Hope

by Rhian Ivory

  Callie eventually opens the door. I fall into her hallway. I’m crying but I’ve gone past the point where I care. She doesn’t wrap her arms around me. She doesn’t ask me what’s wrong. She just slumps down onto the floor next to me, leaving the front door wide open. I wonder if Mum’s phoned her, to warn her. I try to breathe properly but I’m still gulping. I’ve been keeping it in all the way over on the bus and I can’t any longer.

  ‘He’s dead,’ I tell her. She looks panicked, then bursts into tears too.

  ‘When? When?’

  The house sounds empty. I wonder where her family are.

  ‘This afternoon. We had to sing to him. I sang to him.’

  ‘What? Why did you sing to him?’ She looks confused.

  ‘Because that’s what his mum wanted.’ I feel sick, shaky and drained.

  ‘Whose mum? What are you going on about?’ Callie’s got her hand on my arm now.

  ‘Kofi.’

  She snatches her arm away. ‘Shit! I thought you meant Nonno! I thought Nonno had died. Oh my God!’ She looks relieved.

  ‘I never said Nonno. He’s doing much better.’

  ‘You should have said. You should have said it was that kid.’ She points at me, like I’ve got something wrong again.

  ‘He’s not just some kid. He’s Kofi.’ I wipe my face and sit up, my back against their radiator. She does the same. We look at each other.

  ‘What happened?’ she asks eventually.

  ‘Complications, septic shock.’ I still don’t really know what it means.

  ‘And you sang to him? As he died?’ She looks horrified. ‘You sat there and sang?’

  ‘Yes, I guess. I mean, I think the machine was doing all the breathing and stuff for him. But yeah, we sang to him.’

  ‘Could he hear you? I mean, was there any point?’

  ‘I hope he could hear us. Even if he couldn’t, his mum could and I know it helped her,’ I answer.

  ‘I just can’t believe you did that. You sat there and sang to him with other people in the room? How?How did you not just break down or run out of the room? I don’t know you at all. I thought I knew everything about you.’

  For a moment I think she means it like she did before, in my room, but it sounds different, it sounds like understanding. ‘You keep on surprising me,’ she says, shuffling a little closer to me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, carefully putting my arm around her. ‘I’ll try to stop.’

  ‘No, don’t,’ she says after a bit.

  ‘Alright then.’

  ‘Alright then.’ And we sit there like that, on her hallway floor, half crying, half not, talking about everything, with the front door wide open, as the late summer evening creeps in around us.

  You haven’t answered me all day.

  …

  Hope? Are you ok? Haven’t heard from you. Has something happened?

  I’ve had the worst day of my life. Can’t think of any words big enough to cover it.

  What’s happened now? I can’t keep up with you and your capers.

  A boy died today.

  Ah, sorry. I’m sorry for your troubles. Was it the boy on the burns unit?

  How did you know?

  I know he’s important to you. He sounded like a grand kid. What happened?

  Complications. He had a cardiac arrest. His heart just gave up. Same as Nonna and just like my dad.

  Your dad? Can I call you?

  No. It’s too late.

  Tell me something about your dad then, something that won’t upset you.

  He’s a music teacher. Well, was head of music. He was doing a concert in Birmingham with his choir. It was a big competition thing called Young Voices and he had a heart attack during the afternoon rehearsal. They got him to the hospital but it wasn’t any good. He had another one in the ambulance. He was on a ventilator when I got there. Sorry, I’m supposed to be telling you nice stuff about him. Sorry to go on about my dad.

  Don’t be. What was his name? What did he look like?

  Frank to his friends, Franco to my grandparents and of course Dad to me. When I was little he tried to get me to call him Papà but apparently I wasn’t having any of it, none of my friends called their fathers Papà and I guess I wanted to be like everyone else. He was tall and had a big nose and massive hands and he was always singing. I remember him reading Roald Dahl stories to me at night and thinking that he looked a bit like the BFG but without the huge ears. He always wore bright colours, never black, and he hated strawberries.

  Fair enough.

