Guilt by Sarah Michelle Lynch

Author:Sarah Michelle Lynch [Lynch, Sarah Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

AS I’M DRIVING to the linen warehouse out of town to pick up some material for Hetty’s new dresses, it occurs to me I’m passing Gage’s old training ground. They wanted me to attend a memorial there for him, but I never showed. I think they understood, but I still feel bad.

The car ends up driving itself there, but when I vacate the vehicle in the potholed car park, I realise there’s really only one reason why I’m here.

I make my way to the adjoining rugby club and find most of his teammates in attendance, as is usual for a quiet Saturday afternoon. Everyone puts down their pints and people form an orderly queue to come over and hug me.

I’m inundated by hugs and quiet murmurs of, “We’re so sorry. Are you okay?”

I nod and tell everyone I’m getting there, or I’m better than I was, or I’m just glad he didn’t suffer. Things to comfort them, more than me. I’m not going to tell them I was not long ago crying into my coffee, nor that I was bedbound for three weeks.

A few of Gage’s teammates give me big, longer-than-needed bear hugs, but there’s one person who just keeps to himself, nursing his beer at the bar.

Once I’ve accepted a dozen business cards, all with the offer to help me with anything I want, whenever, wherever – for free – I finally escape the long line of mourners and make it to the bar.

“Anything I can get you?” Derek, behind the bar, asks.

“Cup of tea?”

“Coming right up.”

I sit at the bar by Gage’s best friend, Marvin. He says nothing.

Derek brings me my tea and whispers, “On the house.”

I suppose I had better drink this tea now, hadn’t I? Even though I’ve gone off it, it’s the only thing in here I’ll drink. The pumps are probably in need of a clean, the lemonade always tastes like cleaning fluid and everything else has too many numbers in it.

“I want to talk to you, in private,” I mutter, looking ahead, the same as Marvin is. We’re not addressing one another, even though he knows I’m really only here for him.

“Why not here?” he asks, his voice gravelly. He’s a hulking black man, but even for him, he sounds more husky than normal… sort of broken.

“There are questions… difficult ones. Also, if you have questions, I’ll answer them, too.”

“I think we should just get it over with, then.”

“Okay, I’m glad you agree.”

I drink half the cold tea in my cup and stand from my stool, nodding at Derek as Marvin and I leave as inconspicuously as possible.

“We’ll sit in my car,” I instruct, as we enter the car park.

We climb into my car and I’m immediately assaulted by his scent, trapped together in such a confined space. It’s so familiar because it’s the same smell Gage had – the stuff the club washes the kits in, the smell of grass and mud, a metallic film clinging to his hair from training early this morning, the various factory stenches in the air as they ran about the pitch.

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