Mum, but you both feel the need to get out of the memory-permeated house. James went into the army at sixteen and you haven’t seen much of him in the last few years. You remember him as the kid who wet himself while you were being beaten up by Robert and Reg; now he’s a Marine, newly promoted to sergeant, trained to kill. It’s likely that he will be sent to the Falklands.
The Lime Kiln is full, packed with drinkers whose fathers are still alive or have been dead for so long that it doesn’t matter. You and James share a feeling that now you have to be grown-up, that the job of Man of the Family must be split between you. At least James has a direction in life; you’re still not sure if you’ve been making the right decisions. Dad’s death, from a cerebral haemorrhage no one was expecting, has made you think. In your mind, you’ve been going back, reassessing, wondering if you could have chosen better, if you could have changed things.
As you force your way through to the bar, a cheer goes up. You wonder why, then remember James is in uniform. There’s a drunken wave of patriotism going on in the aftermath of the invasion of the Falkland Islands, a frenzy of kill-the-Argies war-hunger. The barman is Max Lewis, with whom you were at school though he was never a special friend. James orders a couple of pints of bitter. A man claps him on the shoulder and offers to pay for the drinks.
James, flinching from the touch, turns to accept… and freezes. Pressed close to James by the crowd, you sense the tension which draws your brother tight as a bowstring an instant before you recognise the man with the money.
It’s Robert Hackwill, grown up.
The Ash Grove School Bully has done well for himself. He wears a sheepskin coat and a trilby hat. His property business is flourishing and he is in line for a council seat. He has a flash car, a Jag. His smile splits the world horizontally in half.
Hackwill repeats his offer.
You look around for Jessup, never far from Hackwill, and spot him in a corner. Reg’s smirk is still there, shaped by the fat in his face. He’s still a sidekick.
What will James do? It’s fifteen years later and Hackwill is off his guard. James has been trained to kill. You know your brother must be thinking of breaking a glass in the grown-up bully’s face.
You remember that day. When James wet himself while being given the worst Chinese burn in history and Robert and Reg, astonished that you had come into the copse to rescue your brother, took great delight in beating you up. They knocked you down and kicked you until your sides were black and blue under your filthy clothes. You never explained your bruises to your parents or a teacher. Telling on Robert Hackwill was an invitation to pain.
You have never talked about it with James. But you’ve been close ever since, sharing a hidden purpose, a hidden hurt. You’ve known you could always count on your brother and he on you.
Max puts two pints on the bar. James picks his up carefully, getting a good grip.
You can
see
the pint smashing against Hackwill’s smile, glass exploding, blood and froth drenching him.
But James just takes a deep draught of the beer and swallows. Hackwill, smile fixed, eyes hardening, repeats his offer, as if James had not heard him over the din. Somehow, the noise of the pub dies down. You know everyone is paying attention.
‘You can fuck right off, Hackwill,’ James tells him, verbally slapping the generous grin from his face. ‘I’d rather have a drink on General Galtieri than you.’
Hackwill plainly doesn’t recognise or remember either of you, the Marion brothers. For a moment, he looks shocked, as though he – the bully – is about to cry. Everyone in the pub notices and laughs a little louder, talks a little more raucously. They are all delighted to see the squaddie see off Robert Bloody Jaguar Hackwill. Everybody remembers their school bully. No one ever forgives.
You clap your arm round James and
The Lime Kiln is full, packed with drinkers whose fathers are still alive or have been dead for so long that it doesn’t matter. You and James share a feeling that now you have to be grown-up, that the job of Man of the Family must be split between you. At least James has a direction in life; you’re still not sure if you’ve been making the right decisions. Dad’s death, from a cerebral haemorrhage no one was expecting, has made you think. In your mind, you’ve been going back, reassessing, wondering if you could have chosen better, if you could have changed things.
As you force your way through to the bar, a cheer goes up. You wonder why, then remember James is in uniform. There’s a drunken wave of patriotism going on in the aftermath of the invasion of the Falkland Islands, a frenzy of kill-the-Argies war-hunger. The barman is Max Lewis, with whom you were at school though he was never a special friend. James orders a couple of pints of bitter. A man claps him on the shoulder and offers to pay for the drinks.
James, flinching from the touch, turns to accept… and freezes. Pressed close to James by the crowd, you sense the tension which draws your brother tight as a bowstring an instant before you recognise the man with the money.
It’s Robert Hackwill, grown up.
The Ash Grove School Bully has done well for himself. He wears a sheepskin coat and a trilby hat. His property business is flourishing and he is in line for a council seat. He has a flash car, a Jag. His smile splits the world horizontally in half.
Hackwill repeats his offer.
You look around for Jessup, never far from Hackwill, and spot him in a corner. Reg’s smirk is still there, shaped by the fat in his face. He’s still a sidekick.
What will James do? It’s fifteen years later and Hackwill is off his guard. James has been trained to kill. You know your brother must be thinking of breaking a glass in the grown-up bully’s face.
You remember that day. When James wet himself while being given the worst Chinese burn in history and Robert and Reg, astonished that you had come into the copse to rescue your brother, took great delight in beating you up. They knocked you down and kicked you until your sides were black and blue under your filthy clothes. You never explained your bruises to your parents or a teacher. Telling on Robert Hackwill was an invitation to pain.
You have never talked about it with James. But you’ve been close ever since, sharing a hidden purpose, a hidden hurt. You’ve known you could always count on your brother and he on you.
Max puts two pints on the bar. James picks his up carefully, getting a good grip.
You can
see
the pint smashing against Hackwill’s smile, glass exploding, blood and froth drenching him.
But James just takes a deep draught of the beer and swallows. Hackwill, smile fixed, eyes hardening, repeats his offer, as if James had not heard him over the din. Somehow, the noise of the pub dies down. You know everyone is paying attention.
‘You can fuck right off, Hackwill,’ James tells him, verbally slapping the generous grin from his face. ‘I’d rather have a drink on General Galtieri than you.’
Hackwill plainly doesn’t recognise or remember either of you, the Marion brothers. For a moment, he looks shocked, as though he – the bully – is about to cry. Everyone in the pub notices and laughs a little louder, talks a little more raucously. They are all delighted to see the squaddie see off Robert Bloody Jaguar Hackwill. Everybody remembers their school bully. No one ever forgives.
You clap your arm round James and
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