Beartown

  Kevin’s mom nods in agreement. Drinks coffee. Thinks the same thought over and over again: “You’re nothing in this world if you’re alone.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, Benji is on his way to Hed again. He’s almost reached the bass player’s rehearsal room in Hed when he receives a text. He holds his phone in his hand until the screen is damp with sweat. He asks Katia to turn the car around. She wants to ask why but can see from the way he looks that there’s no point. He gets out in the middle of the forest, takes his crutches, and walks straight into it. No one ever sees the text; no one would have understood it anyway. It says simply: “Island?”

  The bass player is sitting on a stool in a rehearsal room. He’s not playing anything. Just holding a pair of skates in his hands, waiting for hours for someone who never shows up.

  * * *

  It won’t be summer for another couple of months, but the water in the lake has started to stir in its winter sleep, and the ice above it is slowly yielding to a few more cracks each day. If you stand on the shore, it’s all still a peaceful scene in a hundred shades of white, but here and there are tiny promises of green. A new season will come, followed by a new year, life will go on and people will forget. Sometimes because they can’t remember, and sometimes because they don’t want to.

  Kevin is sitting on a rock looking out at his and Benji’s island, the place that used to be a secret, and which as a result was the only place where they never had any secrets from each other. Kevin has lost his club, but he hasn’t lost his team. He can see his future. He will spend a year playing for Hed Ice Hockey, then he’ll accept an offer from one of the big teams, and then go over to North America. He’ll be drafted by the NHL, the professional teams will dismiss the police investigation as “off-ice problems.” They’ll ask a question or two about it, but they know how it is, of course. There are always girls who want attention; you have to let the courts and the police deal with things like this, they’ve nothing to do with sports. Kevin will get everything he’s ever wanted. There’s just one thing left.

  * * *

  Maya is waiting on the steps in front of the house when her mom comes home. Her mom is still clutching the note her colleague gave her, crumpled into a ball, like a loaded grenade. She and the girl rest their foreheads together. Say nothing, because they couldn’t have heard anything anyway, the echo of the screams in their hearts is deafening.

  * * *

  Benji walks all the way through the forest, in the snow, on his broken foot. He knows that’s exactly what Kevin wants. He wants proof that Benji is still his, that he’s still loyal, that everything can go back to the way it was. When Benji emerges and stares at his best friend, they both know that it can. Kevin laughs and hugs him.

  * * *

  The mother holds her hands to the girl’s cheeks. They wipe each other’s eyes.

  “There are still things we can do, we can ask for fresh interviews, I’ve been in touch with a lawyer who specializes in sexual offenses, we can fly him in, we can . . . ,” Kira babbles, but Maya gently hushes her.

  “Mom, we have to stop. You have to stop. We can’t win this.”

  Kira’s voice is trembling:

  “I’m not going to let the bastards win, I’m not . . .”

  “We have to live, Mom. Please. Don’t let him take my family as well, don’t let him take all our lives. I’m never going to be okay, Mom, this is never going to be properly okay again, I’m never going to stop being afraid of the dark, ever again . . . but we have to start trying. I don’t want to live in a permanent state of war.”

  “I don’t want you to think that I . . . that we can’t . . . that I’m letting them get away . . . I’m a LAWYER, Maya, this is what I DO! It’s my job to protect you! It’s my job to avenge you, it’s my job . . . it’s my damn job . . .”

  Maya’s breathing is ragged, but her hands are still as they touch her mom’s temples:

  “No one could have a better mom than you. No one.”

  “We can move, darling. We can . . .”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” her mom cries.

  “Because this is my fucking town too,” the girl replies.

  * * *

  Maya goes into the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror. Astonished at how strong she has learned to pretend to be. At the number of secrets she can hold these days. From Ana, from her mom, from everyone. Anguish and terror are roaring through her head, but she becomes calm and cool when she thinks about her secret: “One bullet. I only need one.”

  * * *

  Peter comes home and sits down at the kitchen table next to Kira. They don’t know if they will ever stop feeling ashamed that they were forced to give up. How can anyone lose like this without dying? How does anyone go to bed at night, how do they get up in the morning?

  Maya comes in, stands behind her dad, wraps her arms around his neck. He is fighting back tears. “I let you down. As your dad . . . the manager of the club . . . I let you down, just like every . . .”

  His daughter’s arms hold him tighter. When she was little they used to tell each other secrets instead of bedtime stories. Her dad might confess in a whisper, “I ate the last cookie,” and his daughter might reply, “It was me who hid the remote.” It went on for years. Now she leans over and says into his ear:

  “Want to know a secret, Dad?”

  “Yes, Pumpkin.”

  “I love hockey too.”

  Tears roll down his cheeks as he admits:

  “Me too, Pumpkin. Me too.”

  “Will you do something for me, Dad?”

  “Anything.”

  “Build a better club. Stay and make the sport better. For everyone.”

  He promises. She goes to her room, comes back with two wrapped parcels. Puts them down on the table in front of her parents.

