“They asked me a lot of questions, but they weren't hostile like that cunt of a policeman. I told them the truth, and … I had to keep on stopping because … oh fuck, I was so broken. They didn't blame me. But Brent's team mates were there. They wouldn't speak to me. Most of them wouldn't even look at me. Those who did were so angry, so antagonistic. Well, they had the right.”
“No they fuckin' dedn't!” exclaimed Keith. “They had no fuckin' roight!” His accent was stronger when he was angry.
“He was their friend too. And I screwed up. I know I did. If I had been a better person, he would be alive today. If I had really cared about him, about us, he wouldn't be rotting in his grave. Don't think I don't know that. Don't make excuses for me.”
He took another swallow of the brandy, and some more of the tea. The tea was refreshing but the brandy seemed to make no difference to his pain. He'd hoped that it would anaesthetise his hurt, soften his loss, but it didn't. He felt fuzzier at the edges but that was all.
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