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He mourned.
When he should’ve been testing the voice he had left, he was too terrified to open his mouth.
He didn’t speak or utter a sound for so long it became a habit.
32: Unfixed
London was colder, wetter, and more depressing than Georgia remembered it. Hamish was livelier, funnier, and better company. Which was hard to credit given what they were to each other.
They’d never been back to where Jeffrey happened. It was different, of course, nine years later. It was dark and cold then, drizzling. She shivered, but not from the lack of sunshine. There’d been a card shop that sold novelties on the corner. It was a trendy clothing store now. The railing was still there, separating the roadway and the flow of traffic from the pedestrian pavement.
Memories hurtled at her. Snogging in the library with Hamish. Strolling home to his flat and coming across Jeffrey in a fight with Thomas. Thomas barely recognisable for the blood. Pulling out of Hamish’s grip. Getting in Jeffrey’s sightline and shouting at him. The satisfaction and relief when he stopped hitting Thomas, dropped him to the pavement, and put down the knife. Then the horror when Jeffrey charged at Hamish, pushed him against that traffic barrier, then with superhuman strength, lifted him up and over it, tossing Hamish headfirst like a spear onto the road. The cars screeching to a stop, all those horns blaring, lights flashing, people shouting, Hamish lying crumpled, unmoving.
Hamish ran a hand over the shoulder high metal barricade. “That’s much taller than I remember it being.”
Georgia touched Hamish’s arm. “I thought you didn’t remember at all.”
He shook his head, his shaggy hair flying. “I didn’t. At least, I didn’t admit to it. I do remember though.”
That was a surprise, like so much of this new Hamish was. “It was the drugs, he was unstable.”
“I know, Georgie, I know. And it wasn’t your fault. It was just… We must’ve talked about this a thousand times.”
They had and it was always the same horror story. Jeffrey was mentally i
ll. Georgia hadn’t understood that; equated Jeffery being difficult with her dad when he was drunk, and was high on her fixer capabilities, her previous successes at talking Jeffrey down. She made a decision that went bad. She should’ve let Hamish steer her around the drama. He had his phone out, he was talking to the police.
And at the end Jeffrey shouting, “I did that for you, Georgie girl. Now you’re free.”
“It still feels like it’s my fault,” she said.
“Then sack your therapist. You said the woman was helping.”
“She has helped. I feel stronger, more confident. But this is not about me. What do you remember?”
“Can we go somewhere else? I’ll tell you, but not here, all right?”
She looked left. “Is that big old bookshop still there?”
“Bookshop cafe now. I think they sell more babycinos than books.”
The bookshop was four streets away, tucked off the main road. It was quieter, less frenetic. It was just warm enough by English standards to sit outside on crates with padded cushions on top. Hamish ordered for them, scones with jam and cream, then put his hand over hers on the table. “It’s so good to have you here. I wouldn’t have done this without you.”
Hamish being genuinely nice was a little thrill. “Was it worth doing, really? What does it mean to you to see it?”
He took his hand away and sighed. “I don’t know, it’s just when I think about it, dream about it, it’s this horrible scary place, dark and wet, and the traffic is always these big-wheeled trucks coming to run me down, which is stupid since they’re not even allowed in this part of the city and I was unconscious anyway, I wasn’t even aware of ordinary cars. My brain wants to remember it as an accident waiting to happen, as a trivial thing I should’ve been able to walk away from and I know it wasn’t like that. So seeing that, well, maybe the dreams will stop.”
“You could’ve come back any time.”
Hamish wrinkled his nose. He waited until the waitress had put their coffees on the table. “Ah, but then I’d have had to face the truth wouldn’t I? And if I faced the truth, well, I’d have no good reason to be so angry all the time.”
She pushed the sugar dispenser across the table to him. “You’d have plenty of reasons.”
“Yes, all right, reasons, but choice, that’s a different thing. In the beginning I didn’t have a choice about the anger, it was part of the injury. Later on, I chose to be angry and to take it out on you, on everyone, really. I didn’t have to do that.”
The waitress was back with their scones and a selection of jams. Georgia went with blackberry and Hamish with strawberry. He made a joke with the waitress about loganberries that made no sense, but sent her away laughing. It made Georgia shake her head. Before Jeffrey, Hamish’s wit was sharp and sly and funny. After, he didn’t care for social niceties and he could be abrupt and picky.
“I didn’t know what to make of your letter, and then for the first week I was here I was on my guard, ready for you to forget to be nice.”
