The Debt

by Karina Halle

  You’re a bloody fool, I tell myself, giving my head a shake. I glance up at the moon and even it seems disappointed in me.

  All this time watching Jessica and seeing her on the news, then spending time with her has really done my head in. It’s the guilt—the obsession—that’s making me crave her, nothing more, nothing less.

  But I know that’s not true. And the fact that I most likely won’t see her again, let alone tomorrow, is something I’ll have to try and get over. Any feelings I have for her I’ll bury deep inside until my heart resembles a graveyard.

  I slam the window shut, as if I’m shutting my brain off from any further self-discussion, then head back to bed, praying for a dreamless sleep.

  ***

  I end up spending the next day with Lachlan, helping him at the animal shelter. He was in need of a volunteer since two of his called in sick at the same time, and I had shit all to do.

  Which is becoming a bit of a problem, to be honest. I wasn’t lying when I told Jessica I had plans to open my own repair shop. I haven’t had a business in a decade, I haven’t had a civilian job as a mechanic in eight years. I’m unsure how to start.

  Being in the army was my only identity over the last seven years. Mal and Maisie have their things, I had this. When I decided to leave, to not go in for another tour, I told no one. My mother lives on the island of Islay with her new husband, and though I rarely talk to her, I knew she had pride in the army, in my role. I don’t dare admit to her what I’ve done until I have something else she can be proud of.

  “How are your brother and sister?” Lachlan asks as we walk a bunch of dogs, three to each of. All are pit bulls, all with varying personalities. People nearly jump out of our way as we pass, though I’m not sure if it’s because we have a pack of the country’s most feared dog, or because Lachlan and I resemble a couple of bruisers out for a fight.

  “Good, as far as I know,” I admit. “We’re a hard group to keep track of. When I was in the army, communication was sporadic on my end. They’re both traveling just as much, so communication on their end is rare as well.”

  “And they still don’t know you’ve left the army?” Lachlan asks. “Are you ever going to tell them?”

  I give him a sharp look, but as usual there is zero malice or judgement on his face.

  “When I have to, I will. They wouldn’t care either way, I just…”

  “Want to have something to stand on by then.”

  I nod. “Exactly.”

  We both stop as the dogs sniff a patch of grass that seems infinitely exciting. “You know I have connections,” Lachlan says quietly. “So do my mum and dad. We’ll help you any way we can. I’m sure my father would be happy to invest capital into a garage.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him, though my hackles are raised and I sound more dismissive than grateful. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

  The truth is, I have savings. I sold my old shop in Glasgow before I joined the army, and I’ve rarely touched it. And even so, I don’t want to rely on anyone else but myself. Taking handouts from family is the last thing I want to do.

  He cocks his head, studying me. A beat passes. “If I can give you some advice, Keir, don’t let pride hold you back. We all have to start again at some point and help isn’t always easy to come by. The best help you can get is the first help you can take.”

  I run my tongue over my teeth before giving him a tight smile. My cousin means well, he always does, but I’m more likely to discover things on my own than by heeding someone else’s advice.

  “So why did you leave the army?” he asks as we start walking again, the dogs pulling at the leashes, excited to go piss on the next spot.

  “Do you want the truth?” I ask him. I have no idea why I’m confiding this to him, my biggest shame. Maybe because there’s no one else to tell and I’ve heard the story too many times before.

  “Of course,” he says, but there is a wariness in his eyes, as if he’s afraid of what he’s going to hear.

  “I wasn’t fit for the job anymore,” I tell him. “I was too compromised.”

  “Compromised?”

  “Some…things happened, last time we were out. I’d been in Afghanistan for years as you know. Fighting. I saw men die. I saw children die. I saw things I never thought I’d get used to, but I did get used to it. That was savage in itself. It was expected of you. Don’t talk about what you saw. Don’t talk about your fears, your feelings. Never let anyone know just how broken you are.” I glance over at him, and from the furrow in his brow, I know he understands. I exhale though my nose, my lungs tight. “Everything was fine in the sense that we were okay with not being fine. Then we were part of the group who got sent back to Camp Bastion, now called Camp Shorabak, to help the Afghan forces fight. To train them. This was supposed to be easy.”

  “Nothing about that sounds easy,” Lachlan says as he pulls back one of the dogs from walking into the road.

  “I was out with my men, a routine trip from the base over to one of the smaller towns. A suicide bomber, in a vehicle, came out of nowhere. Hit us head on…my men in the front died. The rest of us were injured. One private lost a leg. I got a load of metal in my side, and some burns. The other one was spared, with just a few scratches. Not even a burn. He was my friend and he was a fragile fuck to begin with. Lewis Smith.”

