Forgive Me

by Susan Lewis

  “And this is Marcy Kavanagh,” Dan said.

  As Archie’s eyes came to her Marcy ached inside to see his shock, horror—and was it panic? She obviously looked even worse than he’d expected, and he didn’t know what to do or say. She suspected he’d run, if he could.

  Although she’d expected him to react to her scarring, and had been bracing herself for it, now that it was happening she had no idea what to do. Until, as though it had a will of its own, her right hand reached toward him offering to shake. He took it, tentatively, and managed a wrenchingly self-conscious hello.

  Dan put a hand on his shoulder and held it there, gently easing him into his chair as Andee dished out the coffees.

  Finally, Dan said, “OK, I’ll start off with a few easy rules to get us going. First, try not to interrupt when someone else is speaking. Second, if anyone feels they need time out at any point, just raise a hand and it can happen. Next, all our phones should be switched off—I think we did that before we came in. Lastly let’s do our best not to swear—Archie.”

  Though it was meant as a gentle tease, Archie looked so alarmed that it was as though he thought he’d already disgraced himself. “No, no, definitely not,” he promised, lifting his eyes to Marcy before quickly lowering them again.

  Telling herself that this reluctance to fully engage could be as much about nerves as repulsion—or guilt—Marcy found herself saying, “I’ll do my best to hold it in too.”

  She almost felt Claudia’s and Jasmine’s eyebrows rise.

  Apparently amused, Dan said, “In these meetings it’s usually the person who’s caused harm that speaks first, so unless you, Marcy, or Claudia have anything you’d like to say upfront . . .”

  They shook their heads.

  “. . . I’ll help Archie to kick off by asking a few questions.” Turning to address Archie, he said, “We’re all aware that the reason we’re here today is because of the crime you committed, and that someone ordered you to do it. You’ve already explained to me, and to Marcy in your letters, why you don’t want to discuss a third-party involvement, so I won’t press you about it during this meeting. What I want you to do is talk us through the events of the night of the fire, from your perspective. I realize you’ve written this down, but I think it’ll help Marcy and her family to hear you tell it. Maybe you can start by describing what you were thinking as you prepared to set the fire.”

  Marcy watched Archie’s Adam’s apple bob up and down in his muscular neck as if it were as eager to get out of here as he was. His cheeks bloomed with color and he was unable to look at anyone when he finally stumbled into an answer. “Uh, um . . . I guess I wasn’t thinking about very much really,” he said to his hands, “only what I had to do, and if the advice I’d been given was sound.”

  Dan said, “We know you watched Marcy and her family get into the car; what were you thinking then?”

  Archie’s eyes flicked tentatively to Marcy as he said, “I was thinking the same as I did when I was staking the place before the times I broke in, that it was a shame someone had it in for you because you looked like nice people.”

  Marcy wanted to ask who had it in for them, but as she’d been advised not to interrupt, she held on to it for now.

  “Even though they looked like nice people,” Dan prompted, “you still went ahead and carried out the instructions you’d been given. Maybe you can tell us what those instructions were?”

  Archie’s head was still down, the muscles in his arms tightening as he pressed his hands together. “They were to torch the place,” he said. “I knew there might be something inside that needed to be got rid of, and because I hadn’t been able to find it when I broke in . . . I . . . I was told to make the place go up in smoke as a kind of insurance.”

  “And how did you feel when you were smashing the windows and pouring petrol through them?” Dan asked, matter-of-factly enough to make Marcy flinch.

  Archie’s eyes were still on his hands as he said, “I felt scared of being caught, and of setting fire to myself. I’d been warned about how that might happen. I was also scared of screwing up because of what might happen to me and my ma if I did.”

  Dan said, “Had anyone actually told you what that would be?”

  Archie shook his head. “Those things don’t get put into words, you just know they’re bad.”

  Accepting that, Dan prompted him to continue with how he’d felt while committing the crime.

  “I suppose,” Archie said, “apart from scared and everything, I felt kind of weird about it all, because it wasn’t something I wanted to do. I just thought I had to . . .” He took a breath and wiped a shaky hand over his mouth. “Looking back, I reckon I wasn’t allowing myself to think much at all. I just went through the motions . . . Obviously I wish now that I’d had the courage to tell them what to do with their money and their orders and their threats. I wish they didn’t always target my ma the way they do. I used to try to make out she don’t mean anything to me so they’d leave her alone, stop using her to force me into stuff, but they did it anyway.” He took a moment, making his knuckles turn white as he bunched his hands together on the table, a kind of power-up, Marcy thought, to make himself continue.

  “She’s not right, you see,” he said, “I mean in the head. She’s not mental or anything, well, I suppose she is a bit, but she understands things and she’s got feelings like anyone else.” He took a breath and then another, showing that talking about his mother affected him deeply. “She tried to stop me from going that night,” he told them. “She said it didn’t matter what they did to us we couldn’t go round hurting other people just to save ourselves. I saw straightaway after that she was right. No way did you deserve what I did to you. I swear I didn’t see you going back into the house. On my ma’s life I’d never have done it if I had. I wish I hadn’t done it anyway . . .” His voice fractured as he pressed his bunched hands to his head.

