Chapter 30
MICHAEL
Traffic has been slow. I’ve already listened to the tape once. Then David Bowie’s ‘Ashes to Ashes’ suddenly starts sounding like Bowie’s had a bump of coke, his voice slowing down, then speeding right back up again.
Ah, shite.
I push the eject button and pull out the cassette; strips of tape stretch to the cassette player and my hand like a length of soft liquorice.
I give it a final yank, eyes flitting between the country road, hedgerows rushing past, and the remains of my carefully collated mixtape.
I exhale. I’ve still got an hour’s drive ahead of me.
I reach for the dial and tune it into a radio station that isn’t jumping in and out of a hit of static.
My mind is full, tumbling over thoughts of Alice.
I knew it’d be a long shot, that she’d somehow get my letter or my message and turn up.
Still, I couldn’t help but picture her standing on the bank where we usually sit, the sea behind her, eyes meeting mine…
then what? She falls into my arms? Fuck’s sake.
What is wrong with me? I don’t even know her. Not really.
My own ramblings unfold; the things I’ve said to her in my letters. Maybe it’s like Kate said, all I’ve been doing is writing to myself, using Alice as some kind of half-arsed pathway to my own life, the decision I need to make.
The DJ introduces the next song but I’m not really paying attention, my hands at ten to two on the steering wheel. I crank down the window a bit more; there is the hint of brine in the air, cut grass and, well, summer, I guess.
‘Raspberry Beret’ starts playing.
I smile, thinking of Kate, singing along, pink paint on her face, the way her eyes sparked when she looked over her shoulder at me.
It feels like I’ve just gone over a speed bump, even though I’m heading downhill.
I swallow hard as more images start flicking through my mind like the images in the View-Master I’d had as a kid: red binoculars that popped up a different picture with each click of the black button: Kate as a kid kicking Jacko’s shin when he called me a loser; her face smiling up as she buttered me a piece of toast when I’d spent the morning throwing up the five pints I’d drunk on an empty stomach after Sarah left.
Her hands smoothing down the images of my drawings, like she was touching something precious.
My heart is beating faster and faster as image after image comes.
My hands are shaking, my vision blurring.
I flick my indicator, check over my shoulder and pull into a small layby.
I unbuckle my seat belt, yank open the car door, and step onto the verge.
Bending down with my hands on my knees, I try to force some air into my lungs.
I close my eyes, trying to breathe. Cars speed past as I try and fail to get a grip.
I sit down on the gravel. Scrunching my eyes tightly as I replay the way she looked when I last left her, face tilted to the sun. The broken look in her eyes when I told her I needed to see Alice. I open my eyes. ‘Lovely girl, our Kate.’ Mam’s voice. Clear as day.
The sun hides behind a cloud, but it does nothing to ease the heat rushing over my body.
My eyes scan the surroundings. I’m at the edge of a small village. A red phone box in the distance.
Like the flick of a ten pence piece landing on heads, something inside switches. I let out a long breath, covering my mouth with my shaking hand.
A few minutes later, and I’m yanking open the heavy door. The air is thick. Stale. Glass windows concentrating the heat outside.
I dig my hands into my pockets, pulling out a few coins mixed with Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit wrappers. I just need to hear her voice.
The coins drop into the box, loud in the small space. My fingers stumble on the dial a few times; the rotary is sticky and tight on my index finger as I dial.
It rings. Once. Twice. A third time.
‘52419?’
‘Kate?’
‘Hey! I thought you were on your way—’
‘I am. Just… thought I’d check in. Make sure the stuff has arrived?’
Sweat runs down my spine.
‘Yeah, I was just unpacking! I’d forgotten about the kettle! Will make you a brew as soon as you’re back and we…’
‘I was just thinking… when I get back… do you fancy dinner? Out, like?’
There’s a pause.
‘Yes. I’d… Yeah. I’d really like that, Mike.’ I can hear the smile in her voice.
I hold the receiver tighter, eyes focused on my trainers. I open my mouth. Close it again.
‘I’ll see you later. I mean… when I get back?’
‘Yeah. Don’t take too long though, mind. Got suiters banging down my door already, me.’
‘Aye.’ I smile. ‘No doubt.’
The buzzing on the line lets me know I’ve run out of time. ‘Kate I—’ I dig in my pocket but there’s only a few coppers, no silver. The line goes dead.
I close the door behind me. My breathing somehow steadier now, even though my head is buzzing.
Back in the car, I pull down the visor. I’m about to continue along the road, but the truth lands like a gut punch. I need to tell her. I need to tell her I love her.
That I know where I belong.
I push my foot against the brake, making fast work of a U-turn.
A laugh creeps out of my mouth. I’ve spent so long fighting against Yorkshire, fighting the fear of becoming just like my father, but she’s shown me.
Now, now I can’t wait to get back. To the concrete, to the chippy down the road, to the neighbours who know everyone’s name.
To the people who fought for something better. Home. Kate.
‘Sweet Dreams’ comes on and I shake my head.
Alice was everything that I didn’t think I had, an escape, ambition.
You really don’t see it, do you? You’re really quite beautiful.
Was that it? What did it? I push my foot on the accelerator, the traffic quieter as I move away from the coast, back towards the glorious dark, the glorious light of home.
I let out a long breath, my whole body expanding, relaxing.
I round a sharp bend, indicate around a cyclist.
Then a loud pop.
A squeal of tyres.
Pain in my fingers as I try to grip the steering wheel.
My body slams against the seat belt. Up becomes down. Light becomes dark.
I register pain, so much that my whole body feels numb with it.
There is the sound of a voice. Then another.
He’s breathing.
I blink, the spiderweb of cracks a crimson red now. Would look good in pastel. No, oils?
Can you tell me your name?
I try to answer. My mind drifts instead. To candles and fancy pasta. The Olive something?
Check his driving licence.
No. Not Olive. A herb, maybe?
David? David, can you hear me?
I have the mad urge to laugh. No one’s called me David since I was a kid.
The Bay Tree. That’s it. I’d better book a—
I try to finish the thought. But it slips away, somewhere light. Warm.
Safe.
And all the pain just…
Goes.