Anemone (2025)

[bunniefuu]

Father in heaven,

I kneel before you today...

...in your omnipotent

presence...

...to ask that you

grant me strength.

The strength to power

through all the tasks today,

whether little or big.

I know it is by your will

that I live, O Lord.

And I know it is also

by your will

that I will not go weak today.

I will not go lazy...

...nor will I fail to do the

things that are set before me.

Thank you for your

everlasting presence, Lord,

and in Jesus' name I pray.

In the name of the Father,

the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Um, I'm gonna be

going away for a few days.

I won't be that long,

but your-your mother's here,

and-and she... um...

You know.

Anyway, I just thought

to let you know

I'm going away and, uh...

Viking, North and South Utsire,

Forties.

Southwesterly,

veering northwesterly,

six to gale eight,

perhaps severe gale nine later.

Rain, then wintry showers,

moderate or poor, becoming good.

Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger.

Southwesterly, veering westerly,

five to seven,

occasionally gale eight.

Rain, then showers,

moderate or good.

Fisher, southwesterly,

veering westerly,

six to gale eight,

perhaps severe gale nine later.

Rain, then wintry showers,

moderate or poor, becoming good.

German Bight, Humber.

Southwesterly, veering westerly,

seven to severe gale nine,

decreasing six in Humber later.

Rain, then showers,

moderate or poor, becoming good.

Thames, Dover, Wight,

Portland, Plymouth.

Southwesterly,

six to gale eight,

occasionally severe gale nine,

veering...

Is less

My future is shrouded

In dark wilderness

Sunshine is far away

Clouds linger on

Everything I possessed

Now they are gone

They are gone

They are gone

Oh, where can I go to?

And what can I do?

Nothing can please me

Only thoughts are of you

You just laughed

When I begged you to stay

I've not stopped crying

Since you went away

You went away

You went away

The world is a lonely place

You're on your own

Guess I will go home

Sit down and moan

Crying and thinking

Is all that I do

Memories I have

Remind me of you

Of you

Of you

The world is a lonely place

You're on your own

Guess I will go home

Sit down and moan

Crying and thinking

Is all that I do

Memories I have

Remind me of you

Of you

Of you.

Our inheritance.

Thank you.

Bless us, O Lord,

and these thy gifts...

...which we are

about to receive.

Through Christ our Lord,

we pray.

All my pictures are fallin'

From the wall

where I placed them yesterday

The world is turnin'

Get outta town

Think I'll get outta town

Get outta town

Think I'll get outta town

I head for the sticks

With my bus and friends

I follow the road

Though I don't know

where it ends

Get outta town

Get outta town

Think I'll get outta town...

20 years, huh?

Bless you, brother.

f*ck off.

Brian.

Brian.

Oh, sweetie.

Where is he gone?

Who?

Your dad?

Has he gone to see him?

But what the f*ck

has he got to do with it, Mum?

-What has he got to do with it?

-Everything.

What?

Why'd you hurt that lad, eh?

He was f*cking

asking for it, Mum.

Brian.

Did he say something

about your dad?

Jem is my dad.

Or he said something about Ray?

Well, if you know so much,

then why are you asking me?

Don't be so cheeky.

I'm just trying to talk to you.

You nearly m*rder*d that lad.

Do you hear me?

One more k*ller in the family.

Who's counting?

Ray's not a k*ller.

And even if he was one,

does it mean you have to be?

Eh?

Come here.

Ray's not a k*ller.

Our Father who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come,

thy will be done

as it is in heaven.

Give us this day

our daily bread,

and forgive us our trespasses

as we forgive those

who trespass against us.

Dear Ray,

I'm not sure you'll even

get this letter

or read it, even.

So in the fact of hope

and answered prayers

you'll be reading this one,

I want to start

by asking how you are.

The silence still burns

after all the years.

And I often wonder

if you think about me.

Us.

Did you read it?

Did you read it?

No, I didn't f*cking read it.

