Afterwards

by Rachel Seiffert

  – Wankers giving you orders.

  – Wankers is right. No birds. No decent ones anyway.

  – Comfy shoe brigade.

  – Get fit, get paid for it.

  – Not enough.

  – Not enough for taking a bullet.

  – Better than hanging about with you cunts.

  – Go on. Piss off then.

  It was easy in the end. Couldn’t believe he hadn’t done it earlier. The recruiting office was on the high street and he just went down there one afternoon after he finished work. His dad read over all the papers with him, said he should take his time, that it was a big decision, but it didn’t feel that way to Joseph: just the best he’d felt in ages. When he got his dates for basic training, it was like his whole life had got easier. Still getting up, going to work and coming home again. Still the same old same old but it didn’t bother him. And it was like that again when he found out they’d been posted to Ireland. It was knowing he was going. That feeling: like something real was going to happen.

  Joseph thought about telling Alice he’d hated it, because he had sometimes, especially out in Ireland. It got to all of them, the stress and the boredom, worst combination: led to poor concentration, zero motivation. Add the rain and cold, and days like that Joseph would be counting, counting, from the minute they started, clocking off time. Feeling everything slipping, seconds going by too slow and all gone slack inside. Uniform walking empty. No will, no muscle to put into the task at hand. Just wanting to get this patrol over and be back in his bunk. Still functioning, but brain and body shunted over to minimum.

  Turned the volume on his radio down once. Stupid thing to do, fucking dangerous for everyone, but he just couldn’t be arsed with the patrol that morning and all the orders. Slung his rifle and walked out across the stubble and on through a hedge, even after he’d heard the command to wait shouted behind him.

  – What the bloody hell were you doing?

  He was spoken to after by the Second Lieutenant heading up the multiple. Just out of Sandhurst and younger than Joseph: they’d all been giving him a hard time ever since he came. Joseph got the CO’s face shoved up to his after they got back to the barracks too, and then a man-to-man attempt from the Lieutenant later on in the evening: he came and found Joseph having a cigarette out behind the cookhouse.

  – I’m not getting one hundred per cent from you, am I?

  He’d made a point of telling them he’d been to a comprehensive. Didn’t sound like it, and Townsend had told him it couldn’t have been nearly as comprehensive as his school was. Sir.

  – Are you listening to me, Mason?

  – Sir.

  – Left us all open, your little display. Anyone watching would have been laughing.

  – Sir.

  Joseph knew what he meant: had wondered what the patrol looked like already, seen through a rifle sight.

  – Very disappointing because I’ve read your file, so I know you to be a capable soldier.

  The whole company had privileges withdrawn because of Joseph’s fuck-up. The bar was locked and everyone was calling him a stupid cunt, so he’d come outside because he felt like one too. The rain had stopped, but Joseph could still hear it singing in the guttering: one ear on that, the other on the army psychology: praising and scolding. Disappointing. Just like being at school again. Except he was a grown man and getting ticked off made it hard to see the point in staying.

  But Joseph couldn’t tell Alice all that, just like he couldn’t tell her he’d had no good reason for joining: it all sounded too much like he was making excuses. Big mistake, not my fault, too young, I never wanted to be there in the first place.

  Plenty of times he’d wanted to chuck it, but he wouldn’t have stuck his three years if it was that bad, would he? Moaning came with the territory: always somebody talking about leaving, or slagging off the army. You could tell when Lee was losing it, because he’d start banging on about how the IRA had all the best suppliers: arms coming in on fishing boats from America and Gadaffi. He’d keep hauling out the same old chestnuts. Given the choice, would you have an Armalite or an SA80?

  – The IRA buy quality and we get this piss-poor excuse for a weapon.

  Joseph wasn’t like Lee, never felt he had axes to be grinding. Not like Jarvis either, who said he slept and ate and shat the regiment. Jarvis didn’t mind them complaining, as long as they didn’t do it out on patrol. He said soldiers who moaned were better at doing what they were told:

  – Give you an inch, I can get a mile out of you after, and you won’t really mind.

