The Word Cloud

Pilots - Chapter 8

 “Let’s get you home…”

 

I leaned back into the seat and closed my eyes. I wrestled with my thoughts as I tried to make some sense of this world. More and more I played and replayed the events of the past few days. In my heart of hearts though, I still believed that this was all a construct of my sick and dying brain. A last, desperate throw of the dice before I floated off into some nebulous ether.

 

“Coffee?” Ralph asked brightly. Bless his socks, he was trying to be upbeat.

 

“Coffee…hmmm…yeah, that would be…” great? Super? Coffee?

 

He sat down next to me brandishing my synthetic caffeine hit.

 

“Come on then, what’s on your mind? Let’s have it,” his enthusiasm was so out of beat with the way I felt.

 

“It’s just that there are more questions than answers here…”

 

“Go on…”

 

I gently slapped my face as I tried to focus, “Ok – the thing that I really want to know is – who killed me? I don’t know why, but it’s doing my head in. The more Dr Pope says she can’t tell me, the more I want to know…”

 

Ralph looked into the middle distance, “I think I know a man who knows a man who can get us that little piece of information – it’ll take a little while – is that ok?”

 

This must have been what had drawn me to Ralph in the first place – he was a doer and a fixer. What he was doing with a minor subversive was anyone’s guess. Already the day seemed slightly brighter. I felt some weight lift from my weary shoulders.

 

“That’s fantastic – it would be great if you could,”

 

“I can – no worries. What else?”

 

“You mentioned something that I went off and did on my own – without you…?”

“Yeah…?” he suddenly looked pained and tired.

 

“What is that?”

 

“It’s pub based…”

 

“Can’t be that bad, then…” then, on seeing the strained expression on Ralph’s face, “…can it?”

 

“You go to this pub, ‘The Golden Jug’ where you meet up with up bunch of…”

 

“…Loonies?...Miscreants?...Subversives?...a bunch of, a bunch of…bananas?”

 

“Yeah, yeah…” he smiled, “…a bunch of bananas…politically idealistic bananas…but bananas nonetheless,”

 

“Interesting…in the spirit of keeping me immersed in my normal life, when do I get to meet them?”

 

“You all met on Thursday nights – you’d always come back a little pissed and pretty fired up,”

 

“About what?”

 

“Ooooh…stuff and fluff. Things that were bad with the world – but things you couldn’t change…”

 

“I was a revolutionary!” I exclaimed with delight.

 

He looked at me with borderline disdain. I remembered my image in the mirror – Che Guevara I wasn’t.

 

“No, as far as I could make out you met up over a few beers with similarly disgruntled folk and set the world to rights – or not, as the case may be,”

 

“You’re suggesting we’re a bunch of whingers?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much,”

 

I felt defensive of these comrades I’d never met, “So you’d describe yourself as perfectly gruntled then?”

 

“Gruntled?”

 

“As opposed to dis…”

 

“Oh, I see. I think I’m reasonably happy – but the things that you were talking about – well, there’s no point, is there?”

 

“In what?”

“Trying to change everything – or talking about changing everything – it just made you dissatisfied…”

 

“Such as what?” I could feel the anger rising.

 

“Why don’t you wait and meet up with your friends – and then you’ll know – they’ll be able to describe it so much better than me,”

 

“And they won’t think it’s a pile of old shite?”

 

“Well, there is that, yes,”

 

“Did I work at all – you know – for a living?”

 

“Hmmm – well – not really…”

 

“Why – am I disabled? Unemployable? What?”

 

“Well, most folk don’t – so much is automated – a few of us dabble in stuff, but to be honest, there isn’t that much to do in that respect…”

 

“Money? How do I earn money to go drinking in the Golden Jug?”

 

“Well there’s quite a large difference there…between your twentieth century life and this one…”

 

“In what respect?”

 

“Well…there is no money…”

 

“No money? What about trade and the economy and all that other shit that I didn’t understand?”

 

“Well, I guess – don’t quote me here – there must have been a point where we realised there was enough to go round for us all to be, you know…er wealthy,”

 

“Wealthy without money?”

 

“You know what I mean – we’ve all got food and water and a roof over our head and tonnes of…stuff,”

 

“Produced by…?”

 

“Technology pretty much…”

 

“So what do I actually do from day to day? I must do something…don’t I?”

 

“Yeah – you spend time at the library – you go to the gym…”

 

“That sounds interesting…”

“What, the gym? Trust me, it isn’t. Basically you get wired into a gizmo that stimulates all your muscle groups to stop them from atrophying,”

 

“Wow…that sounds…”

 

“Dull? Well, yes it is. You seem to get a lot out of the library though…”

 

“Are there real books and stuff?”

 

“Well, yes, to an extent – there’s been this ongoing battle between books and these hand-held electronic readers…”

 

“I knew they’d never catch on…”

 

He laughed, “Well, for thousands of years they did. It’s only been with new technology where we can basically reproduce anything synthetically that we have been able to go retro – and produce books again. You liked books – personally, I think they’re just a passing fad…”

 

“There seems to be a lot that’s retro here – your car – the sofa…”

 

“You’re right – it’s all very welcome – everything had become terribly similar and efficient – homogenised really…”

 

“Thank God for retro…”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“You know how you have been assigned the task to ensure that I re-familiarise myself with this world?” I was leading the witness.

 

“Yes – why do I know I’m not going to like this?”

 

“What about going to Pilots – you know, recreationally?”

 

“I knew you were going to say that…”

 

“Sooooo…?”

 

“You can fuck off – not a chance – it was your obsession with Pilots that got you here in the first place…”

 

“Oh, come on – I’m sure there’s stuff I could do that won’t be too harmful…”

 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he was angry, “You honestly think I’ll help you to dive back into the very thing that did your head in, in the first place?”

 

“There must have been a reason that I kept having to…leave?”

 

“The thing is, the more you did it – the more you wanted to do it. You started off with a few fleeting possessions and lower order animals…”

 

“…Before I got onto the hard stuff?”

 

“Well, yeah – you were so unhappy with this life – anything Pilots had to offer, you wanted…”

 

“So why was I so bloody miserable? What’s so bad about all this?”

 

“You tell me. I think your misery was a lot to do with the fine folk of the Golden Jug,”

 

“What, I’m hanging about with a bad lot?”

 

“Well…yeah, yes you are. Listen, I don’t want to have this conversation – it’s important that you speak to these guys first,”

 

“Ok…” were we just replaying a rift that was there before?