Whoo!

"Give strong drink unto him

that is ready to perish,

and wine unto the bitter

in soul."

Amen.

Her Majesty the Queen.

What happened to "for what

we are about to receive"?

So it's only before eating

that you say grace?

He don't mind if you have a few

f*cking bevvies without a word?

You forgot to wipe your arse

this morning.

I saw the sh*t in your pants.

No, that were from yesterday.

You dirty b*stard.

Is cleanliness next to

godliness, would you say?

How do you know he's not filthy?

Is there any evidence

in the Bible

that says God takes a bath

three times a week?

Changes his undies every day?

God doesn't need undies,

'cause he's not full of sh*t

like you are.

Oh, is that so?

Has he got an endless supply

up there?

Bet he never has to wear

the same pair twice.

Does he like a nice, snug fit?

Or does he like plenty of room

for his big f*cking God ba*ls

to swing around in?

You know, like massive

f*cking church bells, them.

Bet it's like

Canterbury Cathedral

down below decks.

You're going to hell, brother.

Family reunion?

Father Rippon died last week.

Saw it in the paper.

Don't read papers.

Did you ever see him again?

Is that a question?

Did hear he were carted off to

the nuthouse a few years ago.

-Please read that letter, Ray.

-When I were back on leave

after third tour

of the province--

lost two of our lads

on that one...

...started to think

about him, Rippon.

More I thought about him,

the more I wanted

to pay him a visit,

have a catch-up.

A debrief about

the good old days.

Anyway, when I got home,

I looked him up.

Weren't easy to find.

Course, they'd moved him

around a bit.

Business as usual.

Tracked him down

in Huddersfield.

Hmm.

Should've seen me all

togged out in my number twos.

I mean, for someone

that were in sh*t order

most days of the week,

I smartened up well.

Cacks under the mattress

the night before.

Razor-sharp creases

front and back.

I were bulling my boots

all morning.

Like mirrors they were.

This were

parade ground standard, Jem.

Could've done

a ceremonial duty at Buck Pal,

I looked that good.

Number two dress and medals.

I were that well turned out,

I could hear our dear mother's

voice saying,

"Come home, son.

All is forgiven."

-Number ones.

-The what?

Number one dress at the palace.

Yeah, right, right.

That's what I'm saying.

I were that smart, you wouldn't

have known the difference.

I suppose not

if you were pig-ignorant.

Hmm.

So, go round his house.

Lovely little

grace-and-favor cottage

paid for by His Holiness,

no doubt.

Window boxes,

perfect little lawn,

hedges trimmed.

Knock on the door,

and there he is.

All scrubbed up, pink and shiny.

He seemed so old.

I remember him

as a big, strong bugger.

And there he were,

scrawny little old man

with a potbelly.

I was surprised

at how small he looked.

I said,

"Father Rippon, isn't it?

"I'm collecting

for the Veterans Association.

Would you mind if I stepped

inside for a moment?"

I could tell he were impressed.

"Oh, do come in.

Do come in, young man.

You're very welcome, son.

Do come in."

He's all fluffed up,

bustling about.

The kettle's on.

Fine china, biscuits,

the whole works.

"You'll take a cuppa,

won't you, son?"

So we sit down.

We sit down

in his tidy little parlor,

chatting about this and that.

I say, "This is your parish,

is it, Father?"

He says, "Oh, I'm currently

between parishes.

Semiretired, you know."

I said, "Oh,

that must be difficult

after all the years of service."

We talk about...

talking about

the state of things,

the ungovernable, godless youth.

He asks me,

"Are you of the faith, son?"

And I say, "Faith runs

very deep in our family,

Father."

He says, "Of course,

what I miss most of all

is working with young people."

I nearly choked

on my custard cream.

Anyway, so, there's a lull

in the conversation,

and he says, "Oh, I do

beg your pardon, Corporal.

Perhaps you'd like

something stronger."

I just look at him

for a long time.

"Would you like

something stronger, Father?"

