Trackman

by Catriona Child

  A cry for help.

  It's easy to miss a cry for help.

  I didn't hear Lewis even though he was screaming. Hiding behind a melody, but screaming all the same.

  Help!

  I can say his name out here. Why do you think that is? I've always found it so hard to say his name out loud. One simple word: Lewis. I couldn't say it without it clinging on to me. Out here it's easier; it just disappears off the side of the bridge, it doesn't hang around.

  My stomach is churning. I definitely don't have the sea legs, Jamesy. Let's agree never to stow away on a boat, eh? I'm going to turn around, get the hell off this bridge.

  I can't keep going the other way, can I? I don't have a fucking clue where I'd go. At least I know where I am in Edinburgh.

  I turn on the spot and walk back the way I've just come. The sun is setting on my right hand side, over towards Glasgow. The sky's mad; I've never seen colours like it. Peach and orange and gold and pink. The clouds run through from purple to blue to lilac to grey: the colours merge like groundup chalk.

  It doesn't look real, does it? More like a painting, aye, a watercolour. The sky is in layers, built up by sweeps of the paintbrush. The trees are drawn on in charcoal, silhouetted against the sky.

  Man, I've never been able to describe beauty like that in words. Lewis was much better at that sort of thing. He could have written a poem about it.

  I don't remember much of what he wrote now. His notebooks all got taken away. I don't know what happened to them. I guess they got returned at some point. Maybe Mum or Dad has them? Two lines always come back to me.

  I'm not afraid to die.

  I'm afraid of staying alive.

  In a parallel universe, I read those lines and understand them. I don't just read them and think, wow, my brother's really deep.

  Jamesy, I need to stop again. I'm starting to feel really sick. Every step feels like the bridge is bouncing me into the air. The lorries just keep on coming. Where are all these people going? There's so much traffic.

  I need to sit down for a bit. Get close to the pavement, the closer I get to it the better I'll feel.

  I lie down on my stomach.

  Down, close to the pavement.

  I felt too high up when I was standing.

  Too high.

  Sometimes a kitchen chair can be too high.

  I finger the green pavement. Standing up it looks like solid, green slabs; down here I see it's a mosaic of green stones. Lots of small, green stones squashed together. Individually they're smooth to touch, and shine like they've been polished, but collectively they're rough. The stones don't fit together, and the grooves and dips dig into me.

  He was all sharp edges and angles.

  I turn over so I'm lying on my back. I open my mouth and let my jaw hang open. It chatters with the vibrations of the tyres over tarmac.

  Davie found Lewis standing in front of the mirror. He had pulled his top lip up and ran his tongue across his gums.

  Feeling for the gap.

  What is it? You still got toothache?

  No, I'm just looking at my skull, Lewis said letting go of his top lip.

  Eh?

  If you hold your lips up you can see the outline of your skull behind your gums. I'm looking at my own skeleton.

  It's starting to get dull now, and the bridge lights have switched on. I follow a thick pair of orange suspension wires as they climb skywards. Doesn't it freak you out? Well, that those rusty wires are the only things holding us up right now. If there was no traffic you could hear the ping, ping, ping, as the millions of tiny fibres inside the wires snap.

  Ping.

  Ping.

  Ping.

  Plummet.

  A step off a kitchen chair can be as fateful as a plummet off a bridge.

  I sit up, and lean sideways against the silver railing so I'm looking down into the water again. My hands and face are cold, and I pull my knees towards me and squeeze my hands between my thighs.

  A couple of seagulls swoop across the top of the water. The surface down there is patchy, like there's an oil slick.

  Directly underneath me is that funny wee island.

  What's it called again?

  Inchsomething. All the islands out here are Inches.

  Inch.

  Inch.

  Inch.

  The thickness of a pyjama cord.

  It's chilly here, Jamesy. Once I start to feel better we can start walking again, try and warm up.

  That island is meant to be covered in giant rats; they live in those ruins. They sent men with dogs over to get them, but even the dogs were too small.