 

The next couple of days went without incident. It felt that the happy-go-lucky Ralph that I’d initially met had become more subdued, and a little distant. Maybe he’d hoped that with all my memories of revolution out the way, we could just be mates again?

 

At-home entertainment wasn’t terribly thrilling. We had a huge screened thing that doubled up as a kind of instant internet access computer – touch screen – thing. The whole world was there at the touch of a finger. There was still drama and films and sport and stuff – but it all felt sanitised and hollow. We seemed to be able to communicate through the big screen thingy as well – sure, we had smaller screen thingies in our rooms – but it was in the living area where most of the action happened.

 

****

“How have things been?” Dr Pope began brightly.

 

“Much the same – I did get to see some H-Surfing though – that seems pretty exciting…” Even as I said it I knew some of the excitement had waned. What was exciting about a dangerous sport that wasn’t actually dangerous?

 

She scribbled on a pad as she spoke to me, “Any recollections?”

 

“No, none – well, I thought I might have some manner of something in the bar…but I’m not sure…”

 

“Tell me more,” she sat forward on her seat.

 

“I thought I might have remembered being there – but I think it’s probably because I remembered pubs that I went to as John…” God, just mentioning the name brought thousands of memories flooding back. I could see mum crying – I could see Jen…I remembered that last time we met…

 

“Is there something wrong?” she must have spotted that far-off look in my eye.

 

“No…no…not really – I just feel incredibly sad,” I could feel the tears welling in my eyes.

 

“What about?” sharp and demanding.

 

“Well…about mum, mainly…”

 

“Anyone else?”

 

“Well, there was this woman…”

 

“Can you remember her name?”

 

“Wha…? Of course I can remember her name. It was only a couple of weeks ago…”

 

“What was?”

 

“When I was John…What’s wrong – shouldn’t I remember this stuff?”

 

“Of course, of course you should…” I couldn’t help but think she was covering something up, “…so what was her name?”

 

“Caroline,” I lied, “She was lovely – long brown hair, dark eyes – slightly rounded – not her eyes – her…you know…”

 

Not a flicker of humour. She seemed to relax, “I wasn’t aware of this woman in your life – that must make all this difficult,”

 

It was weird – it was like she was saying all the right stuff – but she didn’t mean it. She didn’t care about my emotions – she didn’t care about me.

 

“Yes, yes it does – we were just getting to know each other…”

 

“What happened to her?”

 

“When I found out I was dying I had to tell her it was over…it was terribly sad,”

 

I had no idea what information she had access to – what would happen if she found out I was lying? Why was I lying?

 

“How was that?” Ralph seemed concerned about me.

 

“I…er…I…” could I talk to him about lying to Dr Pope? Does he keep her up to date with everything anyway? Was he one of them? Or was he a, slightly straight-laced, one of me?

“Are you alright?”

 

“Well…kind of…I don’t know…can we talk about it later?”

 

“Sure, sure…” he looked genuinely concerned – just like a real friend would, “Do you still want to go out tonight, or…”

 

“I definitely want to go out – I want to meet up with these underground terrorists…”

 

Ralph shot me an alarmed glance, “Don’t…just don’t…it’s not funny. You’ve got to careful with these people…”

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll have to come with me anyway…”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“The security bangle-thing – I can’t go further than a hundred…”

 

“Yes…of course, you’re right…”

 

“You could invite a friend along – make a night of it?”

 

“I’ll bring something to read – just in case,”

 

“In case of what?”

 

“In case we have to leave suddenly…”

 

“Is that likely?”

 

“I have no fucking idea what goes on in that place,” he sounded threatened.

 

****

 

“You’re looking for a black guy called Brendan,”

 

“What does he look like?”

 

“This…” he held up his hand-help pda, reading tablet thing. Brendan – somewhat predictably – had dreadlocks – although black, he had European features and, most noticeably, blue eyes.

 

“You are so good to me – you think of everything – thanks,”

 

“I think that’s your lot over there,” he nodded over to two men, one of which was Brendan, and a woman sitting in the corner. They were relaxed and happy, laughing at something or other.

 

“What do I say to them?”

 

“I’ve no idea – I’ll be sitting over here…” he looked scared.

 

“Whoa there! Do I tell them what’s happened to me?”

 

“I don’t think you’ll have much choice – do you?”

 

“Well…er…no, I suppose you’re right,”

 

“Good luck,” he rubbed my back and walked off to the opposite end of the bar.

 

“Can I have a beer, please?” I asked the young, fresh-faced bartender.

 

She looked at me with a kind of squint and questioning smile. Of course – I come in here every week – I must have… “The usual, er, please…” was I putting on an accent? Who was I pretending to be?

 

I wasn’t terribly surprised when she came back with a long blue drink with orange hues over ice with a straw and an umbrella. Flaky.

 

Nervously, I walked over to the group in the corner. I sat down on the stool at the corner of the table – next to a tall red-headed woman with olive skin and opposite Brendan.

 

“Brendan,” I smiled at him, then turning to the others, who I wasn’t sure if I’d met or not, “Hi…hi…” weak smile.

 

I took a long suck at my drink to calm my nerves. Jesus Christ! It tasted like a mixture of cough-medicine and turps. I felt my face redden and I coughed somewhere deep in my chest.

 

“You alright man?” No, no, no…this couldn’t be true. I’d seen so many folk at college doing this. Middle-class kids pretending to be colloquial – Brendan sounded like Prince Charles doing an impression of a West-Indian.

 

“Yeah…well…actually…” I should have rehearsed this.

 

“Coom-on man, tell us what’s going down…” was that a hint of Birmingham in there?

 

“Right…ok…here’s the deal,” I obviously had their full attention, “I went to Pilots, something happened and…well…I can’t remember who I am,” succinct and almost straight to the point.

 

Brendan tried laughing…and then stopped when I didn’t join in.

 

“What’s happened man?” he looked really concerned. God, was this guy really a good friend of mine? Well, if I went to see them every Thursday…? What happens if this is just a set up? What happens if not only Ralph is one of them – but these fine folk are part of the same thing?

 

Bugger it – what had I got to lose? I told them everything…except the bit about lying to Dr Pope.

 

They sat in silence, aghast. We sat in silence for a bit after I’d finished.

 

“So you can’t remember anything?” the shortish, blondish, plumpish guy at the end of the table asked.