I could see the thrill of it

coursing through him.

He didn't dare believe.

His face darkened,

his eyes all glittery.

He said, "Well, I would

if you would."

He starts to get up.

I say, "I'm very strong,

Father Rippon."

He sits back down as if

his legs went from under him.

I say...

"Would you like to have a look?"

I start to unbutton my trousers.

I thought he might have

a heart attack.

He just couldn't believe it.

It was like Christmas

come early.

So I stood myself up...

teasing open the buttons

like a rent boy.

Dropped the cacks,

dropped my undies.

I say, "There it is."

I said, "Lie down on the floor."

He lies down,

eager to accommodate.

I said, "In a crucifix.

That would make me

nice and hard."

Waddled forward a few steps.

I'm stood right over him.

Oh, there's one detail

I forgot to mention, Jem.

For a few days

before I went round,

I were on a diet

of Guinness and curry.

And then the afternoon of,

I took a handful of laxatives.

It were hard to get

the timing right.

I was sat in my car

outside his house

for a couple of hours,

and nothing was shifting.

As soon as I felt

that stirring within,

I knocked on his door.

As I'm sitting there,

it's welling up inside me,

and now I swear

I'm coming apart at the seams.

The rivets are popping

out of me.

The army teaches you to grin

and bear it, doesn't it, Jem?

We do love the exquisite agony

of self-denial.

So...

I'm stood over him.

I say,

"Don't recognize me, do you?"

"What?"

I say, "Little Ray.

I'm your Little Ray

from the care home."

Takes him a good few moments,

his eyes flicking

this way and that.

When the penny drops,

fear runs through him

like electricity.

And the stinking sweat

poured out of him.

"Oh, please don't hurt me.

Please don't hurt me."

I said, "Don't move.

"If you move an inch,

I'll cut off

"your meat and potatoes

"and shove them down

your f*cking throat.

You can suck yourself off

for a change."

Well, come to think of it,

shame he didn't learn

to do that a few years ago.

He might have been

self-sufficient.

Shuffled forwards, about-turn,

very awkward,

heels on his stringy

little arms.

He flinched. I could tell it

hurt him, but he daren't move.

"Now, look up the sluice pipe,

Father."

And I squatted down.

And I manured him.

Now...

This evacuation were in

three distinct phases.

First, I sprayed...

sprayed him.

Pebble-dashed him.

Like a flock of pigeons

taking off, they were.

Then a couple of waves

of hot lava.

And finally, one... one big...

...one big patty cake,

like wet cement,

flops out of me.

And he's retching and spitting,

and he daren't breathe in,

but he has to breathe.

And I'm laughing that much,

I feared I might topple over

into my own filth.

And that's it.

Stood up.

Little packet

of wet wipes in my pocket.

Cleaned myself up...

and walked out of there

light as a feather.

Did you believe that?

Did he do you in the hole?

Huh?

No.

I bet he didn't.

Even at that age,

they were scared of you.

Where were you when he was

f*cking me up the hole?

Huh?

He done me proper.

He done me proper.

Didn't have much luck

with fathers, did we?

How about some tunes?

f*cking hell.

f*cking pig.

What's wrong with you?

All right?

f*cking hell.

What you doing that for?

What are you doing

that for, hmm?

-What are you doing that for?

-What?

Just chucking 'em in your mouth.

I'm not gonna eat them now.

You all right?

I'm f*cking crossing there,

you f*cking twat!

Look where you're

f*cking going, you stupid...

Nessa?

Nessa.

Hattie?

Look at you in your white coat.

Oh, don't get ahead of yourself.

I'm only a trainee, Nessa.

It looks good on you, though.

Even the cleaners

get white coats in the chemist.

-Have you finished uni?

-Mm-mm.

Finals coming up this year.

-This is my workplace training.

-Right.

I'm-I'm glad I ran into you,

Nessa.

I've not heard from Brian

for an age now.

Is he all right?