  Can you imagine it? I know, it's probably another urban myth, but rats a metre long.

  Metre.

  Metre.

  Metre.

  The length of a pyjama cord.

  Can you whistle, Jamesy?

  They say if you whistle at the sea, you mock the devil.

  Sorry, that's right. You don't have any lips.

  I try to whistle and end up spitting instead. My mouth is too dry, and no matter how hard I swallow my saliva's sticky not wet.

  The devil doesn't frighten me, I've seen worse.

  Davie dropped the orange juice.

  Man, it's cold. We need to get moving.

  I stand and place my feet on the step of the railings. Lean forward. Let the wind blow my hair.

  I look down and my glasses slip off. This time I'm too slow and they fall. They hit off part of the bridge as they go, and the force of it ricochets them into a spin. I watch as they spiral like a dying helicopter. They fall into the gloom, and I can't see them anymore. Too far down to see. Too far down to hear the splash. Too far down.

  The step off a kitchen chair.

  This is the part when the angel enters, eh? Or is that you? You're Jamesy though, the angel's name was Clarence.

  I didn't stop my little brother falling. I was too late.

  I could drop you too, Jamesy. What would you do then? If I dropped you.

  Dropped you.

  Dropped you.

  Dropped.

  Dropped.

  Davie dropped the orange juice.

  Davie dropped the orange juice.

  Davie dropped.

  Davie dropped.

  Davie.

  Davie.

  Me.

  Me.

  I dropped it. I dropped it. I dropped it. I dropped it.

  The orange juice.

  I dropped the orange juice.

  Because.

  Because of what I saw.

  Because of what I saw when I shut the fridge door.

  You'd think the light from the fridge would have illuminated him, but it was only when I shut the door and the light went out. That I saw.

  I saw.

  Him.

  Lewey.

  I heard the creak of the washing pulley as the weight of it strained against the ceiling.

  The shadow swaying on the wall.

  The kicked-over kitchen chair lying on its side.

  I dropped the orange juice, the carton split and the juice poured out over the tiled floor.

  The smell of squeezed oranges was sickly sweet.

  I wanted to move but I was stuck. My eyelid started to twitch, the only part of me that could move. The whole fight or flight thing ran through my head. I wasn't doing either. I wasn't jumping into action or getting the hell out of there. I was just stuck.

  I thought I was strong, but I was all fright.

  I had to lean down, and lift my right leg and shuffle it forward.

  Then my left leg. Like I was paralysed.

  All the while a voice was screaming at me in my head.

  Hurry up, hurry the fuck up, for fuck sake, quickly, you have to move faster.

  I slipped on the orange juice and fell to the floor. I hit my head, but it woke me up. It knocked life into me. I could move again.

  Lewis, Lewis, no, no, Lewis, no, fuck, no.

  My hands s
hook, and I couldn't undo the pulley rope from where it was attached to the wall. The figure of eight was wound too tight around the hook. The weight of him was pulling it too tight. I fumbled with it for what felt like ages. Then the voice began screaming again.

  Knife, knife, knife, cut it, cut the cord, knife.

  I grabbed a bread knife and began sawing through the cord. Lewis started swaying faster and faster from side to side. Then there was a thud as he hit the ground. We were both hit by t-shirts and towels and socks, hanging up to dry and he hadn't taken them down. They fluttered down around us.

  It was only when he lay there, the orange juice soaking into his white socks and the bottom of his pyjamas, that I looked properly at his face.

  It was puffy, like when he had the mumps. His skin was navy blue and his eyes were open and bloodshot.

  My eyes ran down his body. His cock was stiff underneath his pyjama trousers, and there was a wet patch spread across his crotch where he'd pissed himself.

  He was Lewey, but he wasn't Lewey. It was like those shitey waxworks at Madame Tussauds; it resembled Lewey but there was something wrong about it.

  The voice was shouting again.

  First aid, kiss of life, CPR, one and two and three and four.