  * * *

  Then she goes around to see Ana. The girls each take a shotgun and head out so far into the snow that no one can hear them anymore. They fire at plastic bottles filled with water, watch the explosions when the shots hit them. They shoot for different reasons. One does it out of aggression. The other does it for practice.

  * * *

  Benji has always felt that he has different versions of himself for different people. He’s always known that there are different versions of Kevin too. The Kevin who exists on the ice, the Kevin in school, the Kevin when they’re on their own. Above all, there’s a Kevin out on the island, and that Kevin is Benji’s alone.

  They’re both sitting on rocks now, looking out at it. Their island. Kevin clears his throat.

  “We’re going to do all the things in Hed that we wanted to do in Beartown. The A-team, the national side, the NHL . . . we can still have it all! So this town can go to hell!” Kevin smiles with a self-confidence that only Benji’s presence can give him.

  Benji puts his broken foot down in the snow, presses gently on it, gathers the pain.

  “You mean you can have everything,” he corrects.

  “What the fuck do you mean by that?” Kevin exclaims.

  “You’ll get what you want. You always get what you want.”

  Kevin’s eyes open wide, his lips narrow.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Benji turns around, until their faces are barely a yard apart. “You’ve never been able to lie to me. Don’t forget that.”

  Kevin’s pupils drown as the rest of his eyes turn black. He raises his forefinger furiously at Benji.

  “The cops dropped the investigation. They interviewed everyone, and they DROPPED it. So there was no fucking rape! So don’t even try, because you weren’t even there.”

  Benji nods slowly.

  “No. And I shouldn’t be here either.”

  As he gets to his feet, the expression on Kevin’s face changes in the space of a breath, from hate to terror, from threat to plea.

  “Come on, Benji, don’t go! I’m sorry, okay? SORRY! FUCKING SORRY! What do you want me to say? T
hat I need you? I need you, okay? I NEED YOU!”

  He stands up, arms outstretched. Benji puts more and more weight on his broken foot. Kevin takes a step forward, and he isn’t the Kevin everyone in Beartown knows, he’s Kevin from the island. Benji’s Kevin. His feet are soft in the snow as his fingertips gently touch Benji’s jaw.

  “Sorry, okay? Sorry . . . It . . . it’s going to be all right.”

  But Benji backs away. Closes his eyes. Feels his cheek grown cold. He whispers:

  “I hope you find him, Kev.”

  Kevin frowns uncomprehendingly; the wind finds its way under his eyelids.

  “Who?”

  Benji has put his crutches down in the snow. Is hopping slowly over the rocks, up into the forest, away from his best friend on the planet. Away from their island.

  “WHO? YOU HOPE I FIND WHO?” Kevin shouts after him.

  Benji’s reply is so quiet that even the wind seems to turn and carry the words so that they reach all the way to the water.

  “The Kevin you’re looking for.”

  * * *

  In a kitchen in a house sit two parents, each opening a present from their daughter. In Kira’s: a coffee cup with a wolf on it. In Peter’s: an espresso machine.

  47

  There are people who say that children don’t behave the way adults tell them to, but the way they see adults behave. Perhaps that’s true. But children live the way adults tell them to a fair bit as well.

  * * *

  The bass player is woken by a knock. He opens the door with his chest bare. Benji sniggers.

  “You’ll need more clothes than that if we’re going skating.”

  “I waited for you to come all yesterday evening. You could have called,” the bass player whispers, disappointed.

  “Sorry,” Benji says.

  And the bass player forgives him. Even if he tries not to. How can you help it with a boy who looks at you like that?

  * * *

  The Bearskin is its usual self, smelling like a mixture of damp animal and a plate of food someone’s hidden behind a radiator. There are men sitting at the tables, nothing but men. Kira knows they’ve all registered her arrival, but no one is looking at her. She’s always been proud of the fact that she doesn’t scare easily, but the unpredictability of this group is sending cold shivers down her spine. Seeing them in the rink at A-team matches is bad enough, when they yell horrible things at Peter at the end of an unsuccessful season. Seeing them here, in a cramped room when most of them have been drinking, makes her more nervous than she cares to admit.

  Ramona’s hand reaches out to her across the bar. The old woman smiles through crooked teeth.

  “Kia! What are you doing here? Have you finally had enough of Peter’s teetotal nonsense?”

  Kira smiles almost imperceptibly.

  “No. I just came to say thank you. I heard what you did at the meeting, what you said.”

  “There’s no need,” Ramona mutters.

  Kira stands at the bar, and insists:

  “Yes there is. You stood up when no one else did, and I wanted to look you in the eye when I say it. Even if I know that you all get embarrassed about thanking each other in this town.”

  Ramona laughs and coughs.

  “You’ve never been much of a one for feeling embarrassed, lass.”

  “No,” Kira smiles.

  Ramona pats her cheek.

  “This town doesn’t always know the difference between right and wrong, I’ll admit that. But we know the difference between good and evil.”

  Kira’s nails dig into the wood of the bar. She isn’t just here to say thank you, she’s here because she needs to know the answer to a question. And she’s wary of asking it in here. But Kira has never been much good at being timid either.

  “Why did you do it, Ramona? Why did the Pack vote to let Peter keep his job?”