 

I looked at him vacantly, hoping for a smart-arse answer to spew forth…

 

“Oh, sorry – you won’t remember – I’m Gordon,”

 

“He knows stuff,” piped up the woman next to me in a painful pseudo-cockney accent.

 

I closed my eyes. Fuck – I’m a pretentious fuckwit. No wonder Ralph was worried.

 

I opened them again, “And you are…?”

 

“Jane. Pleased to meet you,” she laughed as we shook hands.

 

“Have any of you guys heard of anything like this happening before?”

 

All three of them looked blankly at me. Good-God, the children of the revolution.

 

“No…you’re the only one who really threw himself at Pilots,” Brendan spoke quietly

 

“Have any of you tried it?”

 

“Just a couple of times,” Gordon mumbled into his drink.

 

“Once,” Jane spoke quietly.

 

“Yeah, just once for me too…”

 

“Did any of you like it?”

 

“Yeah, it was ok,” they all responded in unison.

 

“How come I got to go so many times,” suddenly I felt like a lab rat.

 

“It’s coz, like, you know Ralph,”

 

“Is that it?” I felt and sounded exasperated.

 

“Yeah – you’d come back and tell us what it was really like to live, man,” if he says ‘man’ once more, I’ll fucking…

 

“So, let’s get this straight – we come here every Thursday, right?” they all nodded obediently, “We moan about the state of this world?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“We send me off to live some life or other…”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Then I tell you about it…?” Someone fucking shoot me.

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Ralph!” I shouted over to my solitary friend.

 

He waved vaguely at me.

 

“Ralph, drink up, we’re leaving…” with that I downed my drink in one – nearly lost consciousness and said, “See you later guys…”

 

Sitting back in the car I turned to Ralph, “I can’t believe you were actually scared of these people…”

 

“I think ‘scared’ is a little harsh – wary of yes– not scared of…”

 

“Do you know they were sitting there moaning about there little lives at the same time, at the same time…” what…?

 

“What Barney? What is it?”

 

“They were living vicariously through me living vicariously through others…” fuck.

 

He wrinkled his nose and rubbed his head, “I had no idea…I really had no idea…”

 

“Let’s go home…”

 

“Yeah…”

 

Back at the apartment I leant up against the kitchen counter, “Hot chocolate,” I demanded then, turning to Ralph, “What in the name of God was I drinking?”

 

“I dunno – but it looked shocking…it was glowing…I could see it from the other side of the bar,” he laughed. Surely he was one of the good-guys?

 

“I’m going through to bed…it’s all been a bit…you know,”

 

“Yeah – sleep well...”

 

I slipped into my stripy jammies and thought about the three musketeers – whatever they were. What a let down. I had some notion that these subversives were going to provide me with the answer…or an answer to something. What a bloody disappointment…I drank down my cocoa and snuggled up under my epilepsy-inducing duvet.

 

I was almost asleep when I was aware that I could hear a phone ringing. I quickly reminded myself that I didn’t have a phone. All things phone-like had been left behind in John-world.

 

I looked at the TV-thing next to my bed – there, in the middle of the screen was an animation of an old phone ringing. Underneath it was the word ‘Gordon’. What was I supposed to do?

 

“Hello?” Nothing, it kept ringing. There was nothing for me to pick up, even if I wanted to speak to him. To be fair, he was the only one out of the three who hadn’t put on some obscure accent. Finally, I decided to poke the screen. Gordon’s face appeared – he looked worried.

 

“Hi, er, Barnie – sorry, I can see you’re in bed…”

 

“Yeah, yeah…no worries…” I sat up immediately, I felt that I was doing something wrong.

 

“I need to see you – we need to talk…is Ralph there?”

 

“What? No…no…this is my bedroom – what would Ralph be doing in here?”

 

“Sorry…no…you’re right. Listen – can I come round tomorrow?”

 

“I’ll just have a look at my diary…nope, just like most other days – fuck-all, guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,”

 

“Great,” he seemed relieved, “I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

 

“Fabulous – night,”

 

“Bye…” he vanished from the screen.

 

I went to sleep with some vague notion that this all might be a little cloak-and-dagger…

 

****

 

“Have you got anything on today?” I asked Ralph as he produced two bowls of synthetic muesli out of thin air.

 

“Well…no, not really. I was planning on popping into work for a couple of hours…but if there’s something you fancy doing?”

 

“No, I got a…er,” what the fuck do I call it? “On the screen – from Gordon last night…”

 

“Curious – he’d just seen you,”

 

“Yeah, I thought that,”

 

“What did he want?”

 

“I’m not sure – he told me he had to see me though…”

 

“Great, do you want me to take you along to the Golden…”

 

“Well, no…he wants to come here,”

 

“That’s interesting…”

 

“Is it? Why, he’s a friend – doesn’t he normally pop round for a chat…or…?”

 

“No…never…I think your friends are a bit scared of me,”

 

“Really, why?”

 

“Because I work for the Government…” he tried a scary voice and failed.

 

“You were scared of them…”

 

“No I wasn’t,” he overacted through gritted teeth, “I was wary of them…Listen, I could be at work when he comes round – it sounds like he might want to speak in private,”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“Oooh nothing – the fact that he didn’t talk to you in front of the other two – the fact that he didn’t just spill last night on the video…”

 

“Why wouldn’t he speak on the video?”

 

“Maybe he thought someone was listening in?”

 

“Do people listen in?”

 

“Sometimes,” positively coquettish.

 

“Will somebody be listening in if you go to work and he comes round this morning?”

 

“No,” smiling.

 

“Really?”

 

“There will be no-one listening in between ten and twelve this morning – definitely,”

 

“Which means, at other times…?”

“Shut up, I’ve told you enough,’ He smiled a big smile.

 

“Excellent,” Why would folk want to listen in to me? Had they been listening before I pickled my brain, or had they only started since I’d lost my memory?

 

“Hi,” Gordon’s face appeared on a small screen next to the door.

 

“Hi, come up – I think,” I said unconvincingly as I poked at he green pad underneath his image.

 

“Great,” he said as he vanished from the screen.

 

The door opened to reveal a nervous bordering on the paranoid Gordon, “Is Ralph here?” His eyes darted around the living area.

 

“No, he’s gone to work for a couple of hours,” I put on my best soothing voice.

 

He crept in, “Is anyone…?”

 

“No, there’s no-one here. And…” fuck, here’s a leap of faith, “…he tells me there will be no listening devices pointed in our direction while he’s out,”

 

“And you believe him?”