  That’s a bit random isn’t it but you did ask. I’m going to stop now.

  Hope? Are you still there?

  Yep.

  Do you want to talk about the boy?

  No. Yes. He had this thing about Doctor Who, completely obsessed with it. He wanted to work on set and now… It just sucks, life sucks.

  Not always but yeah, it does sometimes.

  I had to sing to him, sing him to sleep.

  I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t think I could do it. You’re so brave.

  God! Has someone hacked your account, Riley? I’m not brave. I’m a right mess.

  Well, a lot of people would disagree.

  I know we said no jokes but I think this one might help. Could we lift the ban for one night? I promise it’s not really a man walked into a bar kind of joke, it’s better than that. Can I tell you the one about the man in a flood? Can I call you? It’s a wee bit long.

  No, I don’t want to talk.

  We won’t talk, I promise. I’ll just tell you the joke and then I’ll put the phone down.

  Promise?

  Swear.

  Before I can change my mind my phone rings. I swipe to answer straightaway.

  ‘Hello? Hope?’

  ‘This joke better have a decent punchline.’

  ‘Alright… A man is caught in a flood. He climbs onto the roof of his house and trusts that God will rescue him. A neighbour floats past in a canoe and says, “Get in.”

  ‘“No thanks,” says the man. “I’ve just said a prayer to God. He will save me.”

  ‘Later the police come by in a boat. “Get in. We’ll rescue you.”

  ‘“No thanks,” says the man. “I’ve just said another prayer to God, I’m sure he will save me.”

  ‘Then a helicopter hovers over him and lets down a rope ladder. “Climb this ladder and we’ll fly you to safety,” they shout.

  ‘“No thanks,” says the man. “I’ve prayed to God, I know he will save me.”

  ‘All this time the water has continued to rise, until soon it reaches above the roof of the man’s house and he is drowned. When he gets to heaven he finds God and asks him, “Why am I here? I prayed to you. I asked you to save me. I trusted you to save me from that flood.”

  ‘“Yes you did, my child,” replied the Lord. “And I sent you a canoe, a boat and a helicopter, but you didn’t get in. You wouldn’t let those people help you. That is why you are in heaven.”

  ‘Night then, Hope.’

  ‘Night, Riley.’

  ‘Hope, are you going to put that thing down? Is that him again? Are you sure I shouldn’t call his parents, just to introduce myself?’ Mum asks, looking over her shoulder at the oncoming traffic.

  ‘No! Just, no! You promised?’

  She takes her hands off the wheel and holds them up in defeat. I’m still not used to her knowing about Riley.

  ‘Hope? Was there something you wanted to talk about?’ Mum taps me on the arm. I wonder when she painted her nails, she hasn’t done them in ages.

  ‘Sorry, right. Um…’ I’ve completely forgotten what I wanted to talk to her about. My mind is totally empty.

  And then I remember him. My brain places a photograph in my head and I hear the last chorus and see Kofi’s face and I know I’ll dream about him again tonight.

  ‘I need to stop coming into work with you. I’m sorry but I just can’t do this anymore,’ I confess, instantly feeling a f
ailure.

  ‘You want to audition again?’ she asks, and she’s making her voice flat and calm, pretending that this is fine with her.

  I picture the small white box in my top drawer at home with my name and address printed on it. I think of the colours of my medicine, the green and yellow capsules, and I close my eyes for a second and breathe out in relief. I’m not going to do or say anything I shouldn’t, anything I’ll want to die over when I play it back in my head like evidence. I’m not going to do that.

  ‘Um, no, I don’t actually,’ I reply. And I mean it.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘What’s changed?’ She wants to know. She looks relieved.

  ‘Everything.’

  She’s checking her mirrors as she pulls out into the middle lane to get around a lorry, but I can see she’s happy although she’s trying to keep a lid on it, in case I change my mind.

  ‘I’ve been talking to Callie after… after we sang, you know… I told Callie about this course that’s just started running in Birmingham. I knew about it ages ago. I saw a poster up in the staffroom about it but I don’t think I was ready to think about it then. When I got brave enough to phone them it was too late, I’d missed the deadline.’ I try and fill her in as quickly as possible.