  “It’s OK, son,” Dan said comfortingly, “this is a big thing you’re doing and it’s bound to bring up a lot of emotions, probably more than you’re expecting.”

  Marcy watched the lad take gulps of air and press his fingers into his eye sockets as though to stem the tears. She wondered how it might have felt to hear Dan call him son. Had anyone ever called him that before, with affection? It was no surprise, with everything happening, that he was having such a struggle to rein in his emotions. If she allowed herself to think too much about it she’d have trouble reining in her own.

  “Tell us what happened after you started the fire,” Dan said, when Archie was ready again.

  “I can’t really explain what happened after,” Archie answered. “I mean, I knew it was happening, and I got myself clear the way I’d been told to, but when I got into the trees it was like I couldn’t make myself stop watching. It was nothing to do with making sure the whole place went up, I wasn’t even thinking about that . . . I just couldn’t make myself run like I was supposed to.”

  “How long did you stay?” Dan asked.

  Archie shook his head as though he were trying to recall a dream. “If this doesn’t sound too weird,” he said, “it was like I was hypnotized or something, you know kind of in a trance. I heard someone shouting that they’d called 999 and I even thought for a minute it was me doing the shouting.

  “I was still there when the fire engines turned up. I watched them rolling out the hoses, breaking in through the door, spraying the roof . . . It was only when I heard someone shouting . . .” He lost his breath and after a tense moment he stole a quick glance at Jasmine. “I heard you shouting,” he told her. “As you got out of the car, I heard . . . and that’s when I realized someone was inside the house.”

  As he fell silent Marcy wondered if he had any idea of the terrible impact his words were having on her and her family, being told that he’d been there watching the tragedy he’d caused to unfold. In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure how she did feel about it. Would it have been better if he’d just run away? Or did it m
ake it worse that he hadn’t?

  Realizing that there were no easy answers, and probably still wouldn’t be even after today, she took a sip of her coffee, now cold, and waited for him to continue.

  Assisting him, Dan said, “At what point did you leave the scene, Archie?”

  Archie frowned as he thought. “Just before, just after the air ambulance turned up. I can’t really remember now. I know it landed on the moor. My van was there, hidden in a layby. I got to it, but there was no way I could get into town through all the fire engines and stuff, so I went in the opposite direction.”

  “To where?”

  “I went home eventually. I took the long way round.”

  “Did you call anyone to let them know you’d completed your task?”

  He nodded. “I texted. I admitted I’d screwed up, that someone had been inside . . . I knew it was going to be the end for me. I thought about running, taking my ma with me, but then a message came back . . .” He glanced awkwardly at Marcy.

  Guessing he didn’t want to repeat the words that had told him it was OK that someone had been inside, and knowing that she didn’t want to hear them, she said, “What happened next? Were you paid?”

  His head fell forward as he nodded.

  “Can I ask how much?”

  “Five grand,” he mumbled.

  She felt strangely dizzied by that. She hadn’t considered the price of burning down their home before, wouldn’t have had any idea of the going rate for such a monstrous crime, but that it was so little . . . But not little to him. To him, as he’d told her in his letters, it had opened up a small world of possibilities.

  Moving them on, Dan said, “Then what happened?”

  Archie shrugged. “I tried not to think about what I’d done, but it never went out of my head, and we kept hearing about it on the news. My ma fixated on it, got herself into a terrible state, even threatening to kill herself and me.” He broke off, took a breath, and started again. “I kind of knew she’d end up reporting it. In a way it was a relief when she did. Not that I want to be stuck in here, don’t get me wrong, but it’s where I belong so . . .” He shrugged again and began jigging a knee up and down so fast it was as though he had no control over it.

  Dan put out a hand to stop him. “Before we take a break,” he said, “is there anything else you’d like to say to Marcy and her family?”

  Archie nodded, and swept a tumble of hair from his forehead as he forced himself to meet Marcy’s eyes. “I want to tell you again,” he said, “that I’m truly sorry for what I did. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have gone through what you did, but if I could make it like I went through it instead and you were OK, I promise I would.”

  Marcy held his eyes, watched him swallow more emotion, and continued to watch him as he finally looked away. Words were so easy; anything could be said or promised when there was no possible way of following through. And emotions could be feigned, as could tears. It was true he looked and sounded genuine. She couldn’t imagine Dan bringing them this far if he didn’t believe in him.

  For the moment she seemed to have lost touch with her own emotions, but she realized that what she needed more than anything, for Claudia’s sake and her own, was for Archie to confirm that Marcus had been behind it. It was the only way for real justice to be done—and for them to ever have a chance of moving on.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Fifteen minutes later Marcy and the others returned to the meeting room, passing the guard outside who nodded stiffly as they went in. Dan and Archie were already seated at the table, as though they’d not left it. They had probably spent the entire time discussing what the next hour or more might bring.

  Although Dan’s expression was relaxed as he looked up, Marcy noticed that Archie’s remained tense; he seemed paler now, and even edgier than before.

