Her body sinks further into the duvet as she lets the air out of her chest.
She pictures Joe, buying his wine and pizza, and imagines him lying on his bed on his own watching a film, the wine bottle sitting almost empty on his bedside table.
Was he in the photo from the newspaper? Did he know something about Mom?
She thinks about the voice from the tape and her mind playing tricks. There’s a reason she doesn’t tell people everything.
— You don’t even believe yourself, idiot.
Her mouth enjoys the words, her tongue clicking against the back of her teeth to over-pronounce the letter ‘t’.
She thinks about Heather, giving the middle finger to his flat as she walked away, and then she sees the boy’s face from near the crisps, his dark eyes and his smile.
She jumps off the bed, landing like a cat on her toes between the scattered tapes and open shoeboxes, as the next song starts with more guitar and what sounds like a harp. She squats by the wall and digs into her schoolbag, pulling out a light green exercise book, then hops back to the bed like she’s a burglar avoiding laser tripwires.
She presses and holds the circular button on top of the phone with her fingertip. The screen blinks on, flashing the company logo. She crosses her legs under her and uses her finger to keep her place as she reads a phone number written in red biro from the cover of the exercise book, pressing the phone number buttons with her thumb. She chooses save contact and types Heather’s name.
The man on the tape repeats the same two words as the song fades.
Ameliah pictures Mom with her guitar and notebook, scribbling lyrics. She looks at the tapes on the floor and tells herself she needs to make some kind of table to note down what is on them all.
The small square screen seems too bright for its size as Ameliah clicks back to menu and selects contacts. She highlights Heather’s name and chooses send message.
She smiles to herself, picturing the look on Heather’s face in her room when she opens a message from her. The tiny buttons make it hard for her thumb not to make mistakes and she thinks about how fast Heather can tap out pretty much an essay.
She mouths the words as she types, saying sorry and that this will be her number. She feels powerful as she watches the small picture of an envelope pretend to fly off the screen.
The audience claps and whoops as the acoustic baseline of the next track plays.
Ameliah lies back down on her side, holding the phone, looking at Heather’s name under 999 in the contacts list. Her thumb scrolls down and up, highlighting one then the other. A phone with two numbers, her best friend and the emergency services.
I had a dream last night. I’m standing outside, next to a big road, like the dual carriageway that goes into town. I think maybe I’m waiting for a bus or something, but there’s no bus stop and the road is dark. Not dark like the concrete grey of a normal road, I mean dark, like black. Like black tar, and it’s smooth, and I look to my right and it’s stretching off into the distance, but there are no cars and it’s quiet and I can hear my name, like somebody saying my name, and I turn back and he’s standing there. The boy with dark hair and brown eyes.
His face is thin and I can see the bones of his cheeks and there’s something about him that makes me smile and he’s saying my name and then he’s smiling and he’s holding out his hand. I’m looking down at his hand and his smooth fingers and I take his hand and his skin is lighter than my skin and my thumb rests on the soft bit between his thumb and first finger and I feel myself smiling and then it’s like I’m getting lighter, like my body is floating upwards and the boy is still looking at me and smiling and he’s floating up too and our feet lift off the ground and then I wake up. That’s it. Weird, right? The weirdest thing is how real it felt. Like a memory rather than a dream. What’s all that about?
I was going to tell Nan but I didn’t. I wanted to tell you. On here. On your tape. I keep trying to picture you, you know, sitting on your bed back then, pressing the buttons, speaking your thoughts.
It would’ve been Mom’s birthday, I mean it was her birthday. We were talking earlier, Nan and me, about birthdays. She remembered my eleventh, you remember? It’s funny how somebody else’s memory of the same thing can be so different.
I remember it.
I’m wearing Mom’s old Nirvana T-shirt with the baby swimming on it. You saying eleventh is special because it’s the same number next to itself and that’s like rolling double six at snakes and ladders. It’s one of those places that’s supposed to feel American, they’ve got root beer and everything. You making Nan sing happy birthday twice, the waiter having to stand there and hold the cake.
The flames of the candles fighting to last. Watching you and Nan looking at each other. There’s a pause and you both look at me. I feel like I’m supposed to say something, like you want me to say something. I remember trying to replay all the birthdays I ever had in that moment, like one of those flick books with the pictures in the bottom corner of the page, but I can’t.
I picture Mom holding a cake she baked in both hands, you leaning in next to her and smiling. I try and remember you both telling me it’s time to make a wish, to blow out the candles, but I can’t for some reason and the waiter is waiting and I know his arm must be getting tired and you’re standing there trying not to cry, Nan’s forcing a smile and there’s a space in between you where Mom should be.
Ryan sat on the floor, his back against the sofa, watching the two muscular men grappling on the floor outside the ring. He decided that, even if it was fake, it still looked like hard work. Behind him, Nathan lay across the sofa, staring at the screen. Both of them wore jogging bottoms and T-shirts. The blond wrestler slammed the bigger man with the shaven head into the metal ringside steps.
— There’s no way.
Nathan raised his hand in protest.