  ‘Stop. What course?’

  ‘I spoke to admissions yesterday. I rang them up and told them I wanted to put my name down for next year and, well, it turns out someone’s dropped out, before it’s even started!’ I’m talking too fast.

  ‘What’s the course, Hope?’ Mum asks again. I’m trying her patience.

  ‘It’s Birmingham Music School – part of Birmingham Theatre School, the one Callie’s going to, but it’s not acting, I mean, they do acting, but that’s not why I’m going.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure, Mum. When I went to the RSC, I watched them all talking about their characters, analysing the meaning behind their lines, trying out different voices and accents and I loved every single second of it. If they’d offered me an apprenticeship or even a job as their tea girl, I’d have taken it. But now…’ I take a big breath, before launching into my sales pitch. ‘After Kofi and what happened with Nonno, everything’s changed. I’ve changed. I don’t know what I’m changing into, which scares me, but I want to find out. And maybe if I get in, I will.’

  I am desperate for her to understand, to get me, even though I can’t properly explain myself.

  ‘Hope, what is the course?’ she says so slowly. I realise I still haven’t answered her.

  ‘Oh God! Sorry, sorry! Music, BTEC Level 3 diploma in music and songwriting.’

  ‘Songwriting? Ah, I see, well, that makes sense.’

  ‘I can do this, Mum. I think I’ll be good at it.’ I really mean it.

  ‘I think so too. I’m so glad you’re writing again,’ she says, completely surprising me. ‘Do you think Singing Medicine might be something you can come back to? I’m going to need new team members if we carry on expanding the way we are. Something to think about, after you’ve done your music course? Or you could even teach music, if you wanted to, like your dad?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say and I mean it.

  ‘What happens next?’

  ‘I’ve got an audition, a singing audition,’ I clarify, ‘and if I pass it then I’m in and I can start with everyone else at the end of the month. If I pass that is.’ I finish, then close my mouth before I say anymore or jinx the whole thing.

  ‘You’ll get in, love.’

  ‘Maybe,’

  ‘Definitely. I think you might have found your plan B.’

  Because I was rehearsing. There’s a big concert coming up, you might remember me mentioning it eleventy billion times over the last few weeks? I’ve never sung with the choir in public before. This’ll be my first gig with them. In front of other people, real live human people.

  Eleventy billion? You did mention maths wasn’t your strong point. Right, I just thought you were ignoring me.

  Ugh, you’re so needy! Haven’t you got anything else to do other than message me?

  Yeah, yeah. I’m actually going to be very busy soon but right now I’m bored.

  So, I’m just a handy time filler?

  Yep. So are you nervous?

  What about?

  She’s so casual! Performing at the concert, the one you can’t stop mentioning. And there’s the matter of that BIG audition you’ve got coming up. Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding the topic.

  Shut up. You’re the one who avoids topics.

  Harsh Hope they should call you.

  But true. Have you even booked any tickets yet?

  How can I? I’m working full-time until Da finds a new manager. I’ll book something then.

  Ready for some Harsh Hope? I think if you don’t book something now you never will and you’ll just stay on the farm. FOREVER. Is that what you’re scared of?

  Way harsh, Hope.

  I’m serious, you need to book those tickets, then tell your dad and escape while you still can before you start talking to the cows like they’re your friends.

  Too late for that. Daisy’s got some great hair tips she shared with me this morning.

  I’m being serious. You need to do this. Make a commitment, spend some money and then you can’t chicken out. One life, just do it!

  Wrong slogan. So what are you singing in this concert then?

  Nothing you’d have heard of. And stop dodging my questions.

  Savage!

  Soz ☺

  Smiley face? Soz? Now I know you’re nervous!

  Actually singing calms me down. I feel good when I sing. Anyway, the concert will be fun. You should come.

  I send it before I can stop my fingers. The last time I invited Riley to meet me he disappeared. Why did I do that? I’m texting without thinking, chucking invites around as if last time never happened.

