The Lie

“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.

“I think we can get over the guilt, even if we can’t get over the loss,” I tell him, my eyes roaming to the window, absently watching the rush of people, suited businessmen heading to the pubs for a pint after work, tourists making their way to the Palace. “Unfortunately, I think it starts and ends with us.”

He sighs. “You’re probably right. Even so…the reason I’m here is because I’m going to stop by the hospital. One of the victims that Lewis shot was in intensive care there. I’m not sure if she still is or not, but…I need to know if she’s all right. I don’t even know her, but…I need to do this. I feel I owe her something, I just don’t know what.”

“You know it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known that Lewis would do this,” I tell him, but Keir’s eyes seem to darken, caught in a bad, bad place.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment then excuses himself to get us another round of beers.

“So, what’s weighing you down?” he asks me when he comes back, obviously wanting a subject change.

I thank him for the beer and try to figure out how much I should tell him. “I, uh, made some mistakes in the past,” I say carefully. “Some things I haven’t been able to get over. I hurt someone who was once very dear to me, and now that person is back in my life, whether I want them to be or not. Karma has come to bite me on the arse.”

“You gave me some advice, so I’m going to give you some,” Keir says after a gulp of beer. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “You ready?” I nod. “There’s no such thing as karma. That only exists in a fair world, and we both know the world is anything but fair.”

“That’s not really advice, Keir.”

He shrugs. “It just means you aren’t being punished. Try and make it right, and if you can’t, that’s on them, not you. Forgiveness shouldn’t be stockpiled by anyone. It should be given freely.”

I stew on that for a moment. If Natasha never responds to my email, or if she does and wants nothing to do with me, I’m going to have to let her go.

Again.

Without closure.

I clear my throat.

“What a bunch of sad sacks we are,” Keir says with a disapproving scoff. “Friday night and we’re sobbing into our drinks. I’m going to get us a round of shots before we turn into women.”

“Just one round,” I tell him, raising my finger in warning. “I’ve got to get back to my dog. He’s probably torn my place to shreds and shit in my shoes.”

Keir gives me his trademark smirk. That’s more like the cousin I remember. “He’s shit in your shoes, aye?”

“More than once,” I say with a sigh. “And pissed on my pillow.”

That one was a nasty surprise.