James Hannah - The A to Z of You and Me

I nod.

‘A bit strange. Really, really weird dreams.’

‘Yeah, that’s normal. That’s quite normal for morphine.’

‘But — better than awful.’

‘That’s good. We aim to please, eh?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well now, I can’t hang around here gassing all day. I should get on.’

‘Right.’

‘Have you got your buzzer? It’s there by your hand, look.’

Look. My hand is next to the buzzer.

‘I’m just outside, OK?’

‘OK.’

She leaves, leaves the tea steaming behind her.

I know I’m not going to drink it.

I can’t taste anything any more.

Tongue, teeth and tastebuds, all dead.

All dead already.

Urethra

URETHRA? HA? Urethra Flankrin.

What are you talking about?

Uvula

‘Sash! Sasha, come here!’ Mal calls through the booming music of our flat-warming party. Very much his flat-warming party. I don’t want to meet anyone new.

The kid in the bowler hat meets up with Mal, and Mal throws his arm around his shoulder and draws him to me.

‘Ivo this is Sasha. Good mate of mine from up north.’

I shake his hand, which is cold. He’s got three spikes coming out from beneath his bottom lip and gauged earlobes. ‘How you doing?’

‘Sash’s the piercing king,’ says Mal.

‘Oh yeah?’ I say, with effort. I don’t want to start getting to know this stuff. I couldn’t give a toss. ‘What you got?’

‘Well, the ones you can see,’ smiles Sasha with a faintly nerdish choke to his voice, ‘I’ve got two twenty-six-mil ear gauges, the three in the bottom lip, two nostrils and an eyebrow—’

‘What about inside,’ says Mal, with anticipation.

‘Tongue, gum and uvula,’ he says.

‘What’s that?’ I ask.

Sasha opens his mouth and flashes his tongue at me, before lifting his top lip and displaying a silver bolt which I think pierces his top gum.

‘Ah, Jesus,’ I say. I’ve always been a bit squeamish for stuff like this.

‘Show him,’ urges Mal.

Sasha opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue.

‘Uvula piercing,’ says Mal, bright-eyed.

I frown and look in there, not knowing what to look at, and then I see it: the punchbag at the back of his throat has a bolt through the front.

‘Ah, Jesus,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to see that.’

Mal grins, but Sasha looks offended. He death-stares me, before pulling down his lower lip and showing me the inside. There, between the three bolts for the three spikes is tattooed the word PAIN.

He disappears off into the darkness, an air of nerdish revenge having been exacted.

I don’t need this. I never wanted a flat-warming in the first place. But Mal insisted, of course. A prime chance to get all his mates and acquaintances round. Get his customers comfortable with his new set-up.

This is my new stage in life. This is what I’m committing to.

I’ve never felt so low.

I sit on the floor, lean against the wall. My wall. Half mine. All our chairs have been taken up by faceless freeloaders invited by Mal, and the buzz throbs through me, through the floor. This is not what I want.

Come on, come on now, positive thinking.

I pick myself up off the flat floor and say to myself, Bring it on. Use the words: C’mon, c’mon, bring it on. Let’s feel it. Gaze up at the lights through the smoke. Even though I helped Mal rig the old bicycle wheel to the light fitting, it still works. It looked rubbish, dangling down like a slipped halo. But hats off, man, the Christmas tree lights hanging off it, they’re magical.

You can be the magician and still enjoy the trick.

Mal’s dropped Coldcut, and the twenty-somethings are up and bouncing around, and shouting ‘chooon!’ and pointing at the ceiling. They’re jumping up and down, and I can feel them through the floor. Downstairs on the floor below it’ll be like the inside of a sub woofer, the whole ceiling doof doof doofing to their footdrops.

Fucking Coldcut though, man, genius, I’m on it now, the bassbeats, as I pulse against the wall, I can feel it through the floor, I can feel it through the wall, it’s the bass drum, the belly that’s speaking to me. It’s living me.

I wish you could be here to feel this — I wish–

Sasha’s grotesque dancing face looms up at me now. Aggressive. He’s being aggressive. The only thing I can think is I want to turn him into a punchbag. Sucking, scummy leech.

I push at him with my fists and I get him off balance. Puff of stink off him like damp clothes smell.

I’m away now, shoved away by Mal, and he’s shouting at me. He’s trying to calm me down.

‘Fucking prick,’ I say looking over at the punchbag punk. He’s regathered himself over the opposite side by Becca, playing freaky with her. She’s paying as much attention to him as she has to me.

‘Come on, man—’ Mal’s still at me, I see, his face in my face ‘—you’re in a bad space, yeah? We’re going to take you out of this. Here, here, wait—’ He turns around to the drinks table. ‘Here — get a load of this, yeah?’

I take the drink and down it.

‘Little house-warming present from me, OK? Time to cheer up and chill out, yeah?’

‘Yeah, right.’

I look up, and his face is still staring, right at mine.

Thuds and colours and wailing faces slide past me, and I’ve burst out of the front door now. I’m on the street, and Mal’s with me. He’s talking to me.

I’m going to make everything all right , he’s saying.

We’re leaving the house-warming behind — no one’s going to care, are they? Not this far gone.

We can sort you out , he’s saying.

He’s going to make it all right.

We can explain it to her. I’m going to take you there.

He’s going to bring me to you. He says you’ll be thrilled. And we’ll be together again.

Listen, let’s take my car. It’s pissing it down.

Yeah, yeah, a car. We don’t have to walk even.

And we’re driving. I love driving. I love being driven. Since I was a kid, with my dad. The streetlights, flung past, caught up in the animated rain on the windscreen. How much time must it take your brain to render all that movement? It’s amazing, amazing. Every corner is drawn in real time as we drive round it. All the angles perfect.

Where are we going? We’re not going, we’re coming.

I’m coming to you.

Parked up, chunk-chunk car doors shut, and out on my feet now, yep, yep, I’m coming to you. I’m inhaling the pavement — long, straight terrace street, and I’m surfing it, every slab of it. Tiny ups, tiny downs.

We can straighten it out!

I’m thumping on your door, because I’ve got to tell you now, this is it. I should say, right, this is it for ever, yeah? I’m done! I see you! I feel you! You and me for ever.

Your door opens, and it’s you! It’s exciting!

What? Go home. Go home, it’s four o’clock.

‘We can work it out!’ I say. ‘We can do it, Mia!’

Jesus, Mal, what state’s he in?

He wanted to come and see you. I’ve brought him to see you.

‘This is it for ever,’ I say. ‘I’m excited! It’s beautiful!’

Go home, go on. We can talk about it when you’re more together.

‘I’m—’

Are you looking out for him? You’re not stoned as well, are you?

Nah, nah. I’m fine.