— He’s gonna get whooped now.
Ryan looked up at Nathan, his face completely engrossed in the action.
— Come on! Get up!
Ryan imagined being in front of a crowd that big. A stadium packed with thousands of people chanting your name. He wondered whether that was what Nathan was thinking.
— He’s gonna do the shoulder-breaker any minute, watch.
Nathan pointed at the screen. He noticed Ryan looking at him.
— Are you watching? I’m telling ya, shoulder-breaker, any minute.
— It’s not real, you know.
Nathan looked at him. Ryan shrugged.
— I’m just saying.
Nathan shook his head.
— You’re missing the point.
Ryan turned back to the screen as the bigger man lifted the blond man upside down over his shoulder. The blond man wriggled free and slipped down his back. Ryan thought about Liam, how he hadn’t mentioned they were going away.
He felt eyes on him and looked up towards the kitchen.
Sophia stood in the doorway, smiling, her white T-shirt tucked into her stonewashed jeans.
— You boys hungry? Better get a good breakfast for the journey!
Nathan didn’t look up.
— Yeah. I am, Mom.
Ryan smiled.
— Yes please, Sophia.
Sophia nodded.
— I’ll make bacon sandwiches. Are you guys excited?
Ryan felt Nathan hold his breath behind him on the sofa. He kept a straight face.
— Yeah.
Sophia looked at Nathan.
— And you, Nath?
Nathan glanced at her.
— Yeah, can’t wait. Loads of ketchup on mine, Mom.
Sophia raised her eyebrows.
— Can I hear some manners, please?
Nathan stared at the screen.
— Yes please, thank you please.
Sophia looked at Ryan, rolling her eyes. Ryan smiled a safe smile as she walked back into the kitchen. He looked at Nathan.
— Is that you trying?
He felt a sh
arp pain in his back as Nathan kicked him in between his shoulder blades.
— Shut up. I know what I’m doing.
He pointed at the screen as the bigger man dropped to his knees holding the blond man upside down. The blond man flopped on to the mat.
— Told you. Boom! All over.
Ryan shook his head.
— That would break your neck if it was real.
— Probably, and your point is?
Ryan sighed. Nathan snorted.
— Exactly.
Ryan watched the referee lift the arm of the bigger man.
— Have you packed?
— Course not.
Ryan looked at him. Nathan smiled, nodding towards the kitchen.
She does it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s packed for you too.
Ryan thought about Sophia in his room, going through his drawers, choosing clothes. He stood up. Nathan flicked channels with the remote control.
— What’s wrong, don’t want her finding your booby mags?
Ryan thought about Eve. He pictured the freckles near her shoulder.
— Earth to Ryan, yo!
— What? Shut up, man.
— You shut up and don’t be getting all chummy with me when we’re in the car, all right? We don’t have to be boyfriend and girlfriend, OK?
Ryan looked at Nathan and thought about holding him upside down over his shoulder, Nathan begging for mercy.
— Don’t worry, Nath, I don’t want that either.
He walked towards the kitchen as Nathan stopped flicking on VH1.
Standing next to the fridge, he watched Sophia at the cooker, pressing bacon against the pan with the back of a fork. He heard Mom’s voice telling Dad not to use metal cutlery on the new pan as the meat sizzled. Sophia turned to him.
— Oh, Ryan. Do you want sauce on yours?
Ryan thought about Mom making Sunday dinner, Dad sharpening the knife to cut the chicken on the back step.
— Yes please.
Sophia smiled.
— Red?
— Brown.
Sophia turned back to the hob.
— OK. You can go sit down if you like. I’ll bring them through.
Ryan wondered what Mom would’ve made of Sophia, if they’d just met through a friend or at work. He tried to picture them in the same room.
— I’ll pack my own bag.
Sophia turned to look at him, her face confused.
— I mean I’d like to pack for myself, for the trip.
— OK, Ryan. I think that’s a good idea. You should hurry up though, your dad wants to leave before ten.
He nodded and walked out of the kitchen, realising he hadn’t needed to say anything at all.
Ameliah smells the bacon as she walks downstairs. The crackle of the meat in the frying pan competes with the Nina Simone coming from the portable radio speaker on the kitchen windowsill. Nan moves round the kitchen in her apron like a ballerina making breakfast. She smiles at Ameliah as she notices her in the doorway.
— Morning, love.
She twists in time with the music towards her and pecks a small kiss on Ameliah’s cheek.
Ameliah squeezes the shell in her jeans pocket as she watches Nan twirl away, her arms up, dancing with an invisible partner.
Nina Simone holds a long note as Nan pulls the frying pan off the hob.
— I hope you’re hungry.
Ameliah looks at the pile of stacked toast on the table, in between two empty plates and glasses full of orange juice. She slides her free hand into the front pocket of her hoody, feeling the phone vibrate against her stomach.
— Sit down, love, it’s nearly ready.
Ameliah sits down at the table and takes a sip of orange juice, letting the cold liquid run around between her teeth and gums like mouthwash before she swallows.