What?

What?

I really hurt him, Hattie.

I don't know what I...

I-I don't actually know.

I just... I...

I couldn't stop myself.

I have, uh...

I hurt him badly.

What did he say to you?

I can't even remember, Hattie.

Well, I can.

But...

just-just usual stupid sh*t.

About him?

I just...

f*ck, I just...

I just...

You were in East Tyrone, right?

Ooh, let me just cast

my mind back for a moment.

Wrong.

You know exactly where I were.

Crossmaglen.

Bandit country.

There were an IRA

active service unit

operating in the area,

doing all sorts.

They were very good,

very skillful.

Cunning, ghosting back

and forth across the border.

It were cat and mouse.

Sometimes we were the cats,

sometimes they were.

As often as not,

you weren't even sure which.

You could have them

in your sights

with the safety catch off.

Meantime, they'd have

a high-velocity round

merrily winging its way

toward the back of your head.

Just in the week

before we'd dug in...

...we found and defused

three massive IEDs of theirs.

They shot and k*lled one of

our dog handlers and the dog.

And they shot down

a f*cking helicopter.

One week's work.

Provo Army Council

expected results.

And they weren't disappointed.

Incendiaries,

IEDs, grenades, mortars,

sn*per r*fles,

heavy machine g*ns.

Were better-equipped

than we were.

What happened?

Are they the flowers

our dad used to grow?

Anemones?

I'll write as if you've read

all my other letters.

The desire to talk to you

and share everything is strong.

However, this isn't about me.

This is about Brian.

Brian needs you.

Never before have I asked you

in this way.

He's in trouble.

You leaving?

Accommodation not good enough

for you?

When you legged it,

every day, Nessa wrote to you.

How long was it?

When you went limping off

into the woods,

she didn't want to interfere

with your decision.

For a couple of years,

we thought

you'd just turn up one day.

She had no idea

if you got her letters,

let alone if you read them.

You knew she were pregnant.

You never answered her once.

You've been going

through my things?

f*ck off back to Toytown,

you f*cking ape.

Got my girl, got my son,

got my life.

What more do you f*cking want?

It was you that left. You.

Get over yourself, lad.

It's not about you. Fact.

It's about Brian.

Poor only child

of a deranged fugitive.

Didn't you want to give him

some brothers

and sisters to play with?

You're a big lump of a lad.

Don't tell me

you were firing blanks.

She prayed for you

every night, Ray.

Still prays for you.

Tell her to save

her f*cking breath.

And our dad prayed for you, too,

every day for the rest

of his life.

Have you gone soft?

That miserable b*stard?

Oh, he prayed.

He prayed, didn't he?

Prayed every time

he took his belt off.

Didn't he pray again afterwards?

Wet under the arms

from the efforts of his labor.

Oh, he prayed regular.

We learnt our violence from the

number one regional champion,

and he had

some stiff competition.

Who knows, maybe at the...

the British Legion

dominoes championships,

he's life and soul.

Blazer, badge, regimental tie,

chest out front,

just the long-range

desert patrol.

Now, that were w*r.

Sand for breakfast,

lunch and dinner.

If Rommel didn't get you,

the flies surely would.

He didn't talk like that.

That's right, he didn't

f*cking talk at all, did he?

I've had plenty of f*cking time

to fill in the f*cking silence

for him.

What do you want from me,

brother?

You'd know if you read

the letter.

I've read the f*cking letter.

I've read the f*cking letter.

What the f*ck?

What do you want?

I'm beyond your reach, Jem.

I'm well beyond her reach.

There'll be no epiphany.

So f*ck off back to your

little family and sort it out.

You don't want me to leave, Ray.

Why in God's name

did you let that boy

join army

in the first f*cking place?

This is nowt to do with me.

This is on you, mate.

Look,

though I've raised the boy,

do you think he's not

a pigheaded little b*stard

like you are?

It were nowt to do with me.

I said my piece.

I didn't think he should do it,

follow in our footsteps.