 

“I’ve no reason not to,”

 

“No, I suppose not,”

 

“D’you want a coffee?”

 

“Synthesized?”

 

“There’s another kind?”

 

He pulled out a silver packet from underneath his tatty baggy jacket, “Just get boiling water in a cafetiere,”

 

“Boiling water in a cafetiere, er, please,” I doubted anything would happen – instantly though, there it was.

 

Gordon took charge, “Have you got a spoon??

 

I turned to the kitchen, “Could I have a …”

 

Gordon opened a drawer and there was a whole clatter of cutlery.

 

“Oh…”

 

“See how easy it is to just depend on the gadgets and gizmos?” he said earnestly.

 

“Yeah, I guess…”

 

“You’re not like that…we’re not like that…”

 

“Should I get some milk for that?” I said as I watched him spoon what appeared to be coffee into the water.

 

“No, it’s better without – that way it’s real…”

 

“Real as in beans and shit?”

 

“Real as in beans – yeah,”

 

I was hit with that wonderful smell that only fresh coffee can provide.

 

“Wow, that’s a smell I hadn’t even realised I missed,”

 

“I know – there’s a lot of that going on here…”

 

I thought about what he’d said for just a second, “Yeah I can imagine…”

 

“Ok, listen…I’ve got a lot to tell you and we’ve only got a couple of hours,”

 

“Fine, fine…” I had no idea what I was saying ‘fine’ to.

 

“Ok – let’s start with Brendan and Jane…”

 

“Our friends?”

 

“Pair of airheads – they’re just along for some ride. They don’t want change. They’re happy in this comfortable bubble we all live in,”

 

“And we’re not?”

 

“No,”

 

“Are we revolutionaries?”

 

For the first time I saw Gordon laugh a real, wide-mouthed honest to goodness laugh, “No – no, we’re not – we’re a couple of guys who are trying to work out what the fuck’s going on,”

 

“What year is it?” I was suddenly struck by the fact that I didn’t even know the most simple of things.

 

“The year thirty seventy-two,”

 

“Well that’s…nowhere near as far in the future as Ralph implied…”

 

“The thing is – we don’t actually know what the real year is – three thousand and seventy two years ago the whole thing was clocked…”

 

“Clocked?”

 

“Just reset to the year zero…”

 

“So we don’t have any idea of…”

 

“No…”

“Does anyone?”

 

“There’s a select few in the government – but other than that…no…”

 

“Why would they do that? What purpose would…?”

 

“The other thing you need to know is that we don’t die…”

 

I looked at Gordon – he was an ordinary looking bloke, nothing particularly remarkable about him. He looked like any number of folk I’d met in…John’s world, and yet they were all busily living and dying, living and dying passing on their genes one generation to the next. He’s…we’re immortal? I immediately thought of Zeus on top of Mount Olympus. Sitting here on the sofa next to Gordon didn’t exactly feel like that.

 

“We don’t die?”

 

“No…”

 

“Are we, like, indestructible?”

 

“Indestructible we’re not – and therein lies the problem…

 

“Hold on – rewind a little here…if we don’t die – how long have we been around? I mean, how old am I?”

 

“That’s what I’ve just been telling you, we don’t know…the whole thing was reset three thousand years ago and…”

 

“What? I’m over three thousand years old?”

 

“Yes…” Why was I trusting this guy? He was clearly fucking nuts. Ralph was right to be concerned about this little gang…but there again…it all felt strangely compelling.

 

“Surely there would have been some massive population explosion – if we all live for bazillions of years – what about our children and our children’s children and our…”

 

Gordon held up his hand to stop me…just as well, I could have been at that for hours, “We can’t reproduce…”

 

“What?” I was aware I was saying that a lot, “Surely the whole purpose of life – the whole purpose of being was to pass on your DNA to the next generation?”

 

“Well, yes, yes it was…but that stopped thousands of years ago. Towards the end of the twenty second century – first time round – the male sperm count had become so low that we could no longer produce children. As you can imagine, the population began to plummet rather quickly…Fortunately…I say ‘fortunately like it’s a good thing… fortunately for our longevity at any rate…there had been a lot of work of work looking at the mitosis of cells…”

 

“Gordon…I don’t know what that means…”

 

“Sorry – basically mitosis is the division of cells – it’s a system the body uses to constantly replace itself. At the time our cells changed, almost imperceptibly, each time mitosis occurred – gradually aging us until we died. Just in time these scientists came up with a genetic engineering programme that stopped that…”

 

“So we can’t breed?”

 

“No,”

 

“Do we at least, shag?”

 

“People still do – but not that often – the impetus, if you like, has gone…”

 

“Surely though…surely the human race must still be dying out…surely there must be viruses and illnesses wiping people out on a grand scale…?”

 

“They’ve gone…there are none…”

 

“What about accidents? Surely folk are accidentally killing themselves every day?”

 

“Haven’t you noticed?”

 

“No? Noticed what?”

 

“Your world – our world – this world is incredibly safe. Take your synthesised coffee for example…”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It’s got exactly the right blend of nutrients, sugars, carbohydrates and fibre to keep us all ticking over happily – everything you eat or drink has exactly the same make-up, just different constituencies and flavours…”

 

I thought about my first drive back to the apartment – looking out of the window at the little parks and patches of greenery – there was no-one about.

 

“People are still dying?”

 

“Yes, but not on any grand scale,”

 

“What’s the cause?”

 

“Suicide mainly…”

 

I tried to imagine this utopian world where we all wanted for nothing – where there was no striving, for our very existence, where there were no worries or stress. On one hand it sounded delightful – on the other – kind of empty. No wonder people were killing themselves.

 

“So I threw myself into Pilots out of what? Boredom?”

 

“Well yes – but that was only part of it – you wanted to experience life – the joys and the struggles of day to day living…”

 

“And of dying? Knowing that there was an end date – specified or otherwise – surely drives someone on…?”

 

“What are you saying? To truly live we must know we’re dying?”

 

“I think so - yes I think that’s what I’m saying…”

 

“You know, Barney, that sounds more like you,”

 

“Does it? Ok, let’s go with that,”

 

“Pilots is a relatively new thing – and you were one of the pioneers…”

 

 

Pilots - end of chapter 6

 

 

“Go on…”

 

“Go on about what? Insects? Pilots? What?”

 

“Tell me how I fit into this – what’s going on? What did Dr Pope mean?”

