s happening. This could be it, you know, Caro . . .’

  They move out of earshot.

  ‘How’s it going, Molly? I’m starving.’ A tall guy in a vest and baggy pirate pants comes over to join us at the fire.

  ‘Be ready in a bit.’ The woman shakes the pan.

  ‘Hi,’ he says to me. ‘I’m Paul.’ He squints down at me. ‘You been here before?’

  I shake my head.

  He looks at me closely for a second, then shrugs. ‘I just thought – maybe I’ve seen you somewhere else.’

  ‘Could be,’ I say, although I doubt it. ‘Maybe you’re mixing me up with somebody.’

  I don’t want to think about who that might be.

  ‘Have you been to Dean Street with Caro?’ Molly asks. They are both looking at me now.

  I shake my head. I know the place but make no comment. All my friends think they’re druggies and dropouts.

  ‘Whatever. You’re welcome.’ Paul squats down and shakes my hand.

  ‘Here, these look just about ready.’ Molly forks a piece of blackened bacon and a sausage into a roll and offers it over to me.

  I take a bite. The sausage is pink in the middle and the roll is stale.

  ‘We forage,’ she says, by way of excuse or explanation. ‘Practise freegonomics. The supermarkets throw so much away. Another sausage?’

  ‘Nah, I’m good.’ I smile at her and look for ways to feed my breakfast to the dog.

  ‘I will, Moll. Thanks.’ Paul isn’t so fussy. He helps himself to another of Tesco’s Finest. ‘Want coffee?’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  Molly pours some brew into a tin mug. The coffee is better than the food but I just want to go.

  I have to wait for Caro. I can see them down the beach. They’ve stopped walking. Caro is drawing with a stick on the sand. She looks up at the Theo guy, brow furrowed. When she’s talking, she has a tendency to use her hands. She’s gesticulating, describing words in the air. He’s nodding. He’s listening, paying attention to what she’s saying. Then it’s his turn to talk, hers to listen. They turn back and walk towards us, still deep in conversation. He glances up suddenly and catches me watching. He looks at me suspiciously as if I’m some kind of spy. He says something to Caro. Her laugh, high and clear, carries way up the beach.

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ she says as he delivers her back.

  ‘No problem. I’ll let you know where to find us. Good luck, Caro.’

  He embraces her, then holds her away from him for a second. There’s no secret sign or anything, but something passes between them, something I’m missing.

  ‘How do you know them?’ I ask as we walk back to the car.

  ‘Oh, going on demos. Actions. You get to meet people.’

  ‘And who is Theo exactly?’

  ‘He’s like their leader. They lived in a house down on Dean Street. I used to hang out there. They’ve come here for the summer.’

  ‘So you’ve been here before?’

  ‘A couple of times.’

  ‘Who did you come with?’

  She frowns, as if trying to think. ‘Charlie came with me once. He’s friends with Theo and he wanted to take photos of the old pier.’

  Charlie Hands doesn’t look anything like me, that’s for sure, but I don’t say anything.

  ‘I admire them,’ she’s saying. ‘They are committed. To a cause.’

  ‘Oh, what would that be?’

  ‘They want change – big change. Global change. And they are prepared to take action to get it.’

  ‘Lots of people want change.’

  ‘Yes, but they aren’t prepared to do anything. They aren’t prepared to act. They’re too scared. They don’t want their lives to be affected. They are too frightened of losing what they have got. They aren’t prepared to make the sacrifice, take it to the limit.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Yes. I am. I mean, what have I got to lose?’

  ‘A lot.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You’re great-looking, brainy, young, your whole life in front of you.’

  ‘Yeah? Oh, yeah?’ Her eyes are dark and wild. They make me think of razor blades, bar-code scars. ‘Well, I don’t see it that way.’

  ‘Why don’t you join them if you feel so strongly,’ I say, although I can’t see her living like this, scrounging up food out of supermarket skips.

  ‘I don’t do camping. I told you before. There are lots of different roles for people to take in the Revolution.’

  ‘Revolution?’

  ‘Yes. Revolution. If that’s what it takes.’

  We go back to the town. It is full of people now and the salty air is a thick mix of hot dogs, onions, chips, and the burnt-sugar smell of candyfloss. No one is thinking about revolution, or anything much beyond having a good time. The rail is hot in my hands as I lean over it to look down at the beach filling with people setting out deckchairs and loungers, putting up windbreaks and umbrellas, laying claim to their part of the beach.

