James Hannah - The A to Z of You and Me

Work is good. They’ve been good at giving me extra hours here, and once you’ve been in the job long enough, colleagues start to recognize the patterns. Someone suddenly wants extra hours, no-questions-asked, you oblige.

I’m grateful.

‘I don’t see what the big deal is,’ says Laura, when the coast’s clear. ‘Why’s she looking to control everything you do anyway?’

‘It’s not like that,’ I say. ‘It’s more complicated than that.’

‘Well why?’ she says.

‘It’s not something I can really talk about, it’s a private thing.’

‘Come on, you can tell us. It’s not like we’re going to tell her. You won’t say anything, will you, Becca?’

Becca shrugs. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

‘It’s a basic trust thing, isn’t it? Look, her dad was an alcoholic, and it kind of screwed up her family, and—’

‘But that’s totally different,’ says Laura. ‘You’re not an alcoholic, are you? I don’t see why you should be the one who has to pay for whatever mistakes her dad’s made in his life.’

I close my eyes and try not to boil up at Laura. But it’s hard, it’s hard. She will not read the signs. I don’t want to talk about it. I pray for another customer.

‘And anyway, has she never made a single mistake in her life?’

‘She’s a nice girl,’ says Becca. ‘But, you know, maybe she’s not quite the right one for you, Ivo. Going out at four in the morning, decorating the town. It’s a bit—’ She wrinkles her nose.

I can’t answer this. I’m struck silent; the thick sort of silence where I’m trying to hide the fact that I’m choking back the tears. I clear my throat noisily and find myself exhaling like a horse. I smile broadly and mirthlessly at Becca.

Becca’s brow knits in sympathy, and she puts her hand on my hand and squeezes it.

‘Tough times,’ she says.

I nod, tight-lipped.

‘Seriously, Ivo, you’re better off out of it, if you ask me,’ says Laura. ‘People like Mia — I mean, she’s a lovely girl and everything, but she makes you be someone you’re not, maybe to fit in with what she’s doing, you know? You need to make sure you’re doing what you want to do.’

A smile, a nod, and it’s Becca who finally reads me right.

‘Come on,’ she says to Laura. ‘I want to buy some cut flowers.’

‘Over the other side, by the aquatics,’ I say.

They move away, but Mal hangs around and watches another couple of customers drift through the checkout.

‘So where’re you going to go?’ he asks. ‘Back to your mum’s full-time?’

‘Ah, I don’t know,’ I say, feeling a bit foolish now to be so low.

‘Listen, I was thinking,’ he says, ‘between you and me, I’m going to be getting my own place soon, I reckon.’

‘Really? What about Laura?’

‘Laura’s place has always belonged to her, and I’ve always meant to get my own place — I just never got round to it. C’mon, what do you reckon? We could move in together. Get a bigger place, if we pool resources.’

My absolute instinct is no. I’m still hooked on the idea of you and me: you and me living together and — if I move in with him, that’s like saying goodbye for ever. Like it’s never going to be OK again.

‘Listen,’ he says, ‘I don’t want to say the wrong thing, but—’ he reaches over and tugs the laser gun out of its holster, starts targeting things with its dancing beam ‘—well, there’s nothing in this world that’s all bad, you know? There’s different choices now.’

‘Yeah.’ A dead yeah.

‘We’d be able to do what we wanted. We could hire a big TV, get a new console. Have tourneys, man. Have a bit of a smoke, you know, get the pizzas in, beers. Get Kelvin round, maybe.’

‘I’ll have a think, man, yeah?’

‘OK, yeah. I’m going to look into it meantime.’

‘Yeah — yeah, all right.’

The light flicks on outside. The garden is flung into being once again.

Or was it just me opening my eyes?

I can’t be sure, I can’t be sure.

‘Are you OK, lovey?’ Sheila’s in at the door in a second.

‘Ugh,’ I knuckle my eyes. ‘I don’t want to be the kind of person who complains about lights—’

‘I know, I know. I’m so sorry — we’ve got the contractors coming in again tomorrow or the next day, and they’re staying until they’ve ironed out the problem.’

I frown and scratch at my bristly face. ‘Were you waiting out in the corridor?’

‘You what?’

‘You came straight in.’

‘Oh yeah, I’m keeping vigil outside your room every minute of the day, sweetheart. And it’s only a coincidence that’s where we keep the biscuits.’

Jugular

‘THERE’S A WAY,’ says Mal. ‘There’s definitely a way you can kill someone. If you know the right pressure points.’

He grabs Kelvin at the base of the neck. ‘It’s to do with the jugular.’

Kelvin’s like ‘Ow! Get off!’ He squirms to get away.

Mal keeps a grip: ‘It’s around here somewhere.’

Kelvin seriously thinks he might actually die. ‘Get off!’ Definite note of panic in his voice.

Mal lets go and Kelvin hops out of reach, and twists to inspect himself.

‘Fucking hell, look at that!’ Red fingertip marks now begin to take hold around Kelvin’s neck and shoulder.

‘See?’ says Mal. ‘It’s somewhere round there.’

The door unsticks again, and Sheila’s footsteps return.

‘Well, well,’ she says.

‘What?’

‘It was nothing to worry about. It was a visitor. It was that man who was here before with your sister.’

‘Kelvin?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I don’t want to see him.’

‘Don’t worry, I sent him away. I don’t think he was too surprised. He didn’t put up much resistance.’

I hide my face in my hands. ‘I don’t need this, I don’t need it.’

‘Now come on, there’s nothing to be worried about. Honestly, there isn’t.’

She comes and sits down, and I’m a little surprised when she takes up my hand and holds it. Dimly wonder whether they’re supposed to do that sort of thing any more. It feels nice. She strokes the back of my hand tenderly, and the assortment of rings she has on her fingers clink reassuringly. Reminds me of a gypsy. Sharp twinkle in the eye.

‘This panicking’s not going to do you any good,’ she says, gently. ‘You’ve said it yourself, haven’t you? You know it’s true.’

I nod. Frown and try to keep my anxiety down.

Everything’s so close to the surface now.

‘Sheila, can I say something to you?’

‘Anything you like, lovey. Anything at all.’

I sniff and catch my breath, exactly like a little child who wants his mum.

‘I can’t let it go,’ I say.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I try to let it go, all these things , these anxious things. But I can’t. They just keep coming back to me.’

She strokes my hand, tenderly.

‘It’s invading. Even playing this stupid game, it’s like it’s invading me — it feels like every body part brings it back to me. Every part of me wants to tell the same story. It feels like maybe, maybe it’s meant to be that way.’

Insane to even think it.

Embarrassing.

But it’s possible to think it might be true.