James Hannah: The A to Z of You and Me

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.

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.

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.

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.