He took a breath. “I was fucked up, Ett. I was drinking, doing drugs, whatever I could get. I was drunk or high all the time. I was fighting.”
“Like boxing?”
“Illegal. Street fights. For money. I was good at it.”
She laughed. “Because you’re freaking enormous.” She thought this was funny.
“That, and I’m fast and light on my feet. I made a lot of money. I pissed most of it away. I hurt a lot of people. I’m not proud of it.”
“How badly did you hurt them?”
“I broke stuff. Arms, legs, ribs, faces.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. He never talked about this. And it was worse, far worse than he could tell Etta; than he could tell anyone. For three years he’d been defined by substance abuse and violence. A too easy brutality that gave him minor celebrity status.
Etta looked at him with suspicion. She didn’t trust it.
“One guy lost an eye.”
She rocked into his side, like she’d been hit with a physical shockwave. “Holy crap. I. Don’t. Believe. You.”
“I was different those three years. I’d finished school. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself. It was easy money. The drink and the drugs made me aggressive. I’m too big to hit other guys and not hurt them, but they all wanted to prove something.”
“That’s why your hands were always cut up.” She put her hand briefly over his. “Your knuckles were the worst. Did you get hurt bad too?”
“No. Broke a couple of fingers. Broke Charlie’s heart. She told me I couldn’t come home till I remembered who I was. I hated her those years. I hated her for a lot of years. All those years she was sick, or studying and working, I had to be responsible for you and the twins and Flip. I missed out on being a normal kid. I was full of resentment and she told me to grow up and be a man and that’s what I thought I was doing. Being the man.”
“Jesus, Reece.”
He shook his head. After saying nothing for so long, he’d said too much.
“Why didn’t you become a proper boxer?”
“Because without the drugs I didn’t want to hit people and after a while I stopped being angry. Even with the drugs I used to spend half my time visiting guys I’d smashed up in hospital. I missed all of you and I wanted to come home.”
“I remember how happy Mum was when you did.”
“I remember two things.” He sighed and Etta leaned in to him. “You hated it because I got my room back and Flip was scared of me. My own baby sister didn’t want to come near me. That was it for me, no going back ever. But I have to live with what I did and who I was. And I only told you because I don’t want that for you.”
She lit up a second cigarette. He waved away her offer. He could see her churning all that over. He had to hope it was enough to make her think. To let her know she could talk to him about stuff she wouldn’t go to Charlie with. That was something Polly’s dad had done for him.
She flicked the butt of that fag into the weed as well. “When I saw you with the broom I thought you’d come home again.”
He grunted. “No, I’m only visiting. I’ve got plenty of room at Polly’s.”
“Was Polly fighting too?”
“He was the fight organiser. I don’t think he’d want you to know. He’s not proud of it either. This is between us, Ett.”
She nodded, but there was only so far he could trust that. He took a breath, clean, smoke free. Charlie always said it was his story to tell and today was as good as any day to have told it. He hadn’t been that guy, strung out, quick to anger, high on violence, for so long now it was hard to remember what he was like then, the way he’d loved the power of it, been good at it.
“I went with a
guy. He wanted me to...”
Oh shit. He leant into Etta, and when she didn’t pull away he put his arm around her. Whatever she said, he’d deal with.
“He wanted me to touch his prick. I did it. I jerked him off. It was gross.” She shivered and he gave her arm a rub. “He wanted to touch me and I wouldn’t let him. He called me a slut and told everyone I was easy. Now all the guys think I got with him and that I’ll hook up with anyone.”
The hand not holding on to Etta was curled in a fist. “Who do you want me to be, Ett?”