 

Ralph blushed, “To be honest, I’m implicated here too…”

 

“In what way?”

 

“You were…you are bored with all of this…you see no value in it…you see no future…you have no hopes and no aspirations…”

 

“That sounds strangely familiar…”

 

“Ok…I er helped you to overcome some of your tedium by giving you a variety of identities,”

 

“What – with Pilots – I went and lived lots of lives?”

 

“No…well, er yes, but that’s not what I meant…Pilots is still relatively early on its technological life – they’re reluctant for folk to experience too many different lives until they can fully understand the impact that it has on folk,”

 

“Like amnesia?”

 

“Yeah – like amnesia,”

 

“So you gave me a whole bunch of new identities so I could live lots of lives without them shitting themselves?”

 

“Yes. You seemed to get so much out of it. The first time you came back you were high for weeks.”

 

“Was I? What kind of life was it?”

 

“I can’t really remember too many of the details – I remember it sounded pretty mundane to me though… You had a family, a job… nothing exciting,”

 

“You know how I go off and live these lives?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How long am I gone for – I mean, is it a lifetime? You keep the flat going for three score years and ten, waiting for my return and then…”

 

“No,” he laughed, “No…it’s not like that – each life lasts about a day in our time. It’s funny, looking back, each time you came back slightly different – like you’d taken on the attributes of the folk you’d been…”

 

“But I was them? I didn’t take on their attributes – they took on mine, surely?”

 

“Hmm…I’m not sure which way that particular riddle goes – I guess we’re all products of our biology and our environment – it’s all a bit of both isn’t it?

 

“I guess…have you ever tried it?”

 

“What, Pilots?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I did a couple – I tried being an ordinary twenty-third century Joe – that was all a bit dull…I’ve been a dragon-fly! Now fuck, that’s living…”

 

I smiled at his enthusiasm as I tried to imagine what that must have been like.

 

“It’s not like being a human driving a dragonfly – it’s about being that dragonfly from egg to larvae to dragonfly  - the works – it was fabulous…”

 

“So I’ve had lots of these lives?”

 

“Yeah, about fifty or so this year…”

 

“This year?”

 

“Yeah – ordinarily folk are allowed one or maybe two at a push each year – sort of like holidays,”

 

“So how did I get fifty?”

 

“I er, got you a whole bunch of different identities…I’d never seen you so happy…”

 

“So I just kept on going back for more?”

 

“Yeah,”

 

“And this is what happens? This amnesia?”

 

“Well, we didn’t know…”

 

“So John, he wasn’t real?”

 

“Yes…yes…John lived. You lived his life…well…er…”

 

“John’s life is still er, in me. All this – everything around me – you – God, even me – feels completely alien. I feel like I’ve lost me.”

 

“This is all my fault – I shouldn’t have got you those other names,” he looked so tired, his eyes were wet and red.

 

“I imagine you were doing what you thought was right… you know how you said John lived and that I lived his life?”

 

“Yeah?” he looked pained.

 

“You sounded a bit uncertain – I did live his life, didn’t I?”

 

Silence.

 

“Didn’t I?”

 

“Well, yes…just about…”

 

“Ralph, is there something you need to tell me?”

 

“Yes,” he put his hand to his mouth to stop the words escaping.

 

“And that is…?”

 

“It was like you were addicted. Every day you’d come home and ask me for another identity. Every day you wanted to be someone else. I was panicked. I’d heard some stuff about this amnesia in other folk – I’d heard about some pretty strange behaviours…Shit Barney, you’re my best friend…”

 

This all felt ok. No matter what he’d done – it felt like he’d done it to some other bloke, “It’s ok Ralph. I’m sure it’s fine…”

 

“I told them. I got in touch with them. You’d gone in the morning – by lunchtime I was outta my head with worry – I told them about all of your different identities and how often you’d been back. You’ve got to understand, I was worried about you – I had no idea what was happening…”

 

“I’m sure whatever happened – it was fine, don’t beat yourself up,” Still, I felt that anything he’d done, he’d done to Barney – this person who I wasn’t.

 

“They sent someone back,” he couldn’t look at me, his hands nearly covered the whole of his face, “They sent someone back to er, retrieve you…”

 

Silence. What the fuck did that mean? How do you retrieve someone from a life unless…unless what? I couldn’t even begin to think what that meant. Surely not…? I felt cold and not a little light-headed.

 

“Retrieve me? What exactly does that mean?”

 

“I’m not completely sure – it means one of two things…” his mouth was quivering with stress, “They either sent someone back to live a full life – to meet up with you and…Or, they sent someone back to take over an existing life to…”

 

“Shit! Is that possible? Isn’t there some kind of…punch-up?”

 

“Yeah…yeah…it’s actually what they did at first – initially they dabbled with folk in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries – you know the time of which-hunting and possessions?”

 

“Jesus!” so much to take in, let’s try and keep it simple, “So what do you think they did to me?”

 

“I think they sent someone back to take on someone’s life. It’s too complicated to live a full life and then try to remember what you’re supposed to do…”

 

“And what were they supposed to do? What did they have to remember?”

 

“They had to remember to bring you back…”

 

“What does that mean, Ralph? What does bringing me back actually mean?” I knew the answer – I just didn’t want to hear it or believe it.

 

“Someone was sent back to… kill you…”

 

No longer was he talking about some abstract Barney-person who I couldn’t believe in. Suddenly he was talking about me and my life. This had been my life and some bastard had taken it from me. I thought about me and mum – her distress – my distress…Jesus what a fucking mess.

 

“Surely if someone killed me in the past it would have a massive impact on the future…?”

 

“It had already happened…”

 

“What? What the fuck is that meant to mean? Does that mean that nothing is determined by the individual? Do we all throw ourselves down that inevitable slide that is fate? What are you talking about?”

 

“They sent someone back to kill you – and they killed you – it doesn’t have an effect on the future because it’s already happened…don’t you see?”

 

“No…no…I don’t fucking see! Some bastard killed me. What about my feelings? What about my mum? I was living a life and some bastard took that from me. What was wrong with letting me live it and then apprehending me after the fact?”

 

“They thought if you were there any longer then you’d lose your identity completely,”

 

“What the fuck’s this?” I held my arms out to display this body more fully, “I’ve no idea what or who Barney is. He’s gone. I’ve lost him – don’t you see? I was John and some cunt killed me…”

 

With that, I stormed into the lift. It colluded with me and took me down into the car park. Where I was going I had no idea. Purposefully I strode away from the lift and towards the beautiful car.

