‘Hello, mate, how are you doing?’
‘Hi, Kelvin.’
‘How are you doing today?’
‘Not great.’
‘No, no.’
There seems to be no hint of the bad feeling of our last phone call. Good. I’m glad of that. Life’s too short.
‘Sheila told me you wanted to see me.’
I beckon him in, gesture him over to the chair.
The door, which he left open is now fixed shut from outside, and I see the stipple of Sheila’s tunic as she drifts away beyond the slot window.
‘Well,’ says Kelvin, ‘it’s a nice old day out there. Nice and sunny. Not too windy. Perfect, really. I’d take you out again today if I could, but I think you wouldn’t thank me for that, would you?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe next time, then eh? If you concentrate on getting a little bit stronger, you and I can go out there and have a bit of an old roll around the gardens.’
His nervous jabbering slows to a halt. Of course, he wants to see why I’ve summoned him here.
And I’m not sure. I’m going to have to–
‘I wanted to make sure we’re OK.’
‘Of course we’re OK, mate, don’t be daft.’
‘You’re a good friend.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he says, again, and looks away.
‘I want a favour.’
‘Oh, typical,’ he says. Forced amusement.
‘I can trust you.’
‘You can.’
‘I want you to make sure they’re all right. Laura. Mal’s mum and dad.’
‘Of course.’
‘When I’m gone. I want them to be OK.’
‘Yeah. Of course.’
This isn’t going in the direction I want it to. Be more direct.
‘My funeral.’
Kelvin sighs and sets himself to say something.
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I didn’t want one. I hate fuss. But it’s — it’s for others. Other people.’
‘People will want to pay their respects.’
‘Yeah, well, I want it to be me. I want them to — to know me.’
‘Ah, mate,’ he says, ‘I’m really pleased to hear you say it. It’s definitely the right thing.’
‘So: music.’ I let go a wobbly sigh, look up at the ceiling. ‘“Closer” by Low.’
Kelvin scrabbles around for his phone and makes a note of what I’m saying.
‘And I like Gillian Welch singing “I’ll Fly Away”.’
‘Right.’
‘They’re me. That last one’s a bit happy, anyway.’
‘Anything else?’
‘“Monkey Gone to Heaven”?’
He looks up at me a moment, before smiling and shaking his head.
‘I’ve always thought the can-can is unfairly overlooked.’
I tense. Laughing, after a fashion.
OK, now we’re getting somewhere.
‘Something to make them feel better,’ I say. ‘I can trust you.’
‘Of course you can, mate.’
‘And — could you write some words? Something that means something?’
He looks genuinely taken aback. ‘Well — yeah. I’d be honoured. Are you sure you trust me to do it?’
‘I want you to do it. If you could just— just say—’ Sudden unexpected choke in my throat. This is hard. ‘Could you just say that I knew — a bit late in the day maybe but, I realized that — you know, I shut myself away. And that — that wasn’t maybe the right thing to do. I could maybe have — been around, you know? And helped people through. Does — does that make sense?’
Kelvin nods, wordlessly.
‘And that this funeral is my gesture—’
‘Too much.’
‘Too much?’
‘Yeah.’
‘OK, well, the rest of it, not too sad, not too hilarious. You know me.’
‘Thanks, mate. Thank you. I’ll do that.’
‘Oh, and ashes.’
‘Ashes.’
‘Scattered up on the top of the valley.’
‘Up at the top, right.’
‘Somewhere that feels right.’
‘OK.’
‘There aren’t many trees out there, but — if you happen to see an apple tree—’
‘Apple tree, right—’
‘Just there. At the root.’
‘Got it.’
My mind drifts out the window again, and I push my fingers through my blanket, gather you up around me.
V
Voice
‘HELLO.’
Wh—?
‘Hello.’
It’s — it’s you.
Clear as day. It’s you.
Your voice. Your friendly voice. Where was that from?
Am I hearing that? Are you really there?
So completely familiar. Familiar voice. Familiar tailoring to the sounds. The tilt and tone, the lift and fall, the pitch and percussion of it. So clear, so clear.
I have a blueprint. Right here, a blueprint of you. No one can take that away from me. I love it, I love it.
‘Hello.’
I can hear you saying it now.
Illuminates my grey brain.
Makes my heart accelerate now. I can feel it pulse now. Through the sheets. Through the mattress. It slows.
‘Hello, baby.’
Pulse up quick again now, pound through the mattress. It’s the tailoring to the sounds, my blueprint of you. I want to be close to you. I want to merge with you.
Hello, hello.
It slows.
Where are you?
Have you come to see me?
I say: ‘Mia?’
‘Morning, lovey.’
Oh.
Sheila.
Gentle Sheila.
That’s a proper sound. Physical sound.
I can hear it with my ears. Oh, that feels different, hearing with my ears. Bass vibrations.
‘I’ve got some fresh water for you here.’
Cruel confusing morphine. It’s confusing. Strange.
Sound. Gentle sound. Low sound. Stirring my grey brain. Strange brain.
‘Let’s wet those lips, OK?’
Cool mess on my lips, my chin. Low relief. It’s dripping, it’s dribbling.
Sheila still speaks to me. Lovely sing-songy voice. Nice voice. But slow, gentle.
‘I’ve been thinking about your A to Z,’ she says. ‘Where have you got up to now? V is it? Or W?’
Voice, voice. Sheila’s voice.
When did I last use my voice?
I want to say, thank you. I’ll try to say–
‘Don’t try to talk, lovey.’
Too dry now. Too parched.
What were my last words? I can’t remember.
I hope I’ve said enough.
Enough for them to be going on with.
Light flick.
Switch on.
All I can feel about me now is a heartbeat in a bed. I can hear it through the mattress. Faster, now faster.
It’s sensed what I’ve seen through the window.
My heart beats out what I have seen.
Should I push the button?
Sheila? Is Sheila there?
No, no.
Faster now, my heart beats in the sheets.
My heart beats and I breathe.
I breathe and I see.
That’s all I am now.
I’m seeing now through the window and beyond. Beyond to the magnolia tree.
In the breeze between the hard-bitten branches of the little tree outside, there flutters and bobs a heart.
A love heart.
A crochet love heart.
It’s there. Look, it’s really there, in the tree.
I can see it.
W
Wings
I’M UP ABOVE the valley.
I’m here. I can sense it here all around me.
I can feel the sun’s warmth, my blood basking beneath the surface.