I thought he were just

chasing after...

Anyway, regardless of what

I think or don't think,

do you honestly believe

that your son

wouldn't do a thing just 'cause

somebody told him not to?

Look, he's currently

absent without leave.

And as much as they like him,

you know as well as I do

there's no warm, fuzzy feeling

in the MOD.

There's only so long

they'll turn a blind eye.

Maybe a week, if we're lucky.

And then the MPs

will come knocking

and take him away.

But that's the least of it.

I've seen my share

of lost souls, Ray,

and at this moment,

your son is in the dark.

Believer or nonbeliever,

there are forces at work.

Fact.

I don't want anything

from you, Ray.

I-I don't want anything.

Nessa... Nessa believes

that if you met him

and talked to him,

gave him some answers,

it just might make a difference.

It might.

Before it's too late.

Brian savaged this lad.

He f*cking savaged him.

He's convinced himself if...

if they hadn't pulled him off,

he'd have k*lled him.

And this has been following

Brian since primary school.

"Your father's this,

your father's that."

"He's in the nuthouse."

"Is he banged up?"

The invisible man, Ray Stoker.

Please.

Just tell me.

If you're not gonna help out,

then I'm gonna get out of here

double-time.

I fancy a bevvy.

He's still conscious?

That's-that's good.

Could you just ask the children

to move out of the way?

We don't want them

seeing this, do we?

A blanket on...

Yeah, a blanket on him is fine.

And, uh, do I move him?

-No, do not move him.

-But he's in the way.

I repeat that,

do not move him, madam.

And do not remove his helmet.

You're doing so well.

I know there's a lot of blood.

Why, he were

all over me at that stage,

like a bloody octopus.

And I were, like, whipping

my head back and forth,

just trying to catch

a clean breath.

But he must have thought

I was in ecstasy,

'cause that minging

wet gob of his

just kept reaching for me.

Oh, my... He wasn't gonna

back down, but...

I'm not lying.

His breath smelt like sh*t,

Nessa.

Have you ever had that?

Thank you.

-Here you are.

-Cheers, mate.

And here's some crisps.

I know you like them.

Cheese and onion.

This thing's out of juice, mate.

I won't be long.

Won't be long.

He's beautiful, kind,

funny, loyal.

He's so like you

in so many ways.

Funny that, eh?

Anyway, I implore you,

for the sake of Brian,

to please, please come home

and talk to him.

Let him meet you at least.

And maybe, just maybe

he can move forward

and let go of whatever demon

anger is holding him so tight.

I pray you are well

and see fit to answer.

God bless.

Love always, Nessa.

What?

What?

What? What the f*ck?

Spitting image.

What?

Spitting image.

Spitting image? Who?

f*ck off.

f*ck right off.

Our father who art in heaven?

f*ck off.

Suppose I am a bit.

Suppose I am

a bit of a sad old bugger.

He been doing all right,

were he?

-Who?

-The boy.

"The boy," Brian,

is doing well, very well.

They think he's a real prospect.

Can't help himself.

The other lads

just fall in behind him.

-That right?

-Yeah.

You remember what it's like

when you're cold and hungry,

you haven't slept

in three nights.

It's every man for himself.

With Brian...

he's got strength to spare.

He may be at the end

of his rope,

but he's still looking out

for the others.

And they pay attention to that.

Hmm.

When you did selection and, uh,

were badged into the regiment,

I was so proud.

And I was so f*cking envious.

I thought, "I want that.

I want some of that."

Suppose volunteering for 14 Int

were a way of getting closer,

you know.

The training at Bradbury Lines

with your lads and all,

I thought it were

within reach, but...

Weren't 'cause of me

that he signed up.

'Cause of you.

Even with all the sh*t that

he put up with over the years,

it was some idea he had,

it were...

It was the space

where you should've been

that he was chasing after,

that he was fascinated by.

Now he's frightened

of his own shadow.

He doesn't know who you are.

