The End is Where We Begin by Maria Goodin (best books to read non fiction .TXT) 📗

“On the right!” calls Peter.

I lock the door behind me and immediately run the cold tap, splashing water over my hands and face.

I can feel my chest starting to tighten, my breathing coming in short, sharp bursts.

I lean on the sink and try to count backwards from a hundred, but I can’t concentrate. I need to get out of here, but how can I leave? I remember – even though I’ve spent years trying to forget – the day of Max’s funeral. Carole – white as a sheet with dark circles under her eyes – asking us boys to stay in touch. I never did. I never even once called round to the house or picked up the phone or wrote a letter. I couldn’t. The one thing his parents asked of me and I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. And neither did Michael. And neither did…

But then I wonder how Tom found them so quickly. How did he know where they’d moved to? And the familiar way in which Carole and Peter greeted him. Has he kept in contact all this time?

I lean on the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. I look pale, my eyes tinged pink with tiredness. I haven’t shaved in over a week.

I can’t do this anymore. Things aren’t getting better; they’re getting worse. I don’t know what will help me, but I need to do something. For me. For Josh. I want to be a better version of myself. A better father. A better brother. A better son. A better friend. But instead I’m sinking. I don’t want to reach the bottom. I want to swim.

I dry my face, my breathing slowed, my shaking calmed.

If it will do any good at all, then I need to tell them. I need to just get it out.

We sit silently, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. No one’s laughing anymore. They’re just waiting.

“We left the fairground,” I start, quietly, “we were later than we should have been. I’d been… Tom… one of us had been trying to win a prize on this stall and we’d lost track of time. So we decided to take a shortcut.”

I tell them about the allotments, the darkness, the stinging nettles, the jokes.

The noise. A fox shagging? I think I say this. To Max’s parents. I think I actually say the word shagging.

A fire burning, a flickering light against the dark sky. We went to look. I don’t know why, but we went to look.

I hear myself talking, but my voice sounds far away…

… lying on the ground… a boot to the stomach…

… tried to run…

… hand on my shoulder…

… be our friends, they said…

… you are leader, like me…

And I remember other things. Things I’ve tried so hard to forget that I’ve almost blocked them out.

We were sitting by the fireside on upturned crates. Max and I were huddled on one, overseen by Muscles, who stood intimidatingly close behind us. Through the flickering flames, I could see Michael, sitting miserably on another crate next to Snake Eyes. And nearby stood Tom, overseen by the Leader, who was swigging from a bottle and raving in broken English about his country and leadership, his arm still draped round Tom’s shoulder, the knife dangling against Tom’s chest.

Max and I were whispering, barely moving our lips.

… don’t know what the hell to do…

… need to get out of here…

… make a run for it?…

… don’t know, don’t know…

When I next looked over at Michael, I could see he wasn’t there. I strained to see through the flames. My heart raced harder as I searched desperately. And then I saw him in the shadows, not far from the crate where he’d been sitting, being led slowly into the darkness by Snake Eyes, who had a hand on the back of his neck.

“Where’s he taking Michael?” I asked Max, forgetting to whisper, panic taking over me.

My question got the attention of the Leader, who swiftly turned and searched the darkness for Snake Eyes. The Leader called something, a question, in his native language.

“Just a little walk,” Snake Eyes called back over his shoulder, lazily. He sounded drunk. And there was something else in his voice, something smug and beyond ugly.

I suddenly felt sick to my core, my heart pounding so hard in my chest that I immediately felt dizzy.

“No!” I heard myself shout out. I jumped up from the crate but was immediately pushed down from behind by Muscles.

I don’t know what I thought was going to happen to Michael.

I suppose I thought… I don’t know…

I just know that those are the worst nightmares of all.

I put my head in my hands and press my fingertips against my eyelids until I see tiny flashes of light bursting out of the darkness. I feel two hands gripping at my wrists.

Michael’s there, crouched in front of me.

“It’s okay,” I hear him whisper. “I was scared, too. But nothing happened.”

I feel a warm hand on my back. Tom, sitting next to me.

“Look at where you are,” he says.

I open my eyes, take in the bright lounge, the floral sofas, the polka-dot mugs, the flowers on the mantelpiece, the crucifix on the wall.

I see Max’s parents sitting opposite me, holding hands on the two-seater sofa. They look so many things – sad, encouraging, shocked, weary – that I don’t know what they’re making of any of this.

Michael tilts his head towards me and I refocus on his face. He offers me a sad, gentle smile.

“Go on,” urges Tom.

The Leader yelled, barking something in his native language. He wasn’t happy. He wanted Snake Eyes to bring Michael back. And Muscles wasn’t happy about Snake Eyes’ behaviour either.

That’s how the shouting started. That’s why the fight broke out. Before we knew it, Michael was being dragged back to the fireside while the three men argued, shouting things in a language we didn’t understand.

… Rocket