‘Where did you serve?’ Elle asks. Upson returns her look, surprised. ‘My
dad’s in the forces.’
‘Afghanistan, four years was my latest,’ he says. ‘And last.’
Elle reaches over and shakes his hand. ‘I can always tell. It’s the way
you stand.’
I look down and I realise Upson’s feet are
spread at shoulder width. His muscles bulge beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt.
I notice that he doesn’t wear military fatigues. He may have died in a warzone,
but that wasn’t his true self. If this place is created from the minds of the
dead, and if we can change age and shape like I’ve seen two people do now, then
I guess we must take on the image of the way we see ourselves. Deep down, Upson
was never an army man. Was he a husband? A father? A friend? I wonder what sort of person he
thinks he is. I remember him being afraid in the Abyss in the way that anyone
would have been. If I’d looked at him before we went down there I would have
said that he wasn’t afraid of anything.
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