  Lachlan, who has been listening intently, asks, “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Because Lewis Smith lost his mind. Because I saw it happen. The survivor’s guilt ruined him. It ruined me too. I was in charge of them and I failed. But I was able to go on, until the end. Lewis couldn’t. He stopped sleeping. He would talk to me about how he shouldn’t be alive, that the war was pointless, that the government had no idea about the losses here. It’s like everything he’d been harboring inside about the war for the last however many years finally came out, and he snapped. He would talk to me…about hurting people. How he wished the people back at home new what this was like, to have this fear of dying.” I pause, sucking in air, nearly forgetting to breathe. “I tried to get him help. I told the doctors. When they talked to him, they said he was fine. But I knew he wasn’t fine. He was pretending, and they knew it too. They couldn’t afford to lose a soldier. We’re damn expensive. So they kept him on. And one night, Lewis left his post. He walked off in the middle of the night. He had always said he wanted to escape. The truth is, he deserted. He was court marshalled after that.”

  “So he left the army,” he says. “That must have been a relief.”

  “It would have been. Except for the fact that I know what Lewis had said, that he wanted the rest of the world to know what it’s like to die. And then it happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “The reason you know his name. Last month he drove through Oxford Street. Abandoned his car. Took a shotgun out of a guitar case and started shooting.”

  Lachlan’s eyes go round. “Jesus, brother. That was him?”

  I nod. “Aye. He did the thing he told me he would do. He killed people so they would know the fear that he felt. I have no doubt he would have killed himself in the end, but the police shot him first anyway, before he had the chance to finish off one more.”

  Jessica.

  A few moments of silence pass between us. My heart is racing at telling the truth. I know Lachlan is reeling with the same thing. We reach an intersection and wait for the light to change.

  He sighs and glances at me. “Do you tell many people that story?”

  I shake my head. “No one. Not all the way through.”

  “Then you’ve never had anyone tell you that it isn’t your fault. Would it make a difference if I did?”

  “No,” I say, letting out a puff of air. “No, it wouldn’t. It happened. I knew about it. I could have stopped it.”

  “But you tried.”

  “Could have tried harder.”

  “You can’t base your life on could haves and should haves. Those words will put you
in the ground faster than anything.”

  Maybe I deserve to be put in the ground, I think. I don’t say it but I can tell he knows all the same. “So that’s why I left.”

  “And why are you here in Edinburgh? I mean, really. Wouldn’t it be easier to be back in Glasgow, closer to your mum, where you used to have a career?”

  “Change of scenery,” I tell him.

  “You know you can’t run from something like this, Keir,” Lachlan says after a moment as we approach the shelter. “You have to face this head on.”

  “Is that a rugby analogy?” I ask him wryly.

  “They’re the only analogies I know.”

  And with that, the subject is dropped

  What Lachlan doesn’t know is that I’m not running from something. I’m running to something. Absolution.

  She has red hair and a sunshine smile.

  ***

  By the time I leave the shelter, it’s already growing dark. There were a lot of dogs to walk, though luckily the conversation between Lachlan and I turned to rugby instead of anything personal. I’m still surprised I opened up to him the way I did. I don’t regret it, but it feels strange to know someone else knows my story. It’s like I’m trusting him to carry something precious and fragile.

  It’s Monday, and I know there’s no chance of seeing Jessica but the siren song of the St. Vincent calls me to it anyway. I grab a seat at the bar, talking to Jill the bartender for a bit.

  “You looking for someone?” she asks after I’ve had beer number three, my eyes drawn to the door where a couple has just walked in.

  My head swivels back to her, a sheepish heat creeping up the back of my neck. “Me? No.”

  She smirks at me. “Not the pretty redhead from the last two weeks?”

  Have I been that obvious?

  “It’s not Tuesday yet,” I tell Jill, taking a swig of my beer. “Tuesdays are lucky.”

  “Are you sure about that?” she asks as she moves down the bar to deal with the new customers.

  I immediately look around me, my hearted kicking at my ribs. “What do you mean?” I call after her.

  She pulls a couple of ciders out of the fridge and shoots me a knowing smile. “The redhead was in here earlier. Sat at the bar just like you’re doing. Wouldn’t stop looking around.”

  “What?” I stand up to get a better look.

  “She’s gone now. Left an hour ago.”

  Bloody hell.

  I sit back down in a huff, the stool rattling from my weight. “Well fuck me sideways.”

  “I’m sure that’s still in the cards,” Jill says, coming down the bar and wiping her hands on a rag. “I have no doubt she came here for you.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Not a word. But a bartender knows.”

  “It’s not even Tuesday.”

  “Then that has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

  What it means is that I have shitty, shitty timing. Fuck. To think Jessica was in here earlier, looking for me just as I pretend I’m not looking for her.

  Well, there’s no damn point stewing over my losses. If she was here and I wasn’t, she’s not coming back. Tomorrow is another a chance, but I hate leaving things to chance now. I feel like I’ve pushed my luck too much.

  I gulp down the rest of my pint, throw some notes on the counter as I bid Jill farewell, and head home.

  I shove my hands in my pockets and stride down the cobblestone street of Circus Lane that curves to the left of the bar. As angry as I am that I missed her, the fact is, she came. She sought me out again.

  I knew I wouldn’t let her go the next time I saw her.

  It only takes a minute to get back home, and as I approach the house, I notice the living room lights are on. Tabitha normally goes to bed around nine and a quick glance at my phone tells me it’s a little past ten.

