“No,” says Robin, softer this time, “that’s not what happened.”
“Then you all just went about your business. He was gone, and I was banged up. I hadn’t done half the stuff you said. And I don’t say this easily, but, like it or not, it was Callum’s idea to take that stuff. He wasn’t taking it to get at you lot or his mum. It was stuff his dad had bought her. It was to get back at him. But you lot were fine. You got fame and fortune, yeah? And you,”—he turns to point at Sarah, who shrinks away—“well, I know you had your problems, but looks like you’re all right now.”
Sarah just shakes her head, stays curled against the wall.
Robin’s breathing hard, staring intently but not saying a word. Rez’s story is not how she remembers it, not at all. To accept it would be to unravel spools of rope she can’t risk getting caught in. So she shakes her head dismissively, gets up as if she’s going to tell him to go. Rez stays where he is and she sits back down.
“But do you know who I used to hate most of all?”
Robin stays quiet.
“Your dad.”
“My dad didn’t do anything!” Robin blazes.
“Oh yes, he fucking did. You weren’t there in court every day. You did your bit and ran away. You didn’t hear what he said. About Callum, about me. And Callum’s mum stood by and watched. Just like she’d sat by and watched Drew tear lumps out of him when he was a little boy. Mute. Mute the whole time. In court. Before, after. And you all put me in that prison.”
He pauses, wipes his eyes and clears his throat. “Can I have a glass of water?”
“No,” says Robin.
“I’d never done time before. You can’t even imagine what it’s like in there. You think Drew Granger had a problem with homos? You try being a faggot at Her Majesty’s pleasure. I ended up in the infirmary more times than you’ve had hot dinners.”
“For someone scared of going to prison, trying to break in here so many times seems pretty fucking stupid,” Robin snaps.
He says nothing, shrugs his shoulders. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”
Robin laughs, but her eyes aren’t smiling. “Bullshit.”
“I really wasn’t. I just wanted to check I’d got the right house, the right person. Thought I could see if it was really you, that’s all. I would never have hurt you. I just wanted to have a chance to ask you why the hell you did the things you did.”
“Yeah, right,” Robin says.
“The more I knocked and you didn’t answer, the more I thought I might be wasting my time, that maybe she’d given me the wrong address.”
“She?” Robin looked at Sarah and back at Rez. “Who do you mean by ‘she’?”
“Callum’s mum.”
“Why did she give you the address?” Sarah says, her voice louder. “She only told me Manchester,” Sarah adds, “said she didn’t remember the rest. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
Rez shrugs. “I dunno. I knew you were up here, Robin. I’d seen your band practicing. I said I wanted to write to you and clear the air. She gave it up straightaway—”
“Look,” Robin interrupts, “what do you want, Rez? Money? I don’t have as much as you think.”
“I don’t want your money. What good would money do me? I don’t give a shit about that. I work up here now, in the Apollo—happy coincidence, eh?
“I earn enough to keep me in puff and the odd curry; I don’t want much. When I needed money was when the boys were younger, but they’re all men now. They learned to stand on their own feet when I was inside. So, no, I don’t want your fucking money.”
“What do you want?” Sarah asks, her voice quiet again.
“I want to hear Robin admit what really happened. I want her to acknowledge that Callum wasn’t just a saint and I wasn’t just a sinner. I wasn’t expecting to see you, Sarah.” His voice softens. “But I really didn’t push you down the stairs. I’d never do that. My old man used to push my mum around. I’d never do that to a woman. I’d never do that to anyone.”
“I didn’t lie,” Robin says. “I mean, not really, it wasn’t…” She grinds to a halt and swallows hard. “Maybe I did unfairly load the dice, but wouldn’t you have done the same in my place?”
Rez sighs, opens his mouth to speak.
“But,” Robin interrupts, “you would have gone down for something eventually, even without me. Your flat was full of shit. It’s not like I planted anything.”
“Yeah, maybe. But we’ll never know what might have happened. All I know is what did happen. Everyone who relied on me lost me. And I’d lost the one person I could rely on. Do you know what that’s like?”
“Yeah,” Robin says quietly. “I know what that’s like. But Sarah, the baby, I had to do it for them. They deserved some justice—”
“Robin, I never wanted you to go to the police,” Sarah interrupts. “And I love you for wanting to protect me and to get revenge—or whatever you want to call it—for me, but I didn’t want any of this.”
“You were too broken up by what had happened to know what you wanted,” Robin says, turning to look at her sister.
“You’ve got to stop making decisions like that for people, Robin. Callum didn’t want you to intervene between him and his dad, but you stirred things up in Atlanta. I didn’t want you to do any of this, not in my name. I’m sorry, I know you did what you thought was right, but Callum loved Rez, clearly, even I saw that, and I barely saw them together. He loved him so much, and I know he mentioned him in his note.”
“Sarah,” Robin says, eyes pleading with her sister.
“What do you mean, Sarah?” Rez says. “Robin, what’s she saying?”
“Nothing. You’ve made your point, I get it. I’m sorry, okay?” Robin says.
“What do you mean, Sarah?” Rez asks again.
“The note,” Sarah says. “Callum’s note. Didn’t you see it?”
“He left a note? That night?” Rez’s eyes are wide, and he looks between the two sisters in disbelief. “What did it say?”
Robin’s shoulders drop and she whispers, “Okay, wait there.”
Outside the dining room, she pauses. It’s been months since she opened this door, years since she touched the things in here. She turns the handle and forces herself inside. The brightness of the room surprises her, and she goes straight to the specific box she needs. It’s the one that says “filing cabinet” in someone else’s writing, the house packers loading and dumping things into boxes with no idea the damage they were dealing with.
The letter is two-thirds down, amongst the other paperwork, old rental agreements, guarantees. She touches it, the lined paper worn and soft like old cotton. The folds are still in place from the night she found it and took it home. She doesn’t need to read it; it’s scorched through her.
“Here,” she says to Rez as she walks slowly back into the living room.
“Is this…?” he asks, breathing hard again.
“Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?”
He opens it carefully using the tips of his fingers and sits back in shock. “It’s been so long since I saw his handwriting,” he says, to no one in particular.