  I buy her an ice cream. She asks for vanilla. She doesn’t like other kinds. Only vanilla. We walk along the front. The booths are the same year on year: decorated with faded seaside scenes – fishing boats, a lighthouse, crabs, lobsters, starfish, a big octopus, bright colours rendered pastel by the winter and the salt in the air, peeling here and there, wood showing through. We walk on to the old pier and stop at the little funfair. She wants to go on the carousel. It’s a period piece, with big, prancing horses on silver poles.


  I get off. After a couple of rides the movement is making me feel a bit sick, but she gives the guy another tenner to go on riding the painted ponies round and round.

  That’s how I see her. The skirt of her dress blowing up to show her long, brown legs, her head back, her hair falling behind her, her eyes closed as she grips on to the barley sugar twist of the pole. The ancient-sounding fairground music jangles and wheezes as she turns and turns, locked in her own world.

  Chapter 25

  ‘We’re not feeling edgy; the system is feeling nervous.’

  Red Army Faktion

  Taking Jamie was far less of a hassle than going with his brother. Rob can be unpredictable and I didn’t know how he would react but I had to see Theo and wanted Rob to meet him, too. We went to the funfair first, while I decided how I should handle it. He spent most of the time in the shooting arcades. I left him and went to ride the carousel. He won a load of stuff: teddy bears and fluffy toys that I took down to Oxfam. I had a few goes just to show him that I could. He said I’ve got what it takes. I’m guessing that was a compliment.

  He was OK with sitting round the fire drinking beer and cider but I could tell that he didn’t like Theo. Too much of an intellectual. Some of the others are anarcho-primitivists, Earth liberationists. It was pretty clear what Rob thought about them and he wasn’t hiding it. The eco mob are supposed to be non-violent but I thought there was going to be a fight. I was thinking it was all going pear-shaped and I should get him out of there, when this American showed up. This was the guy that Theo wanted Rob to meet. He’d deserted from the US Army, come here from Canada on a forged passport. He had fled what he saw as an illegal war. I didn’t know how Rob would react to that.

  They got talking and everyone else shut up. They are all anti-war – that’s a given – but none of them has actually been in a war zone, seen the things that these two have seen. The American guy has their full attention as he recounts the events that led up to his desertion.

  ‘I felt like every last drop of humanity was being squeezed out of me,’ he says at last. ‘Like I was turning into a killing machine. When they wanted to send me back for another term, I had to get out. I don’t even blame the Taliban. I couldn’t hate them any more, you know? Even when they were targeting our guys. All they’re doing is defending their country. I blame the people who sent us there. They are the criminals in this.’

  Rob nods, like he agrees, then he starts to tell them some of his own stories. He can be very eloquent when he wants to be, with an eye for little details that can turn your stomach or bring the tears pricking to your eyes. He can’t seem to look away, and he makes sure that you don’t, either. That’s just how he is.

  When their stories were exhausted, the beer finished, the fire dying back to ashy embers, the American just said goodnight and went off down the beach. I never knew his name because he didn’t say it and we didn’t see him again.

  ‘It takes bollocks to do what that bloke did,’ Rob said afterwards. ‘He’s sound, but that Theo is a prick and the rest of them are dicks. I don’t want them involved with this. And I don’t know what you’re doing with Jimbo, but you can call time on that, too. He ain’t got what it takes. I don’t want him anywhere near it. It’s just me and you.’

  He’s right, of course. I’m thinking about that as I drive Jamie back. I know Rob’s right, but I just can’t find the words, the right way to do it.

  Chapter 26

  She drops me back home. Mum’s out, the car is gone, but Martha’s there. She hears my key and she’s waiting for me. I dodge past her and make for the stairs. I need to shower and change.

  ‘Alan called,’ she yells after me. ‘Wondering where you were.’

  I stop halfway up the stairs. ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Said I had no idea.’

  ‘Thanks, Martha. Thanks a lot. What did he say to that?’

  ‘Said if you weren’t there by this afternoon, you needn’t bother turning up at all.’

  ‘I better get down there. Square it with him.’

  It’s getting on for three o’clock. I run back down the stairs, my mind already reaching for excuses.

  ‘You missed a good party,’ she says as I make for the door. ‘Lee was there.’

  ‘I really don’t have time for that right now.’

  She ignores me and carries on with what she intended to say.

  ‘She wanted to know if you’d finished with Caro yet.’

  ‘None of hers. Or yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me? Because of you I’ve got a job to save.’

  ‘She said something else. That guy. The one she saw, coming out of Caro’s? It wasn’t you. Definitely. Know why?’

  ‘No, Martha. I don’t know why.’

  I turn to face her. She has the look of a matador about to deliver the estocada.