 

Suddenly, I was hit with a massive shock and I fell, unconscious, to the floor.

 

Pilots The next bit - let's call this chapter 6

The image of mum holding my head as I lay in the garden was at the forefront of my mind as I fell into the dark. I imagined me zipping into space like some accelerated Google Earth. It was as I’d expected. I could feel and see nothing. There were no smells, no tastes – just nothing.

 

There was something, though, that I hadn’t quite expected. Consciousness. I had expected that with death there would be that nothing kind of a feeling. The same one that was there before I was born. Since I couldn’t remember the time before I was born, I felt a little lost. What if it had always been like this? Falling through space with nothing but thought – my inner dialogue – going on and on.

 

Fuck, maybe this was Hell. Surely after a while, even my inner dialogue would run out of things to say? So, that was it – I was destined to fall through infinity for eternity. A very long way for a very long time.

 

Is this what it’s like for everyone? Maybe there’s some kind of congestion? Maybe a lot of folk have just died. Maybe somewhere there’s a message sounding out, “We’re sorry, we’re experiencing a large number of deaths just now, please continue plummeting through space and time, your death is very important to us…”

 

Was that a light? It was – there was a tiny prick of light so small as to be almost imperceptible. So what was I supposed to do? Do I go towards the light or away from the light? What had they said in all the horror movies I’d seen? I’m sure that current thinking leant in the favour of approaching the light. Wasn’t there a film though that warned of the danger of going towards the light? It was some evil trick by the devil to pull in lost souls.

 

I thought of mum again. Cradling me. She’d still be crying. What the Hell had happened there? Why did I have to die of some unknown bloody something coursing around my veins? God I loved her. If there was something in life that I was certain of, it was that I loved my mum. What would she do without me?

 

She’d live. That’s what she’d do. Shit – I’d convinced myself for years that I had been there for her – helping her pay for the house – for bills – stopping her from feeling lonely. Lonely? Mum? She was the friendliest person alive. It was me who was lonely. In the end all I had was her – and Jen, if you can count her – she never picked up the fucking phone.

 

Am I allowed to swear here? Do I go away from the light or towards the light? Looks like I’ve got no choice – it’s getting bigger whether I like it or not. Maybe I could swim away? Shit, this was weird – I had no sense of me – well, no sense of my body – all I had was the voice in my head – which, I guess, had to be me.

 

The light was getting bigger and bigger. I kind of felt scared – but there was no horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach – there was no pit in my stomach – there was no heart to pound – there were no lungs to breathe rapidly.

 

Faster and faster the light came towards me. Or was I going towards the light? The light became bigger and bigger – it filled all I could see.

 

I could see! Suddenly I was there. Suddenly I could hear and smell and feel…

 

It was all white. I was aware of me. I was lying down. I was dressed in white. I tried to lift my arms, my legs, my head, but there seemed to be something holding me down.

 

There was a terrible hissing from all around me – and then the lid came off. I was lying in what looked like a casket. The lid swung back on its hinges to reveal what looked like the roof of a warehouse. There was a guy standing over me. He looked like he was in his mid forties, unkempt black hair and beard, a bit overweight and he was talking to me, “Sorry we had to bring you back, man,”

 

I was just getting the hang of focusing when he said, “You’re not going to do anything crazy if I take these off?”

 

I looked at the restraints on my arms, I could feel them on my legs and ankles and across my chest.

 

“I…er…,” say something! “It depends on what you mean by crazy,”

 

He laughed a little contrived laugh, “Hey guys, over here,” he called to some unseen colleagues, “I might need a hand with this one.”

 

Three other faces appeared above me. Three average men, of average build, of average age all dressed in white jumpsuits.

 

“What’s going on?” that was definitely my voice but it seemed to be coming from somewhere else.

 

“Yeah, yeah, nice one Barney, let’s get you up and out – you’ve pissed off a lot of folk,” beardy man leant over and undid my straps.

 

I have? I’ve just arrived in…heaven and I’ve already caused the disgruntlement of those around me. Without even trying. Fucking marvellous.

 

“No, really,” he helped me to my feet, “I don’t know what’s happening.”

 

He turned to the other three, “Waddya think guys?”

They shrugged simultaneously.

 

It was weird, even though I felt shaky on my feet, I felt decidedly stronger than I had moments ago in the garden with my mum. I looked down, the curve of my stomach suggested that I was better nourished than I’d been moments ago. I looked at my hands.

 

Those weren’t my hands.

 

I looked around. I was in a huge warehouse filled with hundreds, no, thousands of white caskets. There were twenty or thirty of these guys standing around. Doing what? Monitoring? Monitoring what?

 

My heart was thumping. Was it my heart? Whose heart was it then? I felt light headed – this was all a bit too much to take in.

 

“He’s tried this before,” beardy man explained to the others, “Take him to see the doc before he does a runner.”

 

Right on cue I fled. I had no idea where I was going or even why I was running. Before me, a sea of caskets came and went. There was no sign of a way out anywhere. It felt great to be able to run though. It felt great to be able to do anything.

 

Suddenly there was a thump in my back. My whole body sizzled in what felt like a seizure. I fell to the ground, face down, paralysed.

 

“Nice shot, Tom,” voices behind me.

 

“Cheers Steve,” casual.

 

I felt myself being pulled to my feet. I couldn’t stand – my new legs had stopped working.

 

“We’re gonna need a trolley,”

 

I was lifted onto what felt like a hospital bed, the bearded guy pushing from behind, “C’mon Barney, let’s get you to the doc,” he sounded kind, perhaps resigned, “I haven’t seen you like this before…”

 

I closed my eyes and awaited my fate. I felt so tired. My last thought before I lost consciousness was, “Who the fuck is Barney?”

 

 

****

 

I woke up in a comfortable bed with soft pillows and a duvet that smelled like flowers. It had been a dream. That weird warehouse place, with the men in white jumpsuits, was just a construct of my ailing brain.

 

I was facing a wall that I didn’t recognise. It was painted a serene magnolia. I must be in a hospice. They do serene and ‘close to God’ kind of colours. I turned around to see the rest of the ward. I was amazed at how easily I managed it. Before, the very thought of turning caused breathlessness, but now, now I could do it with consummate ease.

