James Hannah - The A to Z of You and Me

‘Yeah.’

‘I’m no good at all this, and I say the fucking — the wrong thing. But, I mean, it’s coming from a good place, man. I’m just on the lookout for my mate. I just want to look after him when I see he’s doing a lot of changing.’

I look at him now, and he flicks a nervous glance at me. I’ve never seen him quite like this before.

‘We’ve been through a lot,’ he says. ‘And I mean, it’s true, I should have been a lot better of a mate about your health. You know what it’s like, I like to look after my mates. But I didn’t step up to the mark there. I didn’t know you were having blackouts and all that. I didn’t look after you. Diabetes and everything — it’s serious news. You need to take care of that. Be a little bit strategic, like. But you’re not an easy fucker to tell, you know what I mean?’

‘No, I know. It’s not that bad. I don’t want to be treated any differently than anyone else. I’m not some like major special case.’

Mal nods, reflectively.

‘Just so you know, if I’d thought you’d even wanted telling, I would have told you and made sure you looked after yourself.’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine. I can look after myself. I just need to — not do quite so much shit to my body, you know?’

‘Yeah, of course, man.’

He stirs his feet and contemplates. Maybe he’s waiting for something from me, but I’ve got nothing. I don’t want a scene.

‘There was a moment back there where I thought — you know. We could get a place, move in together. Be a laugh.’

I stare fixedly at my empty cup of Fanta. It sounds kind of pathetic, what’s coming from him now.

‘But you never got back to me when I said it. So I’m thinking, maybe he doesn’t want to be friends any more?’

It’s true, I never did get back to him. But that’s because–

‘It gets pretty lonely when your best mate’s vanished without a trace. That’s no good, man, is it? Disappearing like that overnight.’

As I lie here now, going over that scene after all these years, the danger is I think of his clear eyes and honest intonation, and I think, maybe I had more of an effect than I thought by simply not being around. Maybe you can’t just switch yourself off from people’s lives. Maybe I could be persuaded that he was being reasonable.

But no. No way.

It makes all the difference to be sitting here by the window, looking out at the magnolia tree and the lawn beyond. The robin’s back, flittering around. There’s something deeply comforting about seeing her little eccentric moves.

‘So—’ I say, taking a small sip of water and swallowing it down with some effort, ‘how did it go? Your mum—?’

Amber cannot keep the warm smile from spreading across her pale face.

‘There was standing-room only,’ she says, with glittering eyes. ‘It was really, really moving, Mum would have been totally amazed at how it went.’

‘Ah, Amber, I’m so pleased.’

‘A whole load of people she used to work with came along, and all the people she went to church with, and all her drama friends. And there was this group of men from a place she used to work at like ten years ago, and they were saying to me, Your mum was so proud of you, and she always used to talk about you when she was working with us. People really loved her, you know?’

‘How about your dad? How did he do?’

‘Oh, he did brilliantly. He couldn’t think of a reading, but he stood up there and he spoke in front of all of those people, and he was as brave as anything. He was telling them all about how he and Mum met, and how people didn’t take to him because he was Japanese and she was English, but how she stood by him with all their friends, and won them over, and how he was proud to call them all friends now, and it was just the warmest possible send-off.’

‘Brilliant,’ I say. More water. ‘I’m so chuffed. You made all that happen.’

‘No, it was you. You got me to think about it differently. Thank you.’

‘People can go through their whole lives without rethinking something.’

She goes a bit shy, and — well, so do I. It feels strange to tell someone you’re proud of them. But I am proud. And I’m pleased she thinks I’ve helped.

She smiles, coyly, and begins to gather her things together.

‘I think I’d better get going. We’re planting a tree for Mum this afternoon. I think she would have liked that.’

‘Well, that’s lovely,’ I say.

‘Would you like me to do anything for you — for Mia?’

I look down at my blanket, turn a corner, and inspect the neat edging. Take a sip of water.

‘If you want — you could get your crochet going. Do a yarnbomb.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Do it properly. That would make me really happy.’

Teeth, tongue, tonsils, tastebuds, throat

Teeth.

Tongue.

It’s all mouth. Teeth, tongue, it’s taste. Taste and texture. Taste and touch. Tastebuds. Teeth and tongue, tastebuds, throat, tonsils. All in there together. All T.

So dry. My teeth and tongue now thirsty. They’re tacky and clicking dry. I need a drink. I want to flood my mouth with an ocean of relief.

Grandma: old as her tongue, not as old as her teeth.

Your tastebuds change, don’t they? As you get older. They change. When I was a little boy Grandad gave me a sip of his whisky. Awful, awful. Couldn’t conceive of why anyone would want to drink that. Stomach bile. Awful. I knew that when I grew up I would only eat sweets. When I was old enough to eat what I bloody well wanted. Sweets and cake mix. Couldn’t stomach it now.

‘Morning, lovey. How are you doing today?’

Sheila. Quiet voice. Gentle voice. She works the room, looks at me. Tries to judge how I’m feeling.

‘Can I get you anything? A drink, or—?’

No food. Food no longer on the menu. I have had my last meal.

‘Tea?’ I say. ‘Please.’

‘A cup of tea? All right, lovey, sit tight and I’ll go and get you some tea.’

Cup of tea. Floods the mouth. Floods the buds. That’s something to say. Cup of tea. Forever the first thing to get me moving in the morning. It’s my — what do they say? — my control. My control state.

Cup of tea floods the tongue, teeth, throat, tonsils.

All the Ts.

Six sugars in my cup of tea, I used to have when I was little. Couldn’t do that now. Spooning out the sludge in the bottom of the mug. Happy days.

Wh—?

Sheila plants a teacup and saucer on the cabinet beside my bed.

‘Here we go, lovey. I’ve brought a fresh glass of water for you too in case you’d rather have that, all right?’

I smile up at her. Hope the smile reaches my face.

She sits awhile as the tea cools beside us.

‘Jackie tells me you had a bit of trouble in the night.’

‘Mm, yeah.’

‘Breathing bad again, was it?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, awful.’

She tuts, sympathetically, and takes up my hand.

‘What’s, uh — what’s the day?’

‘It’s a lovely bright Tuesday.’

‘Tuesday? I can’t keep track.’

‘Still, at least you’ve got an excuse, eh? You’re allowed to lose track when you’re feeling a bit peculiar. I don’t know what my excuse is.’

‘Heh, no.’

‘You feeling a bit better now, though?’