29
To the south and east spells of fine, dry weather. Possibility of showers in the west
I TRY TO organise my thoughts. They resist. Think think. I lie on my back on the kitchen floor. The voice returns. We have a few questions for you, Mr Hart, regarding your deceased brother, recently of this parish, and his various propensities. May we come in?
I stare at the mop bang marks. Someone will paint over them, Sanderson Ivory in eggshell. That doll’s house: where did it go? None of us could remember. The little people inside. You loved it. Hours and hours you spent. Every time you closed the door they all fell down.
Are you aware, Mr Hart, that there is abusive language currently defacing the exterior of this property? When you say, per se, Mr Hart, do you mean never? Or sometimes?
We saw CPR done at Fensham Leisure Centre once, remember? They did a display in the foyer. Talk about unrealistic. Cracked us up, total laugh. Come to think, it is perhaps only useful if you are standing beside the victim at the moment of respiratory failure, otherwise.
Spectacular view Mr Hart. Call that a risotto? Why did you throw a perfectly good packet of Six Cadbury’s Mini Rolls in the bin? Is that kettle on?
Poor old Lee, they’ll say. Remember Lee Hart? All on his lonesome. Never the same. Stark staring. Mental old spook alone with his dead men. Better off. He’d have been better off. Call me a knob but I’m no fool. Do you or do you not speak Spanish, Mr Hart? Mr Hart?
We had a game when we were kids, you had to copy exactly, mirrors. Agreed, I could be more imaginative at the present time, but. The washing line feels cool on my neck. I stand in the centre of the room. Crow is here. He turns his mirror eye.
Evening, Lee. In a hurry? Late for your own funeral?
I look at Ned. He lies on his back, arms out. Ready to run, same as. Watch me, Gog! Over the dual carriageway, arms like a bird. Over the fields quick as, faster than. Woods, field, sky. Wait for me then. Wait for me. Like a photograph we wait.
*
DOWN THE ROAD the dead are still sleeping. Who knows what they dream, who they remember, where they go. You could envy them their untroubled time, but. I am not ready. Blackbird calls here each morning early before you open your eyes. Trick is to hear Blackbird. Trick is to carry on in spite of. Harder than it looks. Trick is to live. Not as easy as it sounds. Dead men teach it best. Live. Hold on. A trick worth learning.
The birds are throwing loops over the field. The hawthorn is finishing, hedgerows are turning green and the trees on the ridge are coming into leaf. She loved this time of year. Me and Ned used to pick the flowers we found on the verges, in the woods, and she’d put them in jars. Lee is my soldier, she used to say.
I fold up the washing line. I go downstairs to wait for the ambulance to arrive.