 

I was surprised to see a distinct lack of ward when I turned round. It looked more like a very clean bedsit. Everything was either white or magnolia. Directly opposite my bed, past the living area, was a well-appointed kitchen with all the bits and pieces you could ever want. The living area had a wonderful retro-sofa in simulation white leather and a cream, short-piled carpet.

 

This was obviously a new regime they had at the hospice. What a great idea. Promote independence at the same time as providing the care that I’d need. I looked around – there were no red emergency pull cords. No –obviously they’d look too institutionalised – there must be pressure pads on the floor to alert staff when I’m up and about. Fantastic.

 

I pulled the duvet back, again with ease, to reveal blue and white stripy pyjamas. I sat up and swung my legs round so my feet were just resting on the ground.

 

Jesus my back hurt!

 

It’s amazing how, sometimes, things in real life get incorporated into your dreams. I must have banged my back or something while I was asleep.

 

I felt strong. Should I try standing up? There was no wheelchair or walking aids. Maybe they didn’t expect me to try to stand up. Well then, they would have put bars around the bed to stop me.

 

I put more and more pressure on my feet as, very tentatively, I stood up. I moved my weight around as I became accustomed to this new-found skill. I looked over at the kitchen – I decided that I was going to make myself a coffee.

 

I strode over to the coffee machine with ease. I’d put on a lot of weight. I felt normal, I felt slightly overweight. I felt great. Apart from the sore back, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this good.

 

I opened a well-stocked cupboard and found the coffee. I opened the well-stocked fridge and found a choice of milks for my beverage drinking pleasure. God, they really had thought of everything.

 

I steamed up the milk in a generous mug and poured in my shot of coffee. Satisfied with my work this far, I retired to the ever so comfy sofa.

 

There was no TV.

 

Well, there’s an omission. Who’d have thought? I’ve got all this wonderful comfort and no TV. Not even a radio. Maybe it’s hidden somewhere? I looked around. There was a door next to the kitchen. There must be somebody out there who I can speak to – to let them know I’m up and about. I mean, if I fell and hurt myself someone might get into trouble…

 

I tried the door handle – it was locked. Maybe I’m just doing it wrong. I pushed it and pulled it. I tried wiggling it. No, it was definitely locked. How were they supposed to know if I was up and about?

 

Of course, the alarms on the floor. Someone would be along in a minute. I sat down again and drank my coffee.

 

I finished my coffee. I made another one. I drank that and I waited. Maybe my movement hadn’t activated the alarm? Maybe they only had the pressure pads next to the bed? I stood next to the bed. I walked up and down the side of the bed. Maybe there’s a faulty connection? Maybe I haven’t stood in the right place in the bedsit?

 

Methodically I walked up and down to ensure my feet had pressed down on every part of the floor. Nothing. Still nobody came.

 

I banged on the door and bellowed, “Hello, is anybody there?”

 

Still nothing.

 

Maybe the connection was loose somewhere in a pressure mat under the carpet? It just needed stamping down a bit? I started to jump around. I was amazed that I could. Before I knew it I was leaping around the room – jumping on the bed, on the sofa, everywhere – these pressure pads had to be somewhere.

 

“What are you doing?” A woman in her late thirties, blondish, kind of pretty in a pointy-faced kind of a way, wearing a white coat had come in without me noticing her.

 

“I…er…I was looking for the pressure mats…” I started lamely.

 

“There aren’t any,” she said humourlessly, her voice seemed to lack any dialect, “We were watching you through the video link.”

 

“Ah, that explains it…” it didn’t really, “I feel great,”

 

I did, I was a little flushed from my maniacal bouncing but I felt fantastic.  

 

“Do you know where you are?” again bland, without emotion.

 

“I’m in the hospice?”

 

No response.

 

“I’m in the hospital? I’m in a special observation room where you monitor my progress?”

 

No response.

I was suddenly aware that I no longer had my leg-bag on.

 

“Where’s the loo? I couldn’t find it earlier.”

 

“It’s just over here,” she walked over to the door that I’d been wrestling with and opened it with ease.

 

“I’ll just pop in for a…”

 

It felt like I hadn’t pissed for a fortnight. As I stood I wrestled with all the possibilities.

 

As I washed my hands I decided that I’d developed some kind of mental problem brought on by the stuff zipping round my veins and I’d been sectioned.

 

“Am I mad?” I asked as I walked out of the toilet.

 

“What makes you ask that?”

 

A question answered with a question – that really pissed me off.

 

“Well, to be honest, I’ve no idea where I am. Is there any chance I can see my mum?”

 

“No.”

 

No explanation.

 

“Why not? Oh shit… I didn’t hurt her did I? What did I do?”

 

“Sit down, let’s see what you can remember,” she guided me to the sofa.

 

She sat at one end with me at the other.

 

“I, er… where should I start?”

 

“Wherever you want to,”

 

I told her everything from when I was in the garden with mum – I even told her about my weird dream in the warehouse.

 

“Ok, thanks for your time,” she got up to leave.

 

“Is that it? What’s going on? Who are you?”

 

“I’m Dr Pope,” and with that she opened a door that I hadn’t seen in the wall of the living area.

 

****

 

“Barney, how are you doing?” a man who I’d never seen before was hugging me like a long lost friend.

 

I didn’t want to appear rude, but instinctively I pulled away from him, “I er…”

 

Seeing the obvious lack of recognition in my eyes he said, “Barney? It’s me, Ralph. Don’t you remember me?”

 

The twang of Yorkshire in his accent did sound familiar, but, “Who’s Barney? I’m John,”

 

“No…no you’re not…shit, this is worse than I thought. Look at me – it’s Ralph. C’mon Barney – look at this face – you couldn’t forget that could ya?”

 

Instinctively my hand came to my face. He did look like someone.

 

“You live with me!” he sounded desperate.

 

“No,” I whispered, “No, I don’t,”

 

“Listen mate, where do you think you are?”

 

“Dr Pope said, well, er actually Dr Pope didn’t say anything.”

 

“C’mon, try…”

 

“I’m in a hospice or a hospital being treated for an unknown disease? Are you one of the Ball-Boys?”

 

“What? Am I what?” he sounded almost angry now.

 

A disembodied voice spoke over the sound system that I didn’t know I had, “Ralph, come out now please,” it sounded like Dr Pope.

 

He pulled me to him again, hugging me hard, “Listen man, come on try to remember – I’ll be back soon…”

 

I patted him on the back. It felt like the right thing to do. 

