Anyone but you
Max had woken up in the best of moods. He had set his alarm for seven o’clock because he wanted to be up and out early.
He had spent most of the previous night researching fun date ideas in London, and had eventually gone with Robbie’s idea and booked a Go Boat, but he wanted to head to St Albans first, visit his parents’ grave, before heading back into London and going shopping for picnic bits.
He had the whole day planned out until two o’clock when he would pick Bethan up from her flat.
He couldn’t wait to see her again, to take her on a date, and see where it might lead.
Max had taken many first steps in his life, but this felt like a big one.
As he left his flat for the walk to the train, it was a gorgeous morning.
The forecast for the day ahead was blue skies and sunshine, so perfect for messing about in boats on Regent’s Canal.
He was listening to one of his favourite albums on his AirPods, and he felt a real spring in his step at the prospect of the day ahead.
If he could track his time since the accident, it was the first time that he genuinely felt like himself again.
He was positive, optimistic and focused on the future instead of the past. Everything was about moving forwards.
Max stepped off the train at St Albans, and headed straight to the church.
It was still early on Sunday morning, and as he arrived at the church, he heard the distinct sound of church bells, and he saw a few people milling around outside, about to go in for morning service.
Max hadn’t been to a church service since school, but his parents had gone every week.
Max had stopped believing in God, and needing religion in his life, and his parents hadn’t tried to persuade him otherwise.
The line he always got from them was that religion was a personal thing, a journey we took on our own, and it was up to him if he needed or wanted it in his life.
As he watched people filtering slowly into the church, he thought of his parents who would still be there every Sunday morning, and he did wonder if he would ever be the sort of person who would go back to it.
Would he need religion again? It wasn’t a conversation he’d had with Bethan, and he didn’t know if she was religious or not, but perhaps it would be something they could discuss on their date.
Although it was supposed to be fun and light-hearted, and definitely not theological.
Max walked around the side of the church, towards his parents' graves, and that’s when he saw him.
There was a man he didn’t recognise standing in front of their graves.
Perhaps he worked for the church, and was doing some work on the graveyard, although he wasn’t dressed like someone about to do some manual work.
He was about the same height as Max, but overweight, forties, and dressed in trousers and a shirt.
‘You all right?’ said Max, tentatively approaching the man.
He was obviously lost in thought because when Max spoke, he jumped and then turned around. His eyes were wet, dark, and heavy bags sat underneath them. Clearly he didn’t sleep well, and he looked at Max, a sudden terror springing to his face.
‘Oh, sorry, I…’ he replied, wiping tears from his cheeks.
‘Who are you? Are you OK?’
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ he said, and began walking away, but Max stopped him.
‘Wait. Who are you?’ asked a curious Max. ‘Did you know my parents?’
‘No, I didn’t, I … I’m sorry.’ He tried to walk away again, but Max reached out a hand, and held his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
Max felt a strange feeling that wound its way around his body, and then finally settled in his mind.
It couldn’t be him, could it? Not on that day. Not now. Anyone but him.
‘Are you?’ said Max quietly, his voice barely audible because it caught in his throat.
‘I shouldn’t have come. I just wanted to say sorry.’
‘It is you,’ said Max, his voice suddenly louder, and a wave of emotion gripped him, like a drug that had been shot into his body. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Like I said, I just wanted to apologise,’ he said, his voice was quiet, soft. ‘That’s all.’
‘Apologise? How the fuck can you say sorry for what you did? You killed my parents! You took them away from me. You murdered them!’ shouted Max, who still had hold of his arm, but gripped it tighter. ‘You fucking killed them!’
‘I just want to leave. I’m sorry. It’s Max, right?’
‘Don’t say my fucking name, and stop saying sorry.
You know it destroyed me, right? I had everything, and you took it all away.
I hate you so much, for everything you did, and they just let you walk away.
An accident, they said. It was just a fucking accident, but what were you doing?
Why did you hit them? They wouldn’t tell me.
No one said what happened. What did you fucking do?
’ Max shook him, tears springing to his eyes.
‘I just want to leave. Please let me go.’