Knows nothing about you.

Except for the old stories

when we were youngsters.

You know, the short fuse,

street fights, vandalism.

You and me both,

we were both liabilities then.

But now he, uh...

I don't know,

he looks at his hands

as though they belong

to somebody else.

What?

Rumors, mate. Rumors.

Until you tell me what happened,

that's all we've got.

I realize I've never

properly spoken to you

about your father.

And that was

a fault in me, Brian.

Me and Jem thought we could

make a nice life for you,

and-and I think

in some ways we have.

But it can't have been easy

for you...

all these years.

You know, it looming

over everything.

Every family dinner.

Every birthday, every Christmas,

every special occasion.

And I suppose, by not talking

to you about it...

...it were my way

of protecting you from it.

How much do you know

about the early Troubles

in Northern Ireland?

We'll sleep outside tonight.

I lost him in stages.

I lost him in stages.

After the first few tours

in Northern Ireland,

he were already

quite hard to reach.

And then when he volunteered

for some special assignment,

the minute he raised

his hand, he...

he seemed to disappear

into another world.

Oh, but it wasn't just that.

He wanted it.

He were alive, eager.

He said goodbye

well before he left.

And when he came back,

you couldn't reach him.

You'd be sat at kitchen table

with him,

and he'd be looking at you

like you were at the other side

of a football pitch

and you're an acquaintance,

you know, maybe, and he were

trying to figure out

who you were.

I were pregnant with you.

And I were getting bigger

by the day,

and he seemed to be shrinking.

I-I... I felt like

a big lumbering giant

living with a miniature person,

afraid I were going to

crush him underfoot, but...

Then one day he were gone,

and I...

realized I'd been

waiting for it.

Ray never spoke to me

about what happened over there.

I tried to get

in touch with a...

you know, a few of the lads

that he served with, you know,

that were with him,

but they said nothing.

They were on a warning

from the MOD.

They must have been

on a warning.

So all I have is

what I'm telling you now.

But I knew Ray.

I knew Ray better

than I knew myself.

And as I said, those lads,

they couldn't say owt.

But I tell you this much--

they loved him

and they respected him.

And they never gave me... never

gave me one hint of a reason

that he'd done something

he should be ashamed of.

But he left us, didn't he?

He left us.

What's that, Mum?

Something to be proud of?

Why'd he leave?

Huh? Why did he leave us?

w*r crime.

That's what he called it--

a w*r crime.

f*cking w*r crime me?

The w*r were the f*cking crime.

And we were

the phantom soldiers.

Our mission on this one were

surveillance, pure and simple.

We dug in at nighttime.

Two OPs.

Ours were in a hedgerow at

the end of an unpaved laneway

bordering the farm buildings.

The structure of interest

were the milking shed

no more than 30, 40 feet

from us across the yard.

On a tip-off, we'd scouted it

a few nights before.

They arrived

shortly after sunup.

The b*mb maker were a player

well-known to us.

The young lad with him,

we'd never seen him before.

Our intel was solid, but...

for two days,

there were no movement.

We started to wonder if they'd

somehow slipped away,

if there were a...

a tunnel or concealed entrance

we'd missed

when we recced the building.

I was just writing up my report

when the b*mb went off.

The expl*si*n was so loud

you couldn't hear it.

The concussive force ran through

every cell of your body.

Filled you up, like there were

nothing left of you.

Just chaos.

The entire roof lifted

off the shed

on a cloud of black smoke,

like a cartoon.

Walls swelled outwards,

opened up.

Debris started

to rain down on us.

"Are we being attacked?

Do they know we're here?

Are they getting rid of it?"

They'd do that sometimes.

You know how it were.

If they... they thought

you were onto them,

they'd detonate the ordnance

and scarper.

And we were waiting

for the incoming, but so far,

there were nothing.

Then there were just the sound

of this fella screaming.

Like I said, we were on

surveillance, nothing more.

We weren't equipped

for anything serious.

