A shiver shot down her spine. The question shot like a bullet. What would she have done? Lillia’s mind raced with possibilities, dreams she’d had after hearing her nan’s stories. She glanced at her nan. Rosemarie hid behind her hair, her face shrouded in darkness. It mustn’t have been an easy decision, Lillia gathered that. A whole group of who knows how many people, all committed to the cause, couldn’t be the one to do it. What would I have done? 

“Well,” Lillia began uncertain, “killing is—it’s wrong.”

“You believe that?” her nan arched her fingers, almost as if she was studying Lillia. 

That couldn’t be the case, however, her nan usually uses her hands to disguise her insecurities. She likely didn’t want Lillia to see her being weak.

“Yes. I do.”

“All the time?”

Lillia hesitated.

Her nan pressed forward. “Even if it was the only way?”

“There’s always another way.” She stopped and looked at her nan. “Right?”

“You sound unsure.”

“Yeah,” she bowed her head in shame, “I mean I want to believe that. But then I think about what happened in Wytclif — and my … my friends. Old friends.”

Rosemarie nodded. The suspicious deaths at the Wytclif refugee and immigration centre shook the entire country. It pushed people to act, and at that time, Rosemarie thought the revolution might happen after all. It didn’t, of course. All the rioters disappeared. And Lillia’s friends … there isn’t a way that wouldn’t traumatise a child.

“How do those events make you feel?”

Lillia thought for a moment. “Angry.”

Her nan waited for Lillia to explain more, giving a prompting nod.

“I think about them at night sometimes — more my friends, but the immigrants too — and I am overcome by a deep sadness. Like a blanket of darkness.”

“And?”

“And I … I …” Lillia breathed heavier. Her hand gently shook. She brought one of her hands up, her eyes fixed on the shaking. “I want to find the people responsible and make them feel all of my pain.”

Rosemarie nodded grimly, but Lillia wasn’t finished. She gritted her teeth.

“I want to find the man who wouldn’t give Jack the treatment he needed and bury him deep in the ground. I want to find that bastard who killed Rosie and make him suffer like she did.” Her breaths drew shakily, her voice a mix of loud anger and quivering sorrow. “I dream of doing awful things to people. Terrible things. And those dreams aren’t nightmares—” Lillia looked at her nan for reassurance “—I enjoy it.” 

“Is something wrong with me?” she asked, “it’s not normal to dream of that is it?”

“Lillia,” Rosemarie reached over and grabbed her hand. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

“H—How can you say that? Didn’t you just hear me?”

Her nan caressed her hand with her thumb. “I can say that because it’s true.”

She smiled, the water in her eyes now absent. Lillia gaped at her nan, tears of her own now jumping from her eyes. It’s not true, surely? How can it? Her nan refused to stop smiling. Her face working its muscles overtime to stay in place. Lillia felt her hands relax and felt the coarse skin of her nan’s thumb swirling in a semi-circle on the back of her hand.

“And it is true, Lillia,” her nan continued, “because that shows you care.”

She quivered her mouth shut, using her free hand to wipe away any tears. The doors were wide open now. She took in what her nan said, as she is the only person in the world to have ever understood her. She wouldn’t lie, not even to make Lillia feel better. That’s how she knew: her nan believed every word she was saying.

“We live in a world built on violence, but you know that, don’t you dear?”

Lillia nodded. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that before. A couple awkward Christmas dinners, though.”

They both laughed.

“Yes, well, it’s true — it was even violence that delivered that chicken onto our plates.” Rosemarie tapped her fingers on the table. She looked around and noticed the officers moving about. “Time’s almost up, I assume.” She turned back to Lillia. “But remember, my child, if you are to learn anything from me be it this: in a world built on the foundations of violence, no matter how polite you are, if you just talk you’ll make very little progress. Overtime, maybe that might add up, but how many people will have to suffer and die in that time?”

A whistle was blown. The prisoners began leaving their tables. Rosemarie stood up and began to walk away.

“Wait!” Lillia sprung up. “I still have more to ask you.” 

Her nan dismissed her. “There’s something bothering you, I can tell, but whatever it is, I doubt I can help.”

“I’ll be back by tea time,” she added, “but follow your heart. No matter what, I will always be here for you.”

Lillia was left standing at the table. She sighed, let her arms swing at her side and glanced around a now empty hall, apart from an officer by the door, who was barking at her to leave.

How do I give someone a better life?

Lillia left the station, the cool afternoon breeze hit her face. That question ate away at her insides. She didn’t even get to mention Thalia’s situation to her nan, the conversation flowed further and further from any opportunity to mention it. Part of her thinks her nan did that on purpose, but that certainly wasn’t the case. Her nan had given her answers. Follow her heart. Lillia scoffed at the idea. Sounded childish and hopeful, exactly something her nan would say. But perhaps she was right. Lillia didn’t need to ask her that question as she can answer it herself.