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Back Our Fathers Save as PDF
Chapters (36)
  1. ALSO BYREBECCA WAIT
  2. OUR FATHERS
  3. PART 1
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. PART 2
  23. 1
  24. 2
  25. 3
  26. 4
  27. PART 3
  28. 1
  29. 2
  30. 3
  31. 4
  32. 5
  33. 6
  34. 7
  35. 8
  36. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

They hadn’t got away with it, of course. They had got away with nothing. Much later, a succession of counsellors would tell Tommy it was normal for children to blame themselves after a tragedy, to obsess over what they could have done differently, as though they could somehow go back in time and prevent it. Magical thinking. Tommy would nod and pretend to be reassured. But his mind threw it out again: clinker, clinker, clinker. If only he hadn’t corrected his father. If only he had been clever like Nicky.

It wasn’t your fault, the counsellors said.

Clinker, clinker, clinker.

Of course, they didn’t know what had happened next. Tommy would never tell them. He knew this even at eight, still knew it at ten, knew it at fifteen and at twenty. Clinker wasn’t the real trouble. Clinker was a displacement thought he clung to. The Vikings were bearable—almost, almost bearable—where the rest was not. It was so terrible that most days he couldn’t even look at it. Couldn’t look away either. Always, he would catch a glimpse of its edges and then the awful darkness rose up in him again.

I’m sorry, he tried to say to Nicky in his head. Often he woke up with the words at the front of his mind. Caroline told him one time that he’d spoken them aloud, still half asleep.

If only he could go back. If only he could go back, and know what was coming, and do everything differently. Do only one thing differently. It would have taken just the tiniest of whispers, the smallest fraction of a second, a different decision, a different outcome.

Clinker, clinker, clinker.

If only, if only, if only.

10

Tommy had been staying with Malcolm for nearly a week, and their days had fallen into a kind of rhythm. Malcolm rose early, Tommy generally rose late. Some days Malcolm went out to work with Robert, but would mostly be back by the afternoon. Then, before the light faded, he and Tommy would go for a walk. Malcolm didn’t know what Tommy did with his mornings. Sometimes he’d find him lounging in an armchair in the sitting room with one of Heather’s novels. Tommy had finished The Way of All Flesh now and moved on to Thomas Hardy. Most days Tommy would have made lunch and left some for Malcolm: a cheese sandwich wrapped in cling film in the fridge, or pasta and tomato sauce to be heated up.