  I leant in towards his face, but I couldn't bear to be so close to him. His face was cold and his lips were blue, like he'd been out playing in the snow. I listened to see if I could hear him breathing, hear his heartbeat, but all I could hear was my own heart and the voice still screaming in my head.

  Come on, Davie, move, for fuck sake, Lewis, 999.

  999.

  999.

  I ran to the landline and dialled 999. Now I understand why they make it such an easy number to remember. Such an easy number to thump down the buttons for, when your hands are shaking so much you can't control them.

  Help.

  Ambulance.

  My brother.

  My little brother.

  Lewis.

  Lewey.

  Deep down inside of me I knew it was too late. I was too late. But I kept pushing that voice aside. No, I won't believe you.

  If I'd only come home from work when my shift ended. Straight home, no pub, no Martha.

  It was all my fault.

  I could have saved him.

  In a parallel universe, I come straight home; in a parallel universe, he doesn't die; in a parallel universe, my parents stay together; in a parallel universe, I don't destroy my own family.

  It was my fault, Jamesy. I know it, my parents know it.

  It's always there, inside me. What if it was a cry for help? He hadn't meant to go through with it, expected me to walk in the front door and catch him, stop him. But I was too late.

  I know what they told me: that it wouldn't have mattered. Even if I had come home after work, there was nothing I could have done. The police, the folk at the hospital, Dr Richmond, Susan. I didn't believe any of them, just telling me that to make me feel better.

  I look out towards the rail bridge, it's so dark out there. Behind me the sun is setting and everything is glowing, but in front of me it's darkness. The cars have all got their headlights on now, they flash by so quickly; each set of lights merging into the glare of the next set. Without my glasses on it's all just lights and shapes and flashes.

  Another lorry goes past and the vibrations get bigger, stronger, louder. The emergency phone shakes.

  Good vibrations.

  That's how we first started, remember?

  With a vibration.

  Look at us now, eh?

  Out here amongst the flashing lights and the exhaust fumes inside my mouth and the tyres on tarmac and the rattling and the up and down, up and down, up and down.

  There's another train, leaving Edinburgh, getting the hell out of there.

  Good Bye.

  Escaping.

  Like Mum and Dad.

  Even though they left me, I don't blame them for leaving. That city. It's full of him. Everywhere you go the memories of him grab you. Places we went, things he said. I wanted to stay and remind myself. Punish myself. Mum and Dad got away. I don't hate them for it. They're my folks, I love them. I didn't think I did until now. We abandoned each other when we should have been looking after each other.

  They're still your folks, Davie, no matter what's happened. You only get one mum and dad.

  Wow, this is so weird, Jamesy. Out here my mind is starting to make sense. I was trapped in Edinburgh; Lewis was always there, just behind me, standing next to me all the time. I never left because I didn't want him to leave me. I didn't want him to go.

  You need to let him go.

  I'm not ready.

  I think I'm ready now.

  I just wish I could say sorry to him. Let him know I didn't mean it.

  If…

  Do you think he'd forgive me? I want him to forgive me.

  This traffic is hurting my head, it's just so loud. Fucking hell, I never realised how loud it was out here. Good idea, Jamesy boy.

  I take the headphones out from my pocket, pull the hinges down and put them over my head. Feel the foam padding suck against my ears. Pure silence, crisp and sweet; like that advert for vodka, where all the shite flies out of the sea leaving the water clear and pure.

  The sound of silence.

  It's like that for a few seconds, and then I hear Jamesy. His voice moves between my ears, left to right like the breeze.

  your fault not your fault not your fault not your

  I close my eyes and let it swoosh through my head.

  Left to right.

  Left ear through head to right ear.

  Left ear, right ear.

  Not your fault.

  Not your fault.

  Left to right.

  Then from behind the whisper I hear laughter. It gets louder and louder until I can't hear Jamesy anymore. I hear the laughter in both ears at the same time.

  'Hello, and welcome to Radio Watts. I'm Davie.'

  'And I'm Lewey.'

  What the fuck? How are you doing this, Jamesy?

  Shhhh, just listen. Keep listening.