  Most of the blokes he knew in the army were happy enough to be there, and Joseph thought he should count himself among them. A capable soldier. Even when he was piss-wet through and knackered. Out in the November wet and dark and feeling hungry; fields and roads coming up to the border; Townsend tapping on the passenger’s window; the man by the car was reaching again, so Joseph shouldered his rifle.

  It was all part of the same thing, and he just couldn’t have Alice knowing. She was asking now and he knew it shouldn’t surprise him. Wanted to be straight with her, but he didn’t think he could be.

  Joseph left early again, said he had a job on north of the river, and Alice lay in his bed for a long time after, until she was late for work and had no excuse to give them. I don’t know what’s going on with my boyfriend. She knew that wouldn’t really cut it. Clare would be on this morning, and Alice thought she might talk to her about Joseph at lunchtime, but couldn’t think what she would say: it wasn’t anything concrete. She thought of him in the car, avoiding her questions. Nothing hostile about him, but he was resisting, and it made her uneasy.

  Soldiers and Northern Ireland. Alice kept trying to push them away, all those associations. Teenage boy shot in the back while he was driving away: not a terrorist, a joyrider, but they baked him a cake all the same, the soldier who did it, threw him a party back at the barracks to celebrate. Another four, another time, stabbed a man with a screwdriver, because it was the end of their tour and they were still alive and they wanted to do over a local before they went home. Disconnected incidents. Fragments, only half-remembered from the news, from years-old conversations in front of the radio and TV.

  Alice was aware of getting ahead of herself, making too much of yesterday’s failed conversation: she had no idea why Joseph had been so cagey, might even have had his mind on other things entirely, he was working a lot just now, and tired with it. But then, that was just the problem with not knowing, wasn’t it? Left you too much space for speculation.

  British forces, welcomed by Catholics when they first arrived, but quickly hated: dawn raids, bedrooms turned over, humiliation. Bessbrook was built by Quakers, but now the biggest army base in Ireland took up half the town. Alan must have told her that one, or her mum, it was the kind of detail they’d pick up on. Stephen Restorick was a name she remembered. Because he was the last British soldier to be killed there. Shot at long range while he was talking to a woman, a civilian. She was a Catholic and she stayed with him while he died, because his mum couldn’t be there.

  What would Joseph say? That’s just the obvious? Alice could accept that much: maybe these bits and pieces did just reflect her ignorance. Or at least her choice of daily paper. But he was the best person to put that right for her, surely? He could tell her. What would he do if she pushed him, just kept on insisting? Even thinking about that was frightening: she’d gone too far before, and her dad had stopped writing. It was too easily done, that kind of damage, and too complete. But it didn’t have to be that way with Joseph, did it? The cup of tea he’d made for her skinned over on the box that served as a bedside table.

  Joseph didn’t have much furniture, said he could never get round to it. His flat was mostly floorboards and crates, with a couple of nice things he’d picked up from skips and on jobs. He’d told Alice it drove his sister mad: he’d been there four years and she said it still looked like he was squatting. It wasn’t so important to
Joseph, Alice knew that, and she liked the fact he didn’t care about owning much. A comfortable mattress, a few good albums on vinyl, but walking around his rooms that morning, she was tempted to agree with Eve: it did all seem very temporary. Irrational. You’ve got no reason to think he’ll be going, have you? Alice washed and dressed. She was alone in the flat and thought for a while she could go looking. No. Pathetic. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to find it in his sock drawer or his kitchen cabinets.

  Alice worked with a woman from Glasgow: Siona was a few years older, had lived all over, left home and Scotland when she was sixteen. She’d taught Alice ‘The Fields of Athenry’ at a hospital party once. Her dad was a Celtic supporter, her whole family, and he’d taken Siona to the football every weekend, even before she started school. Her mum drew the line at Old Firm games, but her brothers told her about them: Red Hand of Ulster on one set of terraces, tricolours and rebel songs on the other. Siona said she’d always known the words, and on which side she belonged. Told Alice about the Orange marches through the city centre too: could feel the drums in your belly, even when they were streets away. And about the blades that got pulled on the side roads after matches, away from the stadium and the mounted police, where the crowds got thinner. Best to stick with your own. Siona had been glad to get away from it: that mentality. Imagine being caught up in Belfast or Portadown, where that shite really matters.

