Page 69 of The First Time I Saw You
‘I didn’t know they were close. I can’t see, remember.’ This is a lie, I know they are close because I can hear Will jangling his coins in his pocket. Clink, clink, jangle jangle. The noises are like nails scraping across the blackness, like it is trying to claw a way through the walls.
‘Fine. If you want to behave like a mardy tit, then you can do it without me.’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine.’ I hear her grabbing her things together. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘I won’t see you,’ I snap back.
‘You know, lots of people have disabilities, Mule, but not all of them have to make everyone around them feel shit about it.’
She leaves. I drop the ice cream. It hits the leg of my grey shorts, bounces off and lands on to my flip-flopped foot. For feck’s sake. My hands are sticky, and I haven’t got a tissue. Michael slips from my hand as I reach for him; it seems he doesn’t want mint ice cream on him either.
Perfect. I’m guessing I look like I’ve got a venereal disease oozing out of my boxers. I pull Michael up and drag him along towards home.
‘Sorry,’ I say as I bump into a woman whose bright blue dress fills my sight. The circle traps the swirls and colours of the fabric for a moment before I straighten my posture. I pull Michael reluctantly up the kerb. ‘Sorry,’ I say again. This time I’ve shoulder-slammed into another woman but as I zig-zag my focus on her, I realise she is pregnant. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Bret’s face fills the circle of light within the screen. He looks different, not his usual perfectly toothed grin.
‘Nice to see you,’ I say. I wonder if I will say that once the dancing shadows take over.
‘You too.’
‘So, what’s new?’ I ask as I twist off the top of my bottle of beer. I tilt the bottle towards the screen and say ‘Cheers’ as Bret clinks his bottle towards the screen. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles at me.
‘Not much . . . How’s things with you and . . .’ he moves his head around the screen as if by doing so he will be able to see more than my camera is letting in, ‘Isabella?’
‘Ah, nothing, mate. I told her I’m not ready.’
‘Because of Sophie?’ he asks, leaning forward.
‘Look, I know what it sounds like, man. I know I sound like an idiot, but . . .’ I scratch the back of my head, ‘I just can’t get her out of my head . . . you know?’
‘Yeah. I get it.’
‘Thanks for sending my stuff over, by the way—’
‘Sammy! Mrs McLaughlin has lost my fecking bag! Can I borrow this one of yours?’
I smile at Bret. ‘My da,’ I say by way of explanation. ‘Yes! You might want to empty the crap out of it, I’ve not sorted it out yet.’ I’ve not been keen on opening it and finding reminders of my old life. I know that there are my spare running shoes in there, and a few parking tickets . . . my old sports bottle. Everyday things that we all have, and I know it’s not like I’m not going to need them again, especially now that I go to the gym, but those things all hold memories that are too raw to touch just yet.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Da storms into the room. I narrow my eyes and track his movements, following the length of his arm to see what he is holding. The brief glimpse at his expression leads me to believe that it may be poisonous. ‘I thought you were joking!’
Bret begins laughing on the other side of the Atlantic. ‘Your dad sounds just like you!! I “taught” you were joking!’ he says, with the worst imitation of a Northern Irish accent that I have ever heard.
‘Who the feck is that?’ Da storms towards the screen and Bret backs away from the camera as though Da is going to grab him by the scruff of his neck.
‘It’s Bret, Da.’
‘Oh grand, just a minute, Bret, my boy, I need to have a word with this stupid arse.’ Bret nods and takes another swig of his beer. ‘I thought you were joking about becoming a florist?’ Bret spits out his beer and the small circle of screen is momentarily covered in what looks like a spray of piss.
‘I was.’ I lean forward to try and see what it is that Da is waving around in front of him. And then I realise. It’s the cherry blossom that I had picked to give to Sophie. I reach out my hand and take it, filling my circle of life with the blossom that is now papery thin. The rose colours have faded into a pink ash, but as my world is filled with the tiny petals, I feel like my next breath is never going to come.
‘I picked this to give to Sophie.’
‘Are you listening to this, Bret? Keen sportsman like yourself, can you believe the stupid things this arse has been doing lately? Paddle boats and fecking flowers! I ask you!’
Da is oblivious to the way my heart feels like it is never going to take the next beat, that my lungs are never going to swallow the next gulp of air.