  Ramona stares at her. The whole bar falls silent.

  “I don’t know what you . . . ,” Ramona begins, but Kira holds up two exhausted hands:

  “Please, spare me the bullshit. Don’t tell me there is no Pack. They exist, and they hate Peter.”

  She doesn’t turn around, but she can feel the men staring at the back of her head. So her voice is trembling when she says:

  “I’m a pretty smart woman, Ramona, so I know how to count. There’s no way that Peter could have won that vote unless the Pack and anyone who has any influence over it voted for him.”

  Ramona looks at her for a long time without blinking. None of the men stands up. No one so much as moves. In the end Ramona nods slowly.

  “Like I said, Kira: People round here don’t always know the difference between right and wrong. But we know the difference between good and evil.”

  Kira’s chest rises and falls as she breathes, her carotid artery is throbbing, her nails are leaving marks in the bar. Suddenly her phone rings; she jumps and starts looking for it in her bag. It’s an important client; she hesitates as it rings seven times, then rejects the call. She takes deep breaths through her teeth. When she raises her head again there’s a beer on the bar.

  “Who’s that for?” she asks.

  “You, you crazy bitch. You really aren’t scared of anything, are you, lass?” Ramona sighs.

  “You don’t have to offer me beer,” Kira gasps apologetically.

  “It’s not from me,” Ramona says, and pats her hand.

  It takes a few moments for Kira to understand. But she’s lived in the forest long enough to pick the beer up without asking any more questions. As she drinks she hears men in black jackets drink a silent toast behind her. People don’t often say thank you in Beartown. Nor sorry. But this is their way of showing that some people in this town can actually carry more than one thought in their head at the same time. That you can want to punch a man in the face but still refuse to let anyone hurt his children.

  And that you respect a crazy bitch who walks in here without being afraid. No matter who she is.

  * * *

  Out in the street Robbie Holts is approaching. He stops at the door leading down into the Bearskin, smiles to himself. Then he keeps walking without going in. He’s got work tomorrow.

  * * *

  David is lying in bed with the two people he loves, laughing as one of them tries to think of names for the other. They all sound like cartoon characters to David, or like someone’s great-grandfather. But every time he himself suggests a name, his girlfriend asks, “Why?” and he just shrugs and mutters, “Nice, that’s all,” whereupon his girlfriend googles the name together with “hockey player” to find out exactly where he got it from.

  “I’m terrified,” he confesses.

  “It’s actually completely ridiculous that the world is going to let the two of us be responsible for an entirely new person without having to ask for permission,” she laughs.

  “What if we’re terrible parents?”

  “What if we aren’t?”

  She holds his hand to her stomach, puts her fingers around his wrist, and taps the face of his wristwatch.

  “Soon you’ll have someone to leave that to.”

  * * *

  Jeanette stands for a long time by the fence, just taking it all in.

  “God. Your own kennels, just like you used to dream about. When we were kids and you used to go on about it, I never believed it would happen.”

  Adri straightens up, even if the words are belittling.

  “Oh, it hardly breaks even. If they raise the insurance premiums one more time I’ll have to give the dogs away and shut up shop. But it’s mine.”

  “It’s yours. I’m proud of you. It’s so funny . . . sometimes I wish I’d never moved back here, and sometimes I wish I’d never moved away. Do you know what I mean?”

  Adri, who has always had a decidedly uncomplicated way of communicating, replies:

  “Not really.”

  Jeanette smiles. She misses that lack of complication. When they stopped playing hockey, Adri went off
into the forest and Jeanette went to Hed and found a small boxing club. When Adri bought this old farm, Jeanette moved to a bigger city and started practicing martial arts—every sort she could find. When Adri got her first puppies, Jeanette started having her first matches. For one vanishingly short year she was a professional fighter. Then came the injuries, so she trained to become a teacher to have something to do while her injuries healed, and by the time they had, she was a good teacher but not really as good a fighter anymore. Her instincts had gone. When her dad died and her mom needed more help than her brother could give her, she moved back here. It was only going to be for a couple of months, but now here she is, a teacher at the school and part of the town again. This place has a way of grabbing hold of your insides that’s hard to explain. On the one hand, there’s all that’s bad about it—and that really is a very long list—but there are a few things that are so good that they manage to shine through the crap. The people, most of all. As tough as the forest, as hard as the ice.

  “Can I rent one of your outbuildings?” Jeanette asks.

  * * *

  David rings the doorbell at Benji’s house. His mother opens up, tired and only just home from work, and tells him she doesn’t know where her son is. Possibly with his sister at the Barn in Hed, she suggests. David drives over there. Katia is behind the bar, and hesitates before saying that she doesn’t know where he is. He can see that she’s lying, but doesn’t press the point.

  As he’s leaving the Barn, one of the bouncers calls after him.

  “You’re that hockey coach, aren’t you? Are you looking for Benji?”

  David nods. The bouncer points toward the rink.

  “He went that way with his friend. They had skates with them; I reckon the ice is too bad to skate on the lake now, so they’re probably on the outdoor rink behind the hall.”