Page 47 of Common People

‘Apologise? How the fuck can you say sorry for what you did? You killed my parents! You took them away from me. You murdered them!’ shouted Max, who still had hold of his arm, but gripped it tighter. ‘You fucking killed them!’

‘I just want to leave. I’m sorry. It’s Max, right?’

‘Don’t say my fucking name, and stop saying sorry. You know it destroyed me, right? I had everything, and you took it all away. I hate you so much, for everything you did, and they just let you walk away. An accident, they said. It was just a fucking accident, but what were you doing? Why did you hit them? They wouldn’t tell me. No one said what happened. What did you fucking do?’ Max shook him, tears springing to his eyes.

‘I just want to leave. Please let me go.’

‘No! Not until you tell me what happened. Why did you crash into my parents?’

Max looked at the man in front of him. He looked so tired, broken, and if he didn’t hate him so much, he might feel some sense of pity for him, but he couldn’t. That man had taken everything from him, and was still taking things away from him. Max had been so happy all morning, so focused on his date with Bethan, but now all he felt was the pain of losing his parents all over again, like it had just happened, and hatred towards the man who had done it.

‘It was an accident. I just looked at my phone for a second—’

‘You were on your phone?’ shouted Max, the tears getting stronger by the moment. He still had hold of the man. His name was Barry Spencer. Max had read his name in the newspaper that had reported it. Two fatalities in a multi-vehicle collision on the M4 just outside Swindon. Barry had walked away with minor injuries, and after a brief investigation, it had been concluded that it was just an accident. There was no-one to blame, but Max knew that wasn’t true.

‘For a second. Please, I just want to leave. I never meant to see you.’

‘I bet you fucking didn’t. I’d have every right to beat the shit out of you,’ said Max, sounding and using words that were so unlike him. He wasn’t that sort of person, but he felt it inside of him, and couldn’t help himself and the words that poured out of him. ‘I hate you for what you did!’ Max clenched a fist with his spare hand. He didn’t know what he was capable of at that moment. He had never felt anger like it.

‘Is everything all right, Max?’ said a voice suddenly, and when Max looked past Barry, he saw the vicar, Mark Worsley, standing on the other side of him.

‘It’s him. It’s the man who killed my parents,’ said Max, his voice was still menacing and sharp, only pierced by the tears that ran down his face.

‘I know, but this is a church, Max, and I can’t have you threatening people like that. I understand how you feel, but violence and threats are never the answer.’

‘How could you understand how I feel?’ said Max, turning to the vicar. ‘How the fuck could you know how I feel?’

‘You’re right, I don’t, and I’m sorry, but Max this isn’t the way to handle things. Now please, let him go, and we can talk. Just us, quietly and alone.’

Max looked at Barry Spencer, at the fear and the sadness in his eyes, and it was clear he had suffered too. He looked afraid of Max, and suddenly he let him go. Barry immediately walked away, past the vicar, his head down. Max felt his whole body gripped by a horrible terror, a fear of the pain that was still inside of him, and of what it was capable of doing. The tears kept running down his face, and he just stood and faced Mark.

‘Do you want to talk, Max?’ he said. A few birds chirped and flew overhead in that peaceful graveyard. Max took one last look at Mark, and then he started walking away. ‘Max? Please, let’s talk.’

But Max didn’t want to talk, and especially not to the vicar because he didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. So, Max kept walking and walking until he ended up at his parents’ house. He’d brought along his key, just in case, and he let himself in. He walked along the hallway, past the old living room and into the kitchen. Since the house was on the market, it was cleaner, tidier, and a few things had been moved around, but he knew the cabinet was still stocked. He walked across the kitchen to the spirits cabinet, where they had kept all the alcohol. It was still early, but Max didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. He grabbed the first bottle he saw, a half-empty bottle of vodka, and took it across to the side. He found a glass, and poured himself a large double-shot. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since the intervention, but at that moment, it was all he could think about. He held the glass in his hands, and then in one swift motion, he downed the whole glass, before he filled it up again, his hands shaking with emotion.

Max had to quieten the voices in his head, and the grief that threatened to overtake him. The only way he knew how was with alcohol. So, he drank to numb the pain, to get rid of the image of Barry Spencer from his mind. To stop him from burrowing inside of his head, and setting up a permanent camp. He hadlooked at his phone for a second, and in that second he had lost control of his lorry, and killed his parents. He hated him so much for what he did. Max took the bottle into the living room, sat on the sofa, and drank what was left. It was the only way. The only thing that made sense. He had forgotten about Bethan, about their date because he had finally met the man who had killed his parents, and the pain deep inside his heart was unbearable.

A wee moment of weakness

It felt so real to Max. He was in the back of his parents’ car, and they were driving happily along the M4 motorway, on their way home after a lovely little break in Cornwall. They had the radio on and were listening to ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ by Tears For Fears, dad driving as he always did and Mum next to him, gazing out of the window. Max couldn’t believe he was there. He could warn them, tell them about the lorry that was about to hit them, killing them both. Perhaps he could save them.

‘Dad, you need to pull over and get off the motorway, now!’ said Max quickly and loudly, but they didn’t hear him, couldn't hear him. ‘Dad!’ he shouted. ‘Dad! Pull over!’ Max screamed from the back of the car, but it was like he wasn’t really there. His dad continued driving, and his mum was talking about their holiday to Cornwall, about how she couldn't wait to go back again.

‘The view from the hotel was incredible,’ said his mum, looking across the car at her husband. ‘We should stay there next time.’

‘There won’t be a next time if you don’t pull over and get off the motorway!’ said Max from behind them. ‘Please, Dad, just pull over.’

‘And the fish and chips at that place in Rock. What was it called again?’ said his dad.

‘Oh, you’re thinking of the pub, The, err—’

‘Mariners! Out of this world.’

‘To die for.’

‘Please, just pull over,’ pleaded Max, who tried to lean forwards because maybe he could touch them if they couldn’t hear him, but he couldn’t because the seatbelt wouldn’t let him. It was so tight and it had him flat against the seat and he couldn’t lean forwards at all. He tried and tried, but it was no use, he couldn’t move a muscle. ‘Dad! Please just …’ As he spoke his words trailed off because he heard it behind them. A screech of brakes, of tyres against the road.

In front of him, his parents sat listening to Tears For Fears, and they hadn’t seen or heard what was about to happen. Their lives were about to be over, just like that. In a matter of seconds, they were going to go from two people, happily driving home after a Cornish holiday, to their beautiful home in St Albans, with so many years yet to enjoy, to two people who would be gone forever. They had no idea what was about to happen, but Max knew. Despite the seatbelt, he managed to turn his neck enough and he saw it coming straight for them. The front of a huge artic lorry, careering across the motorway, out of control, and straight towards them. It would hit them in a matter of seconds.