  Thought you’d never ask.

  What does that mean?

  Didn’t feel I could invite myself but I’ve been hoping (ha! See what I did there) that you’d ask me.

  …

  So can I come? Is it alright?

  Maybe, I mean, sure. On one condition.

  Ah man, I knew it. There’s always strings attached with you isn’t there. Sure, you only want me for my body!

  Shut up. You have to book a ticket to somewhere, anywhere. And you HAVE to tell your dad. DEAL?

  You drive a hard bargain Ms Caps Lock.

  Is that a yes, Dublin?

  Yes!

  Good, now go away I’ve got something important to do.

  I switch from texting Riley to texting Callie.

  Cal, you ready to do this?

  Ready and on my way.

  I turn on my computer and open the organ donor page, knowing that Callie is doing the same thing at the same time right next to me on her laptop. We’ve made a pact and it feels less weird than I thought it would. I wasn’t sure if she’d say yes. It’s a pretty random and weird thing to ask someone to do with you. I click on the website that I’ve looked at way too many times since I met Fatima. I read the screen again even though I know word for word what it says, but this time is different because Callie is reading it with me, right next to me.

  Register your details

  Add your name to the NHS Organ Donor Register and one day you may be able to save lives.

  All you need to do is fill out this form with your information and preferences and we will do the rest.

  This form will take no more than 2 minutes to complete.

  I put all my details in – no problem until I get to the bit that asks:

  Do you want to donate all organs and tissue?

  I have two choices – all or some. I wonder which button Callie will hit. I try not to peek at her screen. Will my heart be any good to anyone? I think about Nonna, Dad and Nonno. No point in half measures, as Fatima said, ‘Once you’re dead you’re dead’. What good are some of my
organs to me then? I do want to help someone, loads of people, because I’ve seen what happens when you run out of options, out of time. I don’t want that to happen to anyone else ever again, not if I can help it.

  I hit all.

  I fill out the rest of the form, everything seems easy after that big question, and I submit it. Done.

  ‘You finished?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes. You?’

  She turns the screen of her laptop so I can see.

  ‘Did you go all in? Give them every last bit of you, even your dodgy eyeballs?’ she grins.

  ‘Yuck, but yes. Hopefully my limited eyesight might be of use to someone.’

  ‘Highly hopeful. So that’s another thing ticked off your list. Next: your audition. Are you ready? I can just picture our future, you’ll be at the Music School and I’ll be over the road at the Theatre School and we can wave to each other through the windows,’ Callie smiles, ‘and blow kisses and meet for coffee…’

  ‘IF I get in!’ I interrupt. ’We’ll be too busy for coffee, you know, like working and studying?’

  ‘Oh yeah, there’ll be a bit of that going on, too. As if they wouldn’t take you. Silly.’

  ‘Aren’t we supposed to be putting a plan into action?’ I remind her.

  ‘Sorry, I forgot all about Riley,’ Callie slips into a broad Deep-South American accent.

  ‘Err, he’s Irish not American. How did you even get in to drama college?’

  I stop. We both look at each other.

  ‘Oh my! Defining moment: Hope makes a joke about drama college. Hope does not break down and cry. Date and time noted.’ Callie pretends to make notes in a journal.

  ‘I know, right?’ I say, pleased. She nods. ‘This is progress. Anyway, back to your awful accent…’ I wait for her to switch to Irish.

  ‘Sorry to be sure, Riley,’ Her Dublin accent is perfect. This – this is what makes us. Sitting on the floor in my room talking absolute rubbish with each other. I can’t articulate or explain it, but it is there right in front of me – I can almost touch it.

  ‘Right, Plan Mamma Erin – first up, make it sound like it’s her idea and you’d never really thought of asking Riley to the concert, but now that she mentions it, “Hey, what a great idea.” She’s been desperate to meet him ever since she found out about him. And of course I can take it or leave it, but seeing as I’m coming to the concert it makes sense for me to meet him too,’ Callie says in her super-casual voice.