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And it’s you.

You, look, you’re holding up your palms and crossing your hands now, pressing your thumbs together to make a bird. A fluttering bird.

I take my right hand, press it to your left, thumb to thumb.

A bird. A fluttering bird.

Hold our hands against the sky.

Fluttering, fluttering in the blue.

Two songbirds, fluttering on the eddies, energized by the fruit from the tree, out in the gasping yawn of valley air. That’s when we’ll be together, mingling in the wind.

You’re smiling and widening your eyes.

Your eyes.

‘Oh, it’s so good to see you,’ I’m saying. ‘I thought I’d never see you again.’

Let me look at you, let me drink you in.

‘You look so well and so happy. Are you happy?’

‘Really happy.’

‘Oh, I’m so pleased. This is amazing. You look amazing. I’ve missed you so much.’

‘Miss you too.’

‘I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’

‘I know.’

‘You were so straight and clear and good and honest with me. I’m so sorry.’

‘I know.’

‘I can’t even ask for your forgiveness. You must never give me it.’

‘Nothing matters.’

I can’t tell you what a relief it is. After all these years. You’re exactly, exactly as I remember you, only clearer. Crystal clear. Your eyes glisten brightly for me.

‘Will you give me your hand?’

‘Here.’

I can feel it! I can feel the soft skin. I can feel you stroking my knuckles with your thumb.

‘Hereing me.’

‘Oh yes, yes. I am hereing you.’

‘Knowing my words.’

‘They sound just the same, exactly the same as they used to.’

‘Same sound, no sound.’

‘Can you hear me now? Do you know my words at the same time as I think them?’

‘I know.’

‘Forgive me.’

‘Come.’

‘Where are you going? You’re not going, are you? Please don’t go.’

‘I won’t leave you. Here for you. Don’t worry.’

Washed-out quality of your voice.

Signature squiggles of birdsong.

The flutter of wings.

Ohhh.

Still here.

Awake for ever.

This breathing, this breathing.

Like through a drinking straw.

Sleep won’t come.

Lying across the pain.

Pain like a branch through my back.

Sharp twisted tree branch.

Tinkle trolley.

‘Hallo, lovey, it’s only me. It’s only Sheila.’

Tinkle tinkle.

There it goes. Hm.

Tinkle tinkle.

The people don’t speak to me now. Not Jef, not Jackie. Only Sheila.

Good good.

Speak stirs the chemicals, busy head.

Keeps me awake.

No more.

Good.

They’re good people.

Good people.

Angels.

Night now.

Shhh.

Shhh shhhh shhhut up.

‘Morning, lovey.’

Tinkle, tinkle.

Here comes trolley.

Drink, I can’t drink.

Good, go.

I like it when nothing happens.

What was I, what was I supposed to be—?

I?

‘Hallo, lovey. It’s only me. It’s Sheila.’

Sheila.

‘I’m just going to take your blanket, OK? Let me unhook it from your fingers here, so we can sort your bedding out, OK?’

Mm?

‘I’m just going to put it by your bedside, all right? It won’t be far away.’

No. I–

No — no, that’s not right.

I don’t feel right.

Cold.

Cold now.

X

X

WH—?

Familiar sound of the double doors slipping shut off down the corridor.

Doesn’t feel quite–

Who’d be walking down there now?

It just feels — wrong. Seems — against the routine. What’s—?

Ridiculous. Stop, stop.

Stop thinking.

I have it in my mind that Mal is approaching, wafting through the double doors, unchecked, unbalanced.

Ease off now.

That’s mad thinking.

Mini squeak of shoe rubber on glossy floor. Trapped and amplified by the shiny walls.

He is out there. That’s enough for me: these two things. Door slip, wrong time of day; squeaky shoe.

Who else could it be?

No.

Fix eyes shut.

Think of other things.

X. X-ray.

Xylophone. Ribs as a cartoon xylophone.

Xs for eyes.

X-chromosome.

‘All right, fella.’

Wh—?

Brain on.

Flicks on like a security light. There’s — was there movement over by the doorway?

Anything?

Is anybody over there?

My ears listen out, but I’m too asleep to open my eyes. I’m realizing I’m more asleep than I thought. Can’t — move.

There’s nothing there.

Same old night terrors.

Brain off.

‘Y’all right, are you?’

On.

Over by the doorway, at the foot of my bed, definitely.

The room remembers the sound.

Paintwork resonates.

‘Nice place you’ve got here. All mod cons.’

Grey matter now fully lit up and active.

Mal’s voice. Definitely Mal. Gravelier, but same tones. Same tune.

He’s there. He’s there in the doorway.

Alert now. Alive to the room.

I can’t — there’s nothing I can do.

Sickening twitch accelerating in my chest.

Push the button. I want to push the button. Find my hand. Find the button to push.

My hand reaches, grasps: nothing. Blanket wasteland.

‘I wanted to come and see you.’

Low voice. Anxious. Slight edge to it.

Silence. Shit, shit.

Air conditioning ceaseless, ceaseless breath.

Unseal my eyes. Painful light. There he sits. Simply sits. He’s just there.

Can’t see if it’s him, but it’s him, isn’t it? Everything tells me it’s him.

Shit. Shit, Sheila. You said he’d never get in.

Maroon jacket. Yellow lettering top pocket. NRG. Wh—?

Has he wh—? Is it Mal? I’m confused.

‘It’s Mal,’ he says. ‘It’s Malachy.’

‘M—?’ I mean Mal. I mean Mal, but my lips stick together.

‘That’s right. Don’t talk if you can’t talk.’

‘N — no.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t—’

‘Don’t what, fella? What— what are you saying? I can’t understand you.’

He leans over. Looms over.

‘S — s–’

He’s frowning down.

There’s a smell off him. Outside smell. Football pitches. No, like — football terraces. Makes no sense. Cold smell.

He leans in, dangerously in.

‘You what, fella?’

I push, push out at him, push him away.

He steps back, sizes me up.

He thinks I’m delirious.

I’m not delirious.

‘Stop,’ I say. I think I say it.

He’s stepped back.

‘All right — I’m not going to hurt you. Easy, man. Easy.’

He’s still frowning. Trying to work me out.

‘I’ve just come here to see you. I’ve just come to say hi.’

He lifts his hand and scratches through his hair — a familiar motion. A Mal move. Shows me he’s stressed. Anxious face.