  On Sunday, Alice visited her grandfather as usual. Crossword and tea, and then she helped him do some autumn tidying in the back garden. Raked the leaves into black bags for rotting, stacked up twigs and dry stems ready for burning. When the light started to go, they retreated into his kitchen. Her grandad talked frosts and pests while the kettle was boiling: a nothing conversation that Alice joined in with, standing next to the radiator, but the cold of the day stayed in her face and fingers. This was nothing like the conversations they’d had in the summer: her grandfather was back to his old arm’s-length habits, and Alice didn’t like it.

  He asked after Joseph, interested, the way he always did now, and it irritated her.

  – He’s fine, working hard before things slow down over the winter.

  Alice shrugged out the platitudes. Through the door, she could see the new wallpaper in the hallway, thought of all the hours and days Joseph had spent here. The job was finished, but he’d even talked about coming again, touching up the woodwork, which didn’t look to her like it needed doing.

  It was cold outside and starting to spot when she left. Her grandfather waited in the porch while she unlocked her bike, and then he came to the gate as always, but she didn’t give him a kiss, just waved, backing away, saying she’d call and see him in a fortnight. Alice cycled to the station, angry with them both, her grandfather and Joseph, but she was also ashamed at her own behaviour. Sulking about the two men and the time they spent together. Neither of them was giving anything. She pushed hard against the pedals.

  His dad’s birthday fell on a Saturday, and his mum was cooking lunch. She dropped hints on the phone about inviting Alice along, and Joseph was glad when he asked her, could see she was pleased.

  – Who else will be there?

  – Just Eve and Art. And Ben.

  Alice was pulling on her waterproofs in his hallway, ready for a wet morning’s cycle to work.

  – Yeah, alright then. Yeah.

  She stopped to answer, smiling at him from behind her jacket collar, and Joseph thought the invitation could be a way of making up to her, maybe. For the way he’d been with her lately: on his guard, and he didn’t want to be. Picking up extra jobs, though he didn’t need the money at the moment, just kept saying yes to them, working all hours and he’d hardly seen her this past week or two. He kissed her before she went out the door.

  Alice had met Eve and Arthur before, but only once and accidentally. She’d arrived at the flat as they were leaving one afternoon, and they’d all stood out on the walkway shaking hands and smiling, Ben hiding behind Eve’s legs and Alice crouching down to say hello and everyone laughing because he was so shy with her.

  Joseph stood out there now, looking down at the courtyard. Watched Alice cycle through the puddles and out onto the road. She wasn’t stupid, wouldn’t stand this treatment long, he knew that, and it made him nervous. She was happy about meeting his parents, but she’d also want some proper answers to her questions.

  Joseph’s mum had a new blouse on when they got there, a spot of lippy too, for Alice’s benefit probably. He smiled about it with his mum in the kitchen, getting cups of tea ready for everyone, and she swiped at his knees with a dishcloth for making fun, but she wasn’t angry.

  – Go and sit down, smartarse, I’ll bring the tray in.

  Ben was sticking close to Eve again, watching Alice the whole time, but not going near. Alice tried kneeling down by the tank engines on the rug for a while, but he wasn’t having any of it. She did better with Joseph’s mum, sitting next to her over lunch, talking to her about what she could do for her back, the nagging pains of twenty-odd years spent bending over people’s haircuts. Joseph watched them across the table, tucking in their chins and dropping their shoulders, thinking about what Alice had said about her job, how you could get to know people looking after their tendons and joints, that was the best part, if you got that trust. His mum was following Alice’s lead, straightening her spine, and letting her arms hang loose by her sides.

  Joseph’s dad was first at the door after the washing up was done. Standing with his coat on and his snooker cue, waiting while they all said goodbye to Joseph’s mum. Alice was slow about her buttons and said it didn’t seem right:

  – First you cook for us, and now we’re leaving you here and going to the pub.