‘No! Not until you tell me what happened. Why did you crash into my parents?’
Max looked at the man in front of him. He looked so tired, broken, and if he didn’t hate him so much, he might feel some sense of pity for him, but he couldn’t.
That man had taken everything from him, and was still taking things away from him.
Max had been so happy all morning, so focused on his date with Bethan, but now all he felt was the pain of losing his parents all over again, like it had just happened, and hatred towards the man who had done it.
‘It was an accident. I just looked at my phone for a second—’
‘You were on your phone?’ shouted Max, the tears getting stronger by the moment.
He still had hold of the man. His name was Barry Spencer.
Max had read his name in the newspaper that had reported it.
Two fatalities in a multi-vehicle collision on the M4 just outside Swindon.
Barry had walked away with minor injuries, and after a brief investigation, it had been concluded that it was just an accident.
There was no-one to blame, but Max knew that wasn’t true.
‘For a second. Please, I just want to leave. I never meant to see you.’
‘I bet you fucking didn’t. I’d have every right to beat the shit out of you,’ said Max, sounding and using words that were so unlike him.
He wasn’t that sort of person, but he felt it inside of him, and couldn’t help himself and the words that poured out of him.
‘I hate you for what you did!’ Max clenched a fist with his spare hand.
He didn’t know what he was capable of at that moment. He had never felt anger like it.
‘Is everything all right, Max?’ said a voice suddenly, and when Max looked past Barry, he saw the vicar, Mark Worsley, standing on the other side of him.
‘It’s him. It’s the man who killed my parents,’ said Max, his voice was still menacing and sharp, only pierced by the tears that ran down his face.
‘I know, but this is a church, Max, and I can’t have you threatening people like that. I understand how you feel, but violence and threats are never the answer.’
‘How could you understand how I feel?’ said Max, turning to the vicar. ‘How the fuck could you know how I feel?’
‘You’re right, I don’t, and I’m sorry, but Max this isn’t the way to handle things. Now please, let him go, and we can talk. Just us, quietly and alone.’
Max looked at Barry Spencer, at the fear and the sadness in his eyes, and it was clear he had suffered too.
He looked afraid of Max, and suddenly he let him go.
Barry immediately walked away, past the vicar, his head down.
Max felt his whole body gripped by a horrible terror, a fear of the pain that was still inside of him, and of what it was capable of doing.
The tears kept running down his face, and he just stood and faced Mark.
‘Do you want to talk, Max?’ he said. A few birds chirped and flew overhead in that peaceful graveyard. Max took one last look at Mark, and then he started walking away. ‘Max? Please, let’s talk.’
But Max didn’t want to talk, and especially not to the vicar because he didn’t understand, couldn’t understand.
So, Max kept walking and walking until he ended up at his parents’ house.
He’d brought along his key, just in case, and he let himself in.
He walked along the hallway, past the old living room and into the kitchen.
Since the house was on the market, it was cleaner, tidier, and a few things had been moved around, but he knew the cabinet was still stocked.
He walked across the kitchen to the spirits cabinet, where they had kept all the alcohol.
It was still early, but Max didn’t care.
He didn’t care about anything. He grabbed the first bottle he saw, a half-empty bottle of vodka, and took it across to the side.
He found a glass, and poured himself a large double-shot.
He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since the intervention, but at that moment, it was all he could think about.
He held the glass in his hands, and then in one swift motion, he downed the whole glass, before he filled it up again, his hands shaking with emotion.
Max had to quieten the voices in his head, and the grief that threatened to overtake him.
The only way he knew how was with alcohol.
So, he drank to numb the pain, to get rid of the image of Barry Spencer from his mind.
To stop him from burrowing inside of his head, and setting up a permanent camp.
He had looked at his phone for a second, and in that second he had lost control of his lorry, and killed his parents.
He hated him so much for what he did. Max took the bottle into the living room, sat on the sofa, and drank what was left.
It was the only way. The only thing that made sense.
He had forgotten about Bethan, about their date because he had finally met the man who had killed his parents, and the pain deep inside his heart was unbearable.