Sidearms only,

couple of longs between us.

When that Semtex went off,

we should've called it in,

hand it over to your lads,

but...

I don't know why, but...

for some reason, we moved in.

Advance to contact.

I suppose it were a

"ride to the sound of the g*ns"

type of madness.

We started to crawl

toward the milking shed.

Could've been weapons

trained on us, sn*pers.

Could've been another b*mb

waiting in the building.

We didn't know.

So we're crawling, heads down,

getting closer, getting closer.

All we could...

The only sound

were the screaming.

Obviously, we wanted to get

one of them alive,

if we could, get him to talk.

It were that smoky

in the building

you could barely see

in front of you.

Well, it turned out

it were just the two of them,

master and apprentice.

And the player

must have been stood

between the b*mb and the kid.

There were nowt left of him.

Except his f*cking teeth,

buried in the side

of the young fella's head.

Heard it were his nephew

a few days later.

And I must have slipped

when we went in on some...

piece of him, because I were

covered in, you know...

When I picked myself up,

I were covered in his slime.

The kid were on the ground.

Bits of him were...

He were alive, just about,

but bits of him were missing.

His innards were spilled out,

and he were crying out

for his mother.

b*mb maker's teeth buried

in the side of his head.

I was stood right over him.

Our three lads clearing

the room left and right.

I'm stood over him.

He were dying, this kid, Jem.

He were dying.

I could see the fear

in his eyes.

The f*cking hatred.

He looked at me with hatred.

Couldn't have been

more than 16 or 17 years old.

Younger than Brian is now.

He's screaming at me.

Begging me to sh**t him.

So I shot him.

He were dying?

Yes, Jem, he were

f*cking dying. He f*cking...

I didn't f*cking k*ll him.

He k*lled himself.

f*cking k*lled himself.

I just nudged him

across the line.

f*cking little b*stard.

Where were they gonna

put that b*mb? In a pub?

In a shopping center?

In a nightclub?

Guaranteed, there'd be

innocent people blown to bits.

How f*cking merciful.

Turns out they just

k*lled themselves.

And I'm the f*cking m*rder*r?

I wish... I wish

I had left him to die.

I wish I'd left him to

his full measure of suffering.

Lying there with his guts

spilled out,

crying for his mother.

I should've left him there.

Should've called an ambulance.

Told 'em to take

the scenic route.

I'm not f*cking making out

I did him a favor,

but I f*cking did.

He were begging me to do it.

17 years old,

shivering on the ground,

and I finished him off.

Just to stop the screaming.

And that's it.

That's all there were.

Yeah, listen,

of course they... lads knew.

The lads... lads knew

what I'd done.

They didn't question it.

They knew this fella were gone

and no one would get

anything out of him.

By the time we got him anywhere,

he-he wouldn't have survived.

No one said a word.

No one questioned it.

No one said a word.

But I called it into South Det

operations room.

That stage, our job were done.

Handed over, went back

to barracks, had the debrief.

That boy's injuries--

didn't occur to me

any questions would be asked,

but...

They were all in a twist.

The Ruperts, the higher-ups.

So, after...

the CO had me in his office.

Uh...

I could tell

he were under stress.

His whole fat head looked like

a boil that needed lancing.

"By all the rules

of lawful engagement,

that's a w*r crime,

Sergeant Stoker."

Oh, hello. Here we go.

He's looking hard at me.

"We need to make this go away.

"He presented a threat.

He raised his weapon."

"No, he f*cking didn't, sir."

I shouted in his face,

"No, he f*cking didn't."

"His arms were shredded."

I said, "I want to get out."

He-he said, "You can't."

He said, "Pull yourself

together and don't be thick.

"Take a couple of days,

see the head doctor,

"you'll be right as rain.

We'll make this go away." So...

I'm stood in front...

front of him,

hot tears squirting out of me.

If you'd asked me

what my name were,

I wouldn't have known.

So I...

