He gazes around the room, whilst counting to six in his head. He didn’t mean to go off on that point; it was a pointless track. That was life after all. Unjust.
‘The point is, I knew how important it was to my grandparents. I understood it was an opportunity for me, one not many had. And I did intend to make the most of it, but life had other ideas.’ He shakes his head. ‘Or I just wasn’t strong enough in the end. I failed, big time.’ He regards his feet; he’d always believed this, but he’d never voiced it before. He didn’t get the chance. He was told his parents would be so proud of him. Not that this mattered; he couldn’t remember them anyway. His grandparents were his parents. That was more than enough for him, despite the cruel remarks. Cruel annotations made by a leader with many followers. The school coward, the bully.
‘So you feel like you failed, Gregg?’
Didn’t I just say that? Brings him back to the moment. ‘As I said, one of the downsides of not attending the more local state school is separation, distance from your friends. I had a good group of friends, but I was especially close to Tom. He was an only child too; to be honest, we were more like brothers. Were, being the word here. Tom stayed with us for the first two weeks of the holidays whilst his parents were away. Which was great.’ His eyes smile. ‘We built a makeshift gym using various bits and pieces we found in one of the outhouses. Spent hours doing it, then worked out to music, sneaking some of my grandfather’s ale in to help us along.’ After Tom left for home, he spent many more hours pummelling his makeshift sandbag swinging from the log-store beam, with that bastard’s face in mind. It helped. It was what bullies needed, he and Tom agreed.
‘But the rest of the holidays dragged. There’s only so many times you can play football against the wall. It was good enough reason to look forward to returning to school again.’
‘So, you and your friend Tom were as close as brothers; but you were quite a lonely lad otherwise. And school helped with this loneliness?’
‘That about sums it up, yes.’ He regards Susie, waiting to see if she offers any more insight. Nothing, so he feels compelled to continue.
‘But had I known then what I did by the end of the term, I’d never have got on the bus that morning.’
‘It wasn’t a good term for you, then?’
He sighs heavily, filling the air with regret. ‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t, no.’
‘Okay.’ Susie nods once. That’s it, no questions? he ponders. Not that he’s ready for questions.
‘If you don’t mind, Susie, before you ask, I’m not ready to go over that stuff, not yet. As I said, I haven’t ever spoken about it before.’
Susie’s nude upturned lips reassure him. ‘No, of course. I understand, it’s going to take some time, Gregg. That’s fine with me, of course it is. You’re not ready to take the step yet so just continue with what you feel comfortable with.’ She makes a note on her pad as he looks on, jotting down his first revelations. He wonders if she dines out on this book of secrets.
‘Thank you. I’m not sure I’d be so patient with me. I really couldn’t do your job. I’d want to tell people to just get on with it, for Christ’s sake!’ He notices her slight frown; she seems a little bemused by his comment. A quiet awkward moment for him but not for her ensues, occupying the room; urging him to fill it.
‘The thing is, I mean, the reason why I find it so difficult is because it changed my life forever. It ruined everything. Or, more accurately and honestly, I ruined everything. If I tell you it was over twenty-five years ago, all this, and I still haven’t recovered. It still keeps me awake in the middle of the night. It also completely changed the direction of my life, all of my ambitions gone.’ He taps his feet on the silent floor. ‘I think, worst of all, I lost all and everything I’ve ever loved. I betrayed them, you see. I’ve never been able to forgive myself.’ He averts his eyes back to the window, feeling his jaw harden, biting down on his teeth. ‘I. Have. So. Much. Burning. Hate and. Resentment.’ He stabs at his chest. ‘Inside me. I can’t ever forgive myself.’ He looks back at Susie. ‘I just can’t let it go. The injustice of it all, knowing he got away with it. I know he’s still out there somewhere, with no remorse at all. Some days, Susie, some days, it feels as if I’m being eaten alive.’
Susie nods, looks to her pad and scribbles away. It is easier than he imagined to blurt this stuff out. But he is so conscious of opening wide the doors in his mind he expends so much effort trying to keep shut.
No going back now.
He looks down at the oversized watch hanging heavy from his tanned wrist; his father’s. A well-built man who spent his life in the forces. A cruel irony. A life devoted to the firing line, then killed in a car accident on his honeymoon. At the time, he was just a baby. He lost them both, his mother too, before having the chance to know them. His grandparents took over the realm. The two people he treasured most in the world. Them and Tom. He takes a moment to himself, conscious his time is running out for his appointment. His suddenly eager mouth has to wait, at least until the next time.
He pictures the moment again, waiting for his school bus, seeing himself throw his worn grey bag to the tarmac, plonk himself down on top; wriggling around to manoeuvre the contents into a more cushion-like, comfy position. With sight of his bus approaching, he dragged himself up from his squashed rucksack, brushed off the gathered dust.
‘With a bit of luck that little shit might have left,’ he muttered before beginning his routine banter with the driver.
He looks up, but Susie is still scribbling.
So much unnecessary loss. Pathways built to a never-ending road. September, 1986, the annual school trip, marked the twisting of destiny. Everything changed in Cornwall. The gravity of the consequences could never have been foreseen. He innocently found himself indebted to a cause searching for accountability and retribution. Fuelled by a potent measure of guilt, injustice and hatred.
He’s suddenly aware of Susie’s eyes studying him, rescuing him from his thoughts. ‘So, Gregg, this is about all we have time for today. Do you want to make another appointment?’ He really doesn’t have any choice, it has strangely enough provided a strange form of relief, hearing the dreaded words rather than the constant mind-battering.
‘Yes, I think I will, thank you.’
‘Lovely. You have done excellently. I realise it hasn’t been easy for you today.’
You have no idea, he thinks. But the end is in sight now. He doesn’t care what anyone says, revenge is going to be sweet.
Back outside, he descends the steps, avoiding the last. Perhaps a wander through Truro will help clear the mind, he decides. He only makes it as far as the old market square, where local produce exhibits, the aroma of pasties from a local bakery, antagonise his hollow stomach. He stops to share a bench with an eagle-eyed seagull, allowing his mind to reopen the door now already ajar. After the school trip to Cornwall, everything turned horribly wrong. September 1986 – he closes his eyes, to revisit the oozing scars.