Page 61 of Forever Ink

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The café was quiet, with the lunch crowd long having left and the weather coming in. I took my usual spot at the back, in the booth where Simon and I sat when we had our breakfast here. Liz, the café’s owner and namesake, gave me a wave.

“Usual, Rhys?” she called.

“Please, and can I get a bowl of chips please?” My stomach growled. I was a nervous eater, but I thought I could also pick at the hot chips to hide my nerves when Susan arrived.

It wasn’t long until I heard the bell above the café door chime. Glancing up from my chips, I saw Susan. She was dressed in the same drab brown overcoat she always wore in cold weather, her sturdy brown boots sticking out from the bottom. From my spot I was able to observe her before she noticed me. The usual stern braid she wore was gone in favour of a new haircut, shorter than I’d ever seen it. Oddly, it suited her. She glanced over and her dark brown eyes grew wide when she spotted me. I motioned her over, picking up another chip to chew on as she made her way to the table.

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think I’d show?” I finished her statement, glancing at her as she sat down.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure,” she said, pulling off her gloves and placing them on the table. I watched her face as she glanced around the café. I was expecting a frown of disapproval or at least a snide remark. Instead she smiled hesitantly. “It’s nice in here.”

“Yeah, it is. Um did you want something to eat or drink?”

“A pot of tea would be nice.” I waved at Liz who came over, order pad already open.

“Something else, Rhys?”

“Pot of Irish breakfast if you could.”

We sat quietly while we waited for Liz to return with the pot of tea. Susan unbuttoned her coat and threw it over the back of the booth. She was dressed in a light sweater and jeans, and I couldn’t remember ever seeing her in jeans before.

Once Liz had returned with Susan’s tea I sat back and pondered what to say, but Susan beat me to it.

“I realise this is too little too late, but I am truly sorry for the pain I caused you. I have no excuses for how I treated you, or for what I did when we last met.” I tried to find the lie in her words, tried to see what game she was playing, but all I could see was a woman who looked worn down and sad.

“You made him worse, you know. He was a bastard before he met you, but you encouraged his abuse. And not just me, Susan. What about those other young men who got sent to the Farm? Do you have any idea the damage and abuse they suffered, or did you chalk it up to suffering for god?” Okay, whoa. Maybe I was going to lay it all straight out there.

Susan, to her credit, didn’t drop her eyes. “You’re right. I—there’s no excuse. Your father is much like mine, charismatic and zealous in their faith. I was brought up in it by my parents until I was married to your father.”

“You make it sound like you were passed from your family straight to my dad.” I took a sip of my own drink, watching her face.

“In a sense, yes. My parents, as I said, were like your father. They have a… I suppose you would call it a commune, in Wales. They have a small school they teach at, as well as the therapy centre.”

“Therapy centre? Do you mean a conversion camp?”

“Yes. From what has been explained to me, that would be what it is. They were the ones who helped your father finance the Farm. ‘For the betterment of mankind’ was what my own father said.”

I shook my head, hating the idea that places like that still existed. “You know those places are wrong. What you did was abuse. A person’s sexuality is not for you to decide, for a group of bigoted arseholes to decide. You can’t beat the gay out of someone, no matter how much you try, Susan.”

“I didn’t know that they were hurting you.” Susan’s voice broke, tears starting to fall, and I didn’t give a shit.

“Don’t lie. You saw the bruises. You saw the fractured wrist I came home with. I was ten years old, and you let them do that to me.”

“Your father promised me they were bringing you back to the fold, helping you see the wrong that you were doing.”

“I was ten fucking years old. I was a goddamn child, and you let them hurt me. My father, that piece of shit, deserves to rot in prison. What I don’t understand is why you aren’t there as well.”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I wouldn’t lie to the police when they came. When I returned home after seeing you I told him we had to make our peace that you had chosen a life away from god.” She fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve, glancing up at me.

I fought the urge to scream at her.

“He came for me. He tried to kill me, Susan.”

“I honestly tried to stop him. I could see he was enraged. I begged and pleaded with him until he locked me in the barn. That was where the police found me.” Susan lifted her tea to her lips, taking a slow sip.

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