May’s breathing starts to change. I try to listen, to hear any sign of Karen awake across the landing. Nothing. It’ll be a long drive tomorrow. The journey is always the best bit. All the things you’re going to do. Packing the car with so much stuff you can’t see out the rear window. Passing round the Murray Mints. The anticipation. Karen’ll be sulking in the morning. But I’ve still got the magic touch. I’m not past it yet. I’ll show her the jar of 2p coins I’ve been saving to use in the arcade. Just like last year, and the year before. It’ll go too quickly and then I’ll be back to posting letters. Redbrick house after redbrick house. Elastic bands, and sweat marks on the collar. Working on my tan from the knee down.

May turns away from me, kicking the duvet off her feet. Warm air from the window. The actual hoot of an actual bloody owl. I sing into her neck: ‘She’s a good-hearted woman in love with a good-timing man.’

‘Bugger off,’ she says.

I kiss her ear. Awake all of a sudden. Not wanting to sleep.

She sighs, ‘you won’t remember any of this in the morning, you know.’

I hum the next line and move my hands down over her hips.

‘I will,’ I say, ‘I bloody will.’

9:42 am

They only think about themselves. I could tell them a thing or two. I could –

if they stopped putting these     whatsits          all over the place, don’t need the things

on my knees          don’t need them everywhere. I like a straight back. I like to be able to see     in the corners     in the      dark places      behind

trees and feathers and bird’s eggs     he brought

messages

I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder     I want to hear the music but

there are people talking on the watching thingy

talking and clapping and shouting their uncouth ways.    Why

would anyone want to see this when there is so much

more

the boy, the boy, the boy. The sun in his hair as he runs to the trees

there are

more things in heaven and earth

18 June 2003

Alex

So we drive. Out into the Forest of Bowland. Humid air, empty road, fingers tight on the wheel round each corner. It’s national speed limit but I can’t go over forty without feeling out of control. The corners are all sharper than they look. It’s too hot. I’ll be drenched before we get there.

‘Not far now,’ Lorna says, ‘we need music.’ She reaches across to the radio and I push her hand away.

‘Don’t. Need to concentrate.’

The gear crunches. She laughs. ‘You’re crapping yourself aren’t you, Alex? The road of death. It’ll be better once it’s over. Face your fears and all that.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’