  – Don’t be silly, love.

  Joseph’s mum waved her off, pleased to be made a fuss of. Ben was sleeping upstairs, and she said someone had to listen out for him. Joseph knew Alice was doing everything right for his mum, but she was pissing Eve off in the process. He could see his sister trying to keep it polite, and failing:

  – We’ll take it in turns. It’s what we always do.

  – Oh right, okay.

  Alice blinked, awkward, and Joseph was glad when his mum smiled at her again.

  – I’ll be fine, put my feet up. Do some of your exercises first.

  It was wet outside and the estate was quiet, just a couple of boys on bikes with their hoods pulled up. The rain came on harder again while they were walking, so they cut through the alley past the shops, which got them to the side entrance of the snooker club. There was a reception on in the function room and a sign pointed the wedding guests round to the main door on the road, the paper damp and flapping. Joseph’s dad stood aside for Alice and they all followed her inside.

  Music leaked through the walls from the party, but there were only a few in the main bar, and one game on round the corner where the snooker tables were. Joseph played his dad, because that’s what they always did on birthdays, and Arthur set up one of the other tables with Alice while Eve got the drinks in. They weren’t playing a proper game: Arthur was just explaining how the scoring worked and setting up shots so Alice could get used to holding a cue. It wasn’t done on a Saturday really, taking up a table like that, but the club wasn’t as busy as usual, probably because of the party next door, and no one was complaining. Alice was on form too, and Joseph had to admire her: new place, new people, and after the bad start with Eve and everything, she wasn’t letting it get to her, and not taking herself too seriously either. In a room full of would-have-been-professionals, and creasing up when she couldn’t get the white up the length of the table. Never made it as far as the pink, came to rest a good couple of feet from the cushion. Hard to tell what she’d been aiming for, the yellow would have been easier. It was good to see her like that, his dad and Arthur laughing with her, and Eve as well. Even the old sod who’d come in after them and was waiting for a game cracked a smile.

  Joseph’s dad had a comfortable win and s
tayed on the table to play the next man. Their first drinks were nearly finished, so Joseph took a turn up at the bar, but there was nobody serving. A bloke came in from the function room carrying pints, nodded to Joseph and then back at the door he’d just come through:

  – They’re all in there. Never put enough staff on today.

  He looked familiar, but Joseph couldn’t place him: one of his mum and dad’s neighbours maybe. He’d recognised Joseph too: not at first, but after he’d passed him, gave him a longer, second look over his shoulder. Still no one behind the bar, so Joseph signalled to Arthur that he was going into the big room.

  It was hot in there and full of people. Pork pies cut into quarters and pints served in plastic glasses. A few wedding guests were dancing, not pissed enough yet and a bit embarrassed, sharing fags and trying to pretend they were only talking while they shuffled to the muffled disco on the cracked lino. Someone had closed the curtains to get the right atmosphere going, only there weren’t enough to cover all the windows and Joseph could see that it was still light outside. A sign on the wall said free bar for half an hour and the queue was three deep. Everyone was getting pints and chasers and when he finally got served, the drinks Joseph ordered for his dad and Arthur came with shots he never asked for. Too many glasses for the tiny tray the barmaid brought him. Joseph didn’t think about it for long, just downed them.

  His dad was over by the fruit machines when Joseph came back with the drinks. He had a small crowd gathered around him, shaking hands and back-slapping the birthday boy, and they turned and acknowledged Joseph as he was passing: men he’d known all his life, mates of his dad’s from work, dads of his friends from school. Joseph looked back when he got to the tables, but the bloke from earlier wasn’t among them.

  Eve and Alice were sitting together now. Space enough for at least one person between them on the bench, and it looked like Alice was making most of the conversation, but they carried on talking after Joseph pulled a chair up with them, so he didn’t like to interrupt. Just sat back and watched Arthur playing the old sod from earlier. He listened to the karaoke from the other room, ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’ and then ‘I Will Survive’, felt the warmth in his throat making its way down to his guts, the chasers getting to work.