  ‘Because that guy walks with a limp.’

  I grab my bike and take the side roads and back alleys. The quickest way to Rob’s. When I get there, the curtains are drawn. I ring the bell but there is no reply. I hammer on the door. No response. Maybe he’s out – or more likely back from the pub and sleeping it off. Either way, I’m here to have it out with him. If he’s not in, I’ll wait. Stuff Alan and his job. It’s nearly the end of the summer, anyway. I’m not leaving until I get an answer.

  I look around for the key that Grandpa used to keep under the brick, third geranium from the left. The plants have withered and died, crisp leaves on hollow brown twigs, but the key is still there.

  I let myself in. The hall is quiet and dark. I shout out, but there is no reply. I’m coming back down the hall when I sense rather than hear a movement upstairs. It’s as though someone is up there, on the landing, hovering, waiting for me to go. I stop. There’s definitely someone there.

  ‘Rob?’ I call. ‘You there?’

  Nothing. Just silence but the sense that someone is there is even stronger now. It doesn’t have to be Rob. I feel the beginnings of fear creeping through my gut. Maybe it’s a break-in. Someone up there and I’ve disturbed him. There’s all kinds of stuff here. Not just Rob’s stuff but Grandpa’s medals. And his guns. I think about legging it out of there but I find myself gripping the banister and mounting the stairs.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

  Rob is standing at the top of the stairs in a pair of grey jersey trunks. The scarring livid on his leg. His arms folded, biceps bulging under his tattoos. He keeps in shape, doing weights, and it shows. His torso gleams with sweat like it’s oiled, his stomach muscles ribbed and distinct beneath the powerful chest.

  ‘I came over to ask you something. Then I thought there was someone upstairs . . .’

  ‘Well there is. Me. As you can see. How did you get in?’

  ‘I used the spare key from the garden. Grandpa used to keep one there.’

  ‘Did he?’ Rob frowns, like he knew that but had forgotten. His arms tighten across his chest. ‘Well, I don’t want every fucker in here all times of the night and day so you can just leave it on the table and go.’

  ‘No. There’s something I want to know.’

  ‘Not now, Jimbo.’

  He looks behind him. He’s not alone. There’s someone up there with him. That accounts for why he didn’t answer, why he’s upstairs in the middle of the day, why he’s only wearing a pair of trunks, the sheen of sweat across his body.

  ‘Yes. Now.’

  I go to mount the stairs, determined to see who he’s got up there. He comes down to meet me, barring my way.

  ‘I said, not now!’

  He takes me by one arm and turns me, forcing me back down the stairs. He frogmarches me to the front door, yanks it open, and suddenly I’m outside. The door slams and I hear the chain lock thrown across.

  I step back and look up at the house, helpless. The curtains are open a bit now and he’s standing at the window watching me. I can see a shape, an outline, the shadow of a girl. She comes up behind him and puts her arms around his waist. I can’
t see her face but silver flashes in the sun. She’s wearing bracelets, lots of them. They slither down her arm as she reaches up to embrace him.

  It could be another girl with bracelets, lots of girls wear bracelets, but I know it isn’t. This is what’s been in my head, but I didn’t want to believe. A little, tiny bit of me was expecting a reprieve. It’s like being in a car that is going to crash. Part of you is watching, seeing what is about to happen, but your brain can’t accept, won’t accept that this is it. I have that sick feeling deep inside me. This is bad. The kind of feeling you get when you lose something irreplaceable. You know that it has gone but still you look and look for it, revisiting the same places, not accepting that it is lost for ever.

  I don’t feel angry; I’m in a place beyond that. The betrayal is so deep, so complete, that I just feel empty, as though my insides have been hollowed out of me. I haven’t felt like this since I was a kid when I’d run down the street crying because of something he’d done to me, some hurt or rejection, teased me beyond endurance. I don’t cry now. I bite down hard on my lip until I taste blood in my mouth and just walk away, leaving my bike in the road, back wheel ticking. I don’t look back. I know that nobody will be there.

  Chapter 27

  Absinthe

  n. 1. A highly alcoholic bitter aniseed-flavoured spirit,

  usually green in colour, traditionally distilled from wine flavoured with wormwood (Artemisia absinthium) and other herbs, and served diluted with sugared water

  Vanilla

  n. A pod produced by one or other species of the genus Vanilla

  Oxford English Dictionary

  Absinthe and vanilla ice cream. Can’t I like them both at the same time? Aniseed, sharp at the root; vanilla, sweet on the tip of the tongue. Can’t I have a taste for both of them?