I decide to check Keir’s email and see that he arrived in London yesterday, wanting to meet up. I immediately put his number into my phone and send him a text, seeing if he wants to get a drink today. I need something to get out of this tailspin, anything to distract me.
I’m not all too close with Keir, nor his brother Mal or sister Maisie, just as I’m not close with my other cousins Bram and Linden. I blame the distance. Bram and Linden have been living in the US for a long time, while Keir has been serving the army in Afghanistan. I guess his duty is over and he’s in London for a few days for whatever reason. Mal travels all over the world for his job as a photographer, and Maisie has been living in Africa somewhere doing charity work.
Unlike Natasha, it doesn’t take Keir long to get back to me. I agree to meet him at the Cask and Glass pub near the barracks and Buckingham Palace for a quick drink, with the potential to turn into an outright bender.
By the time I get to the pub, Keir is already there.
He’s sitting alone at a high-top table along the window, peering intently at the people walking past, palming a pint of beer. With his brawny build, grizzled features, and steely gaze, he looks every inch the soldier, even though his beard betrays him otherwise, as does his uniform of jeans, a green t-shirt, and a cargo jacket.
“Hey, Keir,” I say to him as I walk over.
Keir grins at me and gets off his seat, pulling me into a hug. “Nice to see you, Brigs,” he says in his distinctively low voice. He does an amazing Darth Vader impression. “Thanks for coming to meet me.”
“I’m glad you’re in town,” I tell him, patting the table. “Want another pint?”
He nods, and I quickly head to the bar to get us both one. I sit down at the table and raise my glass. “Cheers.”
I nearly down my beer in one go.
Keir raises a brow. “Been needing that one, have you?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Well, I’ve been having a pretty shit time myself if it makes you feel better,” he says, running his hand over his mouth and jaw.
“It doesn’t,” I tell him. I don’t want to pry or intrude on his business, so I don’t add anything else. Keir used to be pretty talkative and forthcoming before he joined the army, though that was a long time ago. I don’t expect him to say anything now.
He finishes off what was left of his other beer, and I’m about to ask him about how the army is when he says, “I left the army.”
I frown, mid-sip. “You mean you’re off-duty.”
He shakes his head. “No. I left. No one knows.” His eyes flit to mine, and now I can see how tired they are. Weary and war-torn, they’ve obviously seen a lot. “You’re the first person I’ve told. I…I just needed to get it out, you know? Tell someone. It isn’t easy living a lie.”
Don’t I fucking know it.
“Your parents?” I ask. “Maisie or Mal don’t know either?”
He laughs sourly. “I don’t even know where Maisie is, to be honest. Mal seems to disappear off the earth from time to time. Every time he meets a new woman in a new country, anyway. And this isn’t the sort of thing you’d write in an email.” He gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry to burden you with this, Brigs. I know we’ve lost touch.”
“It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me.” I pause. “What happened? Why did you leave?”
“Because of what happened to my best friend,” he says carefully. He swallows. “You know the shooting last month?”
I slowly nod, afraid of where this could be going. Last month we had a terrorist shooting in downtown London, right in the middle of Oxford Circus. Two people died and a few more were badly injured. It made major headlines for a few days and later disappeared—probably because the terrorist wasn’t part of an organization. He was Lewis Smith, a Caucasian and a member of the British Army. He’d recently been dishonorably discharged and went mad, gunning people down on the street. The police shot and killed him when he wouldn’t surrender.
“Well,” he says, suddenly looking a lot older than a man in his late thirties. His face seems to grow pale before my eyes. “That was my best friend. Lewis Smith.”
Bloody hell.
He exhales loudly. “The worst part is, I knew how unwell he was. I saw him disintegrate. Some of the stuff we saw out there in the villages…I don’t even know how I dealt with it, and Lewis took it hard. But you can’t talk about that stuff. We’re taught to keep it inside. I should have said something. I should have spoken up. I tried, you know, I did, but…I could have done more.”
Well, his week is certainly putting my week to shame.
“I don’t know what to say other than you can’t blame yourself,” I tell him gently.
He raises his brows, his forehead wrinkling. “Oh yeah? And how often do you take your own advice?”
I give him a wry look. “Never.”
“Look, I know I haven’t seen you much since the funeral,” he says. “I heard through my mum that you’re teaching now at King’s College. I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re pulling through. I don’t know how you managed to put one foot in front of the other. I know I couldn’t if I were in your shoes. I’m barely dealing with this. Wondering if the guilt, this weight, is ever going to go away.”
I’m starting to see why Keir had contacted and confided in me. I might be the only person who knows what it is to be shackled to all the things you should have done. But he doesn’t know the whole truth. And even though he opened up to me, I can’t bring up Natasha. Not with him or Lachlan or my parents. The moment I tell them is the moment I’m tarnished in their lives forever. I guess I still have some pride left, as foolish as it is.