  'Today we have the top ten for you, so, Lewey, over to you.'

  I can hear Mum hoovering in the background.

  'In at number ten is... Everyday by Buddy Holly.'

  'We love that song, but it's fallen to number ten. Tell us what... '

  The tape clicks as someone hits Stop, then the background noise changes. The hoover disappears.

  'Hello, to whoever's listening, Mum, Dad, Davie, I hope.'

  I don't understand. It's Lewis. Lewis. He's taped over our radio show. What is this?

  Sshhhh, don't think, just listen.

  'I was going to write all this down, but I couldn't get the words right. I didn't even know how to start, so then I thought I'd just record it instead, so you can hear what I'm trying to say. Sorry, I think. It's just too much.'

  What is this, Jamesy? Why have I never heard this before?

  You almost did, remember when you pressed Play? It got lost after that. Shhhh, though, you only get to hear it once remember.

  'I don't even know what I want to say really. It's too hard to think at the moment.'

  Lewis is crying. His voice. I never thought I'd hear his voice again and he's crying. I can't listen to this, Jamesy. Please, stop, turn it off.

  It will help, trust me.

  'I guess all I want to say is I'm sorry and and I love you. It's nobody's fault I just I can't explain it, if you were me you'd understand. It's nobody's fault but mine, I'm just like this. I'm not afraid to die. I'm afraid of staying alive. And, Davie, I'm extra sorry to you because I think you'll find me, and I know you won't like it, but I want someone I trust to find me, not a stranger, so I chose you. I hope that's okay and you can forgive me someday. Nothing I say here is right, but I can't go without I have to say something, don't I? And it's just, it's me, okay, just me, nobody else.'

  There's a click as Lewis presses Stop.
<
br />   Why have I never heard that before?

  '... was number two, so, Lewis, what's number one this week?'

  The radio show kicks back in.

  'Well, I can tell you that it's… Hushabye Mountain from the excellent film Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.'

  'No it's not, Lewis, we agreed it wasn't going to be that.'

  'But I like this one the best.'

  'But it's rubbish, Me Ol' Bamboo is better.'

  'No, Hushabye Mountain, I've got it all set up to play now, it'll take ages to find Me Ol' Bamboo on the tape.'

  I laugh. It feels weird to be laughing at a memory of Lewis, especially one where we're fighting. Memories of Lewis usually cause pain and guilt. I can't help it though. I listen to us arguing over which song to play, and I can't stop laughing. They're both rubbish songs, but we're arguing like it's so important. I laugh as I hear myself kick the tape player over, storm out of the room and slam the door.

  'Sorry about that, listeners. Back to our number one. Dedicated to my brother, Davie Watts, iiiiitttt'ssss Hushabye Mountain.' The tape clicks again as he presses Play on the other tape deck. Then the song begins.

  Hushabye Mountain Hushabye Mountain Hushabye Mount

  I can see Lewis in front of me. I remember that day now. I remember making that tape. I sat outside the bedroom in a huff and peered at him through the crack in the door.

  Hushabye Mountain Hushabye Mountain Hushabye Mount

  It's like I'm back there. I can see him so clearly. He mouths the words to the song, sways from side to side. I can taste the Coke floats we were drinking, hear mum's hoover whirring in the background, feel the carpet underneath me. I reach out my hand. I feel like I could touch him.

  Hushabye Mountain Hushabye Mountain Hushabye Mount

  I always hated that stupid song, thought it was so babyish, but it's making me cry now. Not because I'm sad, but because I'm back there with him.

  Hushabye Mountain Hushabye Mountain Hushabye Mount

  The song ends. Lewis opens his eyes, spots me at the door and smiles.

  Then he's gone. Everything stops. I'm back on the bridge again. The carpet disappears from underneath and the green stones press into me.

  I know the rules, one song played once.

  I get it now. One song is all I need. One song to remember him, to hear his voice again. My final memory of him is not going to be lying on the kitchen floor, the orange juice seeping into his white socks. It's going to be in that bedroom, swaying from side to side to the music.