 

“There’s some mail for you,” Mum handed me a small pile of envelopes.

 

I shuffled through them, disregarding the ones that said, ‘Yes, you John have definitely, no kidding this time, honest to goodness, won Forty Million Pounds…all you have to do is buy three books a month…’

“Oh,” I smiled, “This is interesting,”

 

“What’s that then?”

 

“Rubin tells me I’ve got a place on the diversion scheme… isn’t that great?”

 

“Hmmm?” she raised her eyebrows.

 

“Don’t think I’ll go just yet…”

 

“No, I guess not.”

 

My days had started to melt one into the next. A feast of daytime television and the occasional flirtation with the outside world through the living room window. When mum came in from work, I could smell the outside on her. The traffic, the hospital and other people. It was like a universe now forbidden to me.

 

As a nurse manager, mum’s work life was pretty much nine to five. That meant I had to fit in with her. I’d get up at seven. Well, in reality, she’d get me up at seven. She’d transfer me onto the commode where I do my business. She’d gradually change me while she supported me to stand. My legs were so weak, I could feel them shaking as I got up to stand. I was safe though if I locked out my knees when mum was undressing and dressing me.

 

It was, after all, nothing she hadn’t seen before.

 

Once I was in my day attire I’d sit on the wheelchair. With a lot of effort, using both my feet and hands, I could propel myself around the living room and into the kitchen. She’d leave me a flask of soup so, at least, I could go through the action of eating. This was collusion at its finest. We both knew that the soup made no difference but it helped her to think that she was caring for me in her absence and it helped me to think that I was being cared for.

 

Probably the most arse clenchingly embarrassing thing about this whole situation was my leg bag. We agreed that, since I couldn’t use the commode on my own during the day and since I’d invariably end up pissing on my arm if I tried to use the urine bottle, a leg bag was seen as the best option. This involved taping a condom-like sheath to my ning-nong. The sheath was attached to a tube, which in turn, was attached to the leg bag. I could happily piss the day away without fear of falling over or causing myself a heinous injury.

 

“Has Jen been in touch at all?” mum asked almost nonchalantly as she pulled up my jeans one morning.

 

“Not since I was in hospital.”

 

“Funny that…”

 

“Yeah…” she’d completely vanished off the radar again.

 

“Have you tried calling her?”

 

“No, I hadn’t thought of that. God, what a great idea…” unpleasantly sarcastic.

 

“For fuck’s sake John, I’m just trying to…” the first angry outburst.

 

It was weird. Instead of starting a head on fight with her, I was drawn closer to her. Her mini-tantrum humanised her. No longer was she indestructible mother-woman. Here we had a hint of fallibility. An image of a woman looking after her son. Her son who was supposed to outlive her. Her son who, at present, didn’t appear to be managing this most simple of tasks.

 

“I’m sorry, mum,” a quiet apology.

 

“It’s ok – I’ve got to get to work – your flask’s there on the side,”

 

****

 

“So, you’re comfortable?” I was dead impressed that Dr Higson had come to visit me at home.

 

“Comfortable? Yeah – more than that, mum’s been fantastic,” I squeezed her leg as she sat on the arm of the sofa next to my wheelchair. She smiled, but she looked absolutely fucked.

 

“Anything for my little angel,” her tone was all wrong. Her humour fell flat.

 

“Is there any help you can get, you know, for mum, she’s run ragged?”

 

“Well there’s the Mac…” he started.

 

“No. I, I er mean, we are coping perfectly well together,” then, more of a threat than a question, “Aren’t we, John?”

 

“Yes mum. Yes we are.” She was managing fine. God, it was hard for her, but we both knew there wasn’t far to go now.

 

“Dr Higson?” on the topic of not having far to go, “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

 

Momentarily flustered he replied steadily, “Yes John, you’re dying,”

 

“It’s just that nobody really told me. I always thought that if nobody told me there would still be hope…Stupid really…”

 

“Sorry John,” he reached forward and squeezed my hand.

 

“How long? I mean it’s not long…It can’t be much longer, you know… for mum…er,”

 

Mum ran her fingers through my hair. I momentarily thought of my image of Dr Smith and his mum messing up his hair on the way out of the door.

 

“Not long,” he said quietly as he stood up to leave, “Not long. Good-bye John,”

 

****

 

“Jen? Jen, can you please pick up? I haven’t got long…” why was I phoning her? My voice felt weak and thin. I was using energy I didn’t have, “I just want to see you one last time,” Oh God, I was crying now, “Just to say Good-Bye – nothing else,” I hung up. Even the effort of crying was too much. I lay back in my chair and closed my eyes.

 

Just recently the image of what death might be kept flashing into my mind. For me it meant falling endlessly in space. Feeling nothing. Seeing nothing. The thought caused me to sit up with a start, my heart thumping, my breathing short and rapid.

 

“Mum? Mum, are you there?” This was it – I knew this was my time.

 

“Hey John, it’s ok, I’m here…” she cradled my face.

 

“I want to go into the garden…I need to be outside…” panting with each word, each exertion.

 

“Sure John, anything you want,” Quickly, she clicked the brakes off on the wheelchair, checked to see I was secure and that my feet were on the foot-plates, and off we went – through the kitchen then backwards out of the back door.

 

The sky was a beautiful blue. The whole world was humming with life. I could hear cars and children shouting in playgrounds, I could hear sparrows squabbling in the hedge. It was a little chilly, but that didn’t matter.

 

“Where do you want to be?” mum asked quietly.

 

“The grass, I want to lie on the grass,” I must have sounded a little desperate.

 

Quickly, she put on the brakes, undid my seat belt and hoisted me out of the chair. I had lost so much weight, this was easy for her. Slowly she lowered me and herself to the ground, the back of my head on the grass.

 

I could remember, no, I could see me playing badminton with her. I was about eight and we were both laughing as the shuttlecock flew over into the neighbour’s garden again. She had always cared for me and loved me.

 

“Mum, can you put my head on your lap?” I needed her to hold me.

 

“Sure, there you go…” she smiled down at me and stroked my face, “there you go…” a whisper now.

 

With the world humming, with the sparrows squabbling, with mum stroking my face, I closed my eyes and fell into the black abyss.

 

“Mum!” my eyes jarred open suddenly, a tiny adrenaline rush fighting to the last.

 

“Sshh,” she smiled down at me, “Off you go my beautiful boy, off you go…”

 

And with that, I was gone.