  As they resumed their seats Claudia and Andee opened their tablets to the notes they’d made while preparing for today. During the break they’d added to them, but Marcy didn’t need any prompts to guide her through the next few minutes. She knew what she wanted to say, and had informed the others while they were outside, so after Andee had spoken a few words to set them back on course, Marcy began her piece, speaking quietly yet clearly.

  “It’s been explained to us,” she said to the top of Archie’s head, bowed, she understood, in shame, “that we can take this opportunity to tell you how your actions have impacted our lives. We can go into as much detail as we like about how the fire and my injuries have made us feel as individuals and as a family, and about how afraid we’ve been and remain because of the person we believe to be behind what you did.” She paused, allowing her allusion to Marcus to sink in, and to see if Archie might respond.

  When he didn’t, she continued. “I will admit that a part of me—a strong part of me—has an almost constant need to express all the anger and hatred bottled up inside me, all the resentment and self-pity I feel about what’s happened to me, especially when I look in the mirror. It’s my own personal horror show, one I can never escape, and never will be able to. Somehow, I have to learn to live with it and it isn’t easy. I don’t talk about it with my family, because I don’t want my negative feelings spilling over them and turning our lives into a perpetual struggle with bitterness and spite. I do discuss it with my therapist, and together we’re working on helping me get to a better and calmer place. He was—is—fully supportive of my decision to meet with you, and he’s advised me not to hold back. I really didn’t think I would, but after listening to you I’ve decided that you already feel bad enough about what you did and making you feel worse isn’t going to help any of us.”

  As his head came up, she met his confused and wary expression with one of cool compassion. She’d meant it, they didn’t need to make him squirm with guilt and shame—he appeared to be doing that without any help—and she certainly didn’t need to indulge herself in a diatribe of self-pity. This meeting, as they’d been advised, must be about how they could go forward in a way that was going to benefit them all, and attacking him verbally and emotionally simply wasn’t going to achieve that.

  What could, perhaps, was to be mindful of the fact that he’d probably never had anyone to believe in him before, at least not in the way he needed.

  If she gave him a chance, would life give her one?

  She knew it didn’t work like that, but how on earth would it help either of them if she turned her back on him?

  Now it was Claudia’s turn. “I realize,” she began, sounding more composed than Marcy knew she felt, “that you didn’t know who we were before you broke into our home and then set fire to it, but I think you do now?”

  Seeming baffled by the question, he glanced at Marcy and Jasmine before saying, “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I don’t mean just our names,” Claudia told him, “I’m talking about who I really am.”

  He frowned, but she knew he was aware of her true identity, because Dan had told him in the hope of getting him to admit that Marcus was behind the crime.

  Her mouth was dry, her heart beating too hard, but she needed to try and break through his defenses. “You said just now that you thought it was a shame someone had it in for us because we seemed like nice people. Do you know who that someone is?”

  He shook his head, but she knew he wasn’t being truthful.

  “Have you considered,” she said, “that he could harm us again using someone else? That’s why we need to be certain about who gave you your instructions.”

  His head went down, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to respond Jasmine suddenly said, “We all know it was my stepfather, and he’s due to be released in a few weeks. If you can confirm that he gave you the orders . . .”

  “I’ve already said in my letters, it was BJ,” he told her.

  “But BJ was acting for him?” Claudia prompted.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  Claudia sat back in her chair, allowing Andee to take over.


  “Why don’t you tell us who BJ is?” Andee said encouragingly.

  He took a short breath and gave a shrug. “He’s just BJ. It stands for Big John.”

  “But he has another name. A real name.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Jason Colbrook,” she stated. “He shares your surname. I thought at first he might be your father, but he’s your mother’s brother, isn’t he?”

  Still he didn’t respond.

  “BJ is your uncle,” she continued, “a man who regularly beats up his disadvantaged sister, procures her for other men, steals from her, and who recruited her son, his nephew, into drug dealing and worse. This is who you’re trying to protect?”

  “Not him,” Archie protested, “my ma. If he ever found out about any of this, she’s the one he’d go for.”

  “But he can be stopped, Archie. If you help us with this, we can make sure he doesn’t go near her again.”

  “If you’re talking about locking him up, he’ll just get someone else to do it. That’s how they work.”

  She regarded him skeptically. “Do you really believe that? Think about it. He’s not a big player from what I hear, so why would anyone want to be involved in his business if he’s no longer of any use to them?”

  Archie swallowed dryly.

  “There are any number of offenses he can be charged with,” she told him, “that don’t need to include his involvement in the fire so there would be no reason for him to link you to his arrest. All we need are a few words about the drug dealing that a dozen or more others would know about, or the trafficking. It’s all known, Archie, we just need dates, times, locations. Doesn’t matter if they’re historical. It’ll take him out of circulation and make your mother safe.”

  He still didn’t speak, but the fear was retreating from his stare.

  “The same goes for Marcus Huxley-Browne,” Andee continued. “Your bosses, the gang members who run your uncle, aren’t interested in him anymore. As soon as it was discovered that none of their names were in the attaché case you were ordered to steal—meaning it contained no proof that they’d supplied Huxley-Browne with illegal substances—he lost all his leverage.”