When he turned away at last, he was alone on the sea-defenses and it was morning. The blunt chalk headlands, already busy with commuter traffic, stretched away east, decreasing mistily into the distances of Peacehaven and Hastings. He looked at his watch. Beatrice was waiting for him in the shadow of the sea wall. She had the two kids with her, peaky-looking little things about two years apart, one girl, one boy, who stared up at him as if they were thinking something that couldn’t be put into speech.
She said, ‘I thought I might find you here.’
‘Are you following me?’ Hampson said.
Beatrice laughed. The kids laughed. Hampson tousled their heads. They went all four of them and got some breakfast.
He had never thought life was infinite. He had always understood that focus was the key, although he was prepared to admit he had often focussed on the wrong things. Earlier in life he had felt too much anxiety over that. From now on he wouldn’t feel enough, even though he knew his focus was slipping off the right things. Like everyone else he would begin to look forward to the evening, two or three glasses of wine. He would eat too much.
I’ve Left You my Kettle and Some Money
Ten years ago I looked up and saw in my garden a layer of fluid ice, the exact blue of the chemicals in a cold pack, trapped between two layers of air. It was still there an hour later. It was still there the next day, like a temperature inversion hanging above the lawn. I took a chair out and climbed up on it and put my hand in. There was no resistance. Nothing leaked out. I could see my hand in there. Once I got inside I could breathe, though there was some discomfort to begin with. I’ve been hauling my stuff up there ever since, stashing it item by item until I was ready to leave. I’ll have to crawl, because I’m not sure what I’d find if my head broke out of the top. I know I can keep warm. I’ve got enough food for a month. After that I plan to live on my wits, always moving east, pushing the furniture in front of me. None of the others know. Don’t tell them until you’re sure I’ve gone.
Special Thanks
Thanks for every kind of help, encouragement and support to: Nina Allan, Barbara Campbell, Jon Catty, Deb Chadbourn, Mic Cheetham, The Collective, Sarah Cunningham, Lindsay Duguid, Will Eaves, Tim Etchells and everyone at Forced Ent, Fiona Hugget-Ling, Simon Ings, Justine Jordan, Zali Krishna, Dave McKean, Farah Mendelsohn, China Miéville, John O’Connell, Ra Page, Ian Patterson, Lara Pawson, Christopher Priest, Julian Richards, Andrew Rosenheim, William Schafer, Penny Schenk, Simon Spanton – and especially Cath Phillips, without whom.
About the Author
M. John Harrison is the author of eleven novels (including In Viriconium, The Course of the Heart and Light), as well as four previous short story collections, two graphic novels, and collaborations with Jane Johnson, writing as Gabriel King. He won the Boardman Tasker Award for Climbers (1989), the James Tiptree Jr. Award for Light (2002) and the Arthur C. Clarke Award for Nova Swing (2007). He reviews fiction for the Guardian and the Times Literary Supplement, and lives in Shropshire.
You Should Come With Me Now: Stories of Ghosts Page 22