Her hand grips the phone as she looks at Nan’s back. The song finishes.
— There’ll never be another Nina.
Nan lays the thick doorstep sandwich on the plate in front of her as Ameliah feels the phone vibrate again.
— Thanks, Nan. About last night, I’m—
— I know, love. Forget about it. There’s sauce there if you want it.
She sits down with her own sandwich and swigs from her orange juice.
Ameliah takes the phone out of her pocket and lays it on the table.
Nan looks at the phone and for a second Ameliah thinks she might have made a mistake. Nan smiles and takes a huge bite out of her sandwich.
— Good idea, love. Does it still work OK?
Ameliah nods and feels the relief in her shoulders.
— Yeah, seems to. Heather hasn’t stopped sending me messages since I told her.
The phone vibrates again on cue. They both smile.
Ameliah looks at the phone screen. The dark letters say four new messages.
Nan takes another bite.
— It’ll be nice to be able to reach you.
Ameliah watches her chewing like a horse and feels herself straighten up in her seat.
— She would’ve wanted you to have it. I mean to be able to know you were OK.
Ameliah stares at the stacked toast.
— Mom used to tell me how mad you got when she came in late.
She looks at Nan. Nan stops chewing. Ameliah looks down. Nan swallows her toast.
— I was quite strict.
She takes another bite and talks with her mouth full.
— I guess it came from my mom.
— Mom’s nan?
— Yeah, she was an army wife, and you don’t get much stricter than that. We moved around a lot so she always thought she had to keep me in check, stop me running off with any old boy.
Nan finishes her mouthful and smiles a cheeky smile.
— Didn’t work though, did it?
Ameliah leans in.
— Why not?
Nan leans forward.
— Cos I ran off first chance I got, jumped on a boat to Ireland with a boy.
Ameliah’s face lights up with excitement.
— So what happened?
Nan stares at the pile of toast and sighs.
— Just a boy, with a saxophone, but man could he play.
— Nan, what happened?
Nan snaps out of her daydream.
— I learned a lesson, that’s what. Let’s just say that not everyone gets a fairy tale like your mom and dad.
She takes another slice of toast.
— What do you say to us watching a film later? Your choice. We’ll take the old one back and choose something for us tonight. Good idea?
Ameliah nods and picks at her sandwich with her fingers.
— Yeah. Good idea.
— Good then. I’m gonna be in the garden sorting out those borders. What are you up to?
— I thought I’d go through some more of the spare room.
— Good.
Nan pushes the last of her sandwich into her mouth and reaches for the top slice of toast. Ameliah pulls out the shell and lays it on the table next to her plate, looking up at Nan. Nan sees the shell and stops chewing. She looks at Ameliah. The long strings play out the end of the song.
— She’d want you to have that too.
She smiles and finishes her mouthful.
— Funny how something so small can be so important, don’t you think?
Ameliah touches the top of the shell.
— Yeah.
— We moved around so much. She never took it off.
— I know.
She looks up at Nan.
— Do you believe in the universe? I mean, you know, forces and stuff.
Nan points at the shell with her toast.
— When stuff like that happens, I think it’s hard not to, you know? They were so young, the pair of them, I mean, straight out of university, but when it’s meant to be.
She stares into space as she takes a bite.
— That poor guy didn’t stand a
chance.
— Which guy?
Nan swallows.
— The one she was with at college, when your dad showed up.
She takes another bite. Ameliah thinks about Dad turning up at Mom’s college, seeing the necklace, seeing her.
— It’s funny, whenever Mom told the story, I always imagined violins playing or something, you know? Dramatic music, out of nowhere.
Nan smiles at her.
— Like a film.
— Yeah, like a film.
Nan lays her hand on top of Ameliah’s, on top of the shell.
— Let’s hope you get your own fairy tale, love.
Ameliah pictures the boy from the supermarket.
— Yeah.
Nan pushes the last of her toast into her mouth.
— Everybody wants a fairy tale.
Ryan stared at the screen of the arcade machine. He gripped the player-two joystick between the first two fingers of his upturned left hand, the fingertips of his right poised ready on the buttons. He could feel Nathan tensing up next to him, the pair of them waiting for the fight to begin.
— I haven’t played in a while, just so you know.
Nathan’s voice betrayed nerves that Ryan felt filling the muscles in his arms. The word flashed up on the screen as the machine called out ‘Fight’.
Ameliah stares at the photograph. She turns the hardback book over in her hand to look at the cover. The dated lettering above the glossy photograph of what looks like a meteor shower spells the word COSMOS. She closes the book and looks back at the photo. Two boys stand next to each other, forcing smiles.
One of them is slightly taller. His hair is much fairer than the other boy and his smile is more sarcastic.
Ameliah stares at the shorter boy. His dark wiry hair. His open face. His baggy clothes can’t hide his lean frame. Above them the lights of the shiny building glow multicoloured around the large red letters of the word AMUSEMENTS.
She turns the photograph over. Written in the top left-hand corner in blue biro are the words ‘With Nathan, 1993’.
Tape Page 12