I took a couple of days, but...

it-it weren't that long

for the shrink to see

there were a crack in the ice

that wouldn't heal over.

I were...

I were, as he put it...

-Hey.

-...an unstable element.

Danger to myself and others,

which, in our line of work,

meant generally bad

for business.

Time to go home.

So he declared me unfit,

"return to unit."

Signed me out, put me

on a plane back to my regiment.

Short while later, I find myself

on the streets of Sheffield,

staring at my old front door.

A civilian...

and a...

...a dirty little s-secret

w*r criminal.

Yeah, well, I were coming up

15 years' service,

due out anyway.

Could you have saved him?

I did save him, Jem.

I did save him.

Saved him from

more f*cking pain.

I'd have enjoyed watching him

suffer a little bit longer,

so I did save him--

saved him from that.

Why did you sh**t him?

Could we have kept him alive?

At the t-time,

I knew we couldn't.

At the time.

At the time.

Hey.

We've all done things.

We've all done things, Ray.

I don't need

your f*cking absolution, Jem.

Maybe I could've saved him.

Maybe I couldn't have saved him.

Maybe I enjoyed k*lling him.

Maybe I didn't.

Maybe I pitied him.

Maybe I f*cking hated him.

I don't know, Jem. I don't know.

But I don't need

your f*cking absolution.

I did the crime.

I'm still serving the time.

I don't owe nowt to nobody.

I don't owe nowt to nobody.

Least of all to you.

How many f*cking Hail Marys

do I get for that?

And he goes silent, morose.

His eyes searching for the exit.

Well, there were rumors,

as you only know too well,

that he'd lost his mind

over there, that...

you know, he'd...

he'd gone psycho,

that he'd been involved

in some bad things.

Even that he'd m*rder*d

an unarmed civilian.

Oh, and the shame.

The shame of it

seemed to crush him.

I mean, regardless

of what happened, the shame.

It's hard to imagine that,

you know,

what shame can do to a person.

He was a very proud man,

your father, Brian.

He was very proud.

Proud?

You don't understand.

-He put his heart and soul

into soldiering. -Proud?

Just like your dad,

Jem, you know?

Listen to yourself, Mum.

So... so to take that away

from somebody,

to take it away from him,

it's like taking his name away.

How can you be so f*cking

reasonable about it?

Oh, I wasn't reasonable

about it at the time.

You know, and if it...

if it wasn't for knowing

that there was a baby

on the way, and if it...

if it wasn't for you...

I don't know

what I would've done.

So, yeah.

He left us.

I'm sorry.

And is that what you think,

or is that what you know?

'Cause this is

what I think, Mum.

I think he were a f*cking k*ller

and a coward.

Because only a weak,

cowardly person can walk away

from their family like that.

Don't talk about him.

You don't know him.

No, you're right.

I don't know him.

That's the problem, innit?

I don't f*cking know him.

I know everything

I f*cking need to know

about that b*stard.

And that he's a big,

giant f*cking sinkhole

in the middle of our lives.

Don't talk about him like that.

Don't talk about anybody

like that in my presence.

Least of all the man

who gave you life,

which is a blessed thing.

Blessed? Blessed?

Why does everything have to be

so f*cking blessed

in this house, Mum?

You gave me life.

He gave me a f*cking...

...f*cking curse.

All these years.

All these years.

"All these years," f*cking what?

How did you...

The winters,

I mean, the isolation.

How did I what?

How did I manage without you?

It's not over, Jem.

You make it sound as if it...

I mean...

I won't pretend I don't think

about it from time to time,

but this is it, Jem.

This is my life.

Does it have to be?

"As for man,

"his days are as grass:

"as a flower of the field,

so it flourisheth.

"For the wind passeth over it,

"and it is gone;

and the place thereof

shall know it no more."

Et cetera, et cetera.

A-f*cking-men.

Good night, Ray.

Brian?

Brian?

Hey.

I've got to get going.

What are you doing?

f*cking hell.