  I stick my keys in the lock and notice movement inside. I sigh before I push the door open. The last thing I want is to get stuck talking to her. As I’d told Lachlan before, I don’t think she’s quite warmed up to me yet, and she’d rather talk to him instead. Who knew the eighty-two-year-old gardener would also be such a huge rugby fan?

  “Keir?” I hear her call out as I step inside, locking the door behind me. “Would you mind coming in here for a moment?”

  Her voice is coming from her living room. With a tired sigh, I straighten my shoulders and prepare myself to help with an odd job or two. That’s usually what she wants when she calls for me. First a light bulb that needs replacing, then a leaky faucet, then a wasp nest out back.

  “Good evening, Miss Shipley,” I say as I step inside the room, my eyes first going to her as she sits in her rose-colored armchair. Then they go to the person sitting on the small flower-printed sofa.

  Jessica.

  She’s sitting there with a cup of tea in hand, her crutches leaning against the armrest, a wary smile on her lips.

  While I blink at her dumbly, trying to figure out what’s going on, Tabitha says, “Your friend came by to see you but you weren’t home. How come I’ve never met her before? She’s lovely.”

  Indeed she is, I think, taking in the sight of her as she sits primly on the sofa. She’s wearing an emerald green sundress and a white cardigan that matches her cast. Her hair is loose and tousled around her shoulders, her lips red as rubies.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to show up like this,” Jessica apologizes. She puts the tea down on the doily-covered coffee table, her hands shaking slightly. Damn. She’s nervous.

  “Don’t be,” I tell her.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, Mr. McGregor. Have a seat,” Tabitha says, easing herself out of the chair. “I’ll put on more tea.”

  “You don’t have to,” I call after her but she just grumbles dismissively as she disappears into her kitchen.

  “Mr. McGregor,” Jessica muses as I come over to the couch. She stares up at me, head cocked to the side. “I never knew your last name.”

  “And I still don’t know yours,” I lie.

  “Charles.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jessica Charles,” I tell her as I sit next to her on the Chesterfield.

  “Pleased to meet you, Keir McGregor,” she says. She bites her lip and looks down at her tea. I’m aware how close I am to her and that I’m staring at her unabashedly, but I can’t stop. “I’m sorry again for showing up like this.”

  “Would it make you feel better if I tell you you’re the best part of my night?” I say to her gently, leaning my elbows on my knees, nudging her slightly with my shoulder. She smells like an apple orchard, perhaps a type of body lotion. Whatever it is, it makes my mouth water.

  “Is that so?” she asks, glancing at me briefly before busying her hands with her tea. The cup is still shaking slightly. “I remember you said you lived in the house with the red flowers out front. I was in the neighborhood and…I thought I would say hello.”

  “You were at the pub earlier too.” Her mouth drops open. “Jill, the bartender, told me,” I tell her.

  She closes her eyes. “Oh my god. I sound like such a stalker.”

  “Believe me, you’re not a stalker.” I pause. “I’m really glad you’re here. If I had known, I would have hurried over. You must have been here for a while.”

  Now her cheeks match her hair. She shoots me another sheepish look. “I worked up the nerve. Took a stroll before I knocked on the door.” She shakes her head and groans. “God, I swear I’m not normally like this. I should go.”

  She puts the cup down, and it rattles loudly against the saucer as the tea spills over the edge, then she tries to get up in a haste.

  I grab her arm, holding her firmly in place.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” I tell her, “unless it’s with me. Stay. Please.”

  I pull her down gently, my hand lingering on her arm. Her skin is like satin, unbelievably soft, while her muscle is rock hard. An intriguing combination.

  She eyes the kitchen. “I didn�
��t mean to keep her up either. When she said you weren’t home, I was turning to leave. But she insisted I stay. Said she didn’t realize you had any friends.”

  I try not to grimace at that. “I’m sure she talked your ear off.”

  She gives me a soft smile. “She wouldn’t stop talking about your cousin.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not surprised.”

  “Here we go,” Tabitha says, as if her ears are burning, even though she’s half deaf. She’s carrying my cup of tea and plunks it down in front of me with some shortbread cookies.

  I thank her and she sits back in her worn chair before attacking Jessica with questions.

  Little red handles them all in stride and I find myself listening to her every word, eager for any bit of extra information about her. While she noticeably stiffens and skirts any questions about her childhood, she does speak freely and happily about her time in Vancouver, where she attended university for childhood education. But if her dream was to be a school teacher before she made the switch to yoga, she gives us no reason for the change in careers.

  I make a list of all the things I want to ask her later, when we’re alone, if we’re alone. But as we finish our teas and Tabitha starts falling asleep in her chair, all my questions have gone out the window. All I can concentrate on is the handful of freckles on Jessica’s collarbone, wondering what it would be like to connect them with my tongue. There’s an edge in the air, a current that’s been building between us. I have to chalk it up to us actually being in my home and not at the bar, though we’re still not alone yet.

  “We should go,” I tell Jessica, helping her to her feet and handing her the crutches. Tabitha’s head is lolled to the side and she’s snoring lightly.