Lifesaving for Beginners

crossword puzzles that Mam used to do. Faith said she couldn’t do them because she wasn’t clever enough but Mam said that wasn’t true. It was patience. That’s all Faith was missing.
    She says, ‘What’s your secret, Milo?’
    I say, ‘Which one?’ as if I’ve got loads, which isn’t true. I’ve only got the one that Carla told me. About her dad not having a job anymore on account of the shop closing down. No one else knows except me and I haven’t told anyone. Carla made me promise that I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not even Damo. As if I’d ever tell Damo something like that. I know he’s my best friend but he’d blab it to his granny, if he still had one.
    Faith says, ‘Mam was right, you know.’
    I say, ‘About what?’
    ‘About you.’
    ‘What about me?’
    ‘She said you were a tonic.’
    ‘Is that good?’
    ‘It means there’s something about you that makes people feel better.’
    ‘That’s not true.’
    ‘It is.’
    ‘I haven’t made you feel better.’
    Faith goes ahead and hugs me then, and because she does it so quickly there’s no time to dodge it. Faith’s not a hugger, as a rule, so it doesn’t last too long. Not like Mam. When Mam decided she was going to hug you, it went on and on for ages.
    In fact, Faith’s hug goes on a bit longer than I thought it would. And even though her hair is a bit dirty and she smells like a cigarette, it’s actually not that bad because Faith happens to be one of the softest people I know so it sort of feels like you’re being hugged by a marshmallow.
    When she stops, she says, ‘It’s not your job, Milo. To make me feel better. I should be making you feel better.’
    I say, ‘I don’t feel too bad.’
    Faith says, ‘But you do feel a little bit bad, don’t you? It’s normal, you know. To feel a little bit bad. There’s no harm in it.’
    I don’t explain. About the crumbs and the scrambled egg and the Christmas tree and the dark of the house, even though it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon. I don’t say any of that. I just nod and Faith nods too, like I’ve said something that she agrees one hundred per cent with. The door into the sitting room is open and you can see the Christmas tree from here. Faith looks at it. Like she’s just noticed it. The drooping branches and the pine needles on the floor. She looks at it for ages.
    I decide to say this: ‘Mrs Appleby thinks that things can seem a bit worse. At Christmas time, I mean.’
    Faith doesn’t say anything for a while. She looks at me but I know she’s not really looking at me. She’s thinking about something entirely different. Turns out she’s thinking about Christmas because she says – all of a sudden – ‘Christmas.’
    I say, ‘Yes. It’s in three days. Did you forget about it?’
    She says, ‘Sort of.’ I don’t know how you can sort of forget about something. Especially Christmas. I hope she hasn’t sort of forgotten about my birthday too.
    She says, ‘I’m going to sort it out,’ as if Christmas has sprung a leak or something and she happens to have just the thing to fix it.

 
    Something is different. In the days following Ed’s procedure – Ed’s successful procedure – something feels different. Or perhaps it is me who is different.
    I’m having funny thoughts.
    Not funny ha ha.
    Funny weird.
    First of all, there’s Brona. She rings to find out about Ed. I tell her and she says how pleased she is that the operation went well, and then she comments on how happy I sound and how she’s never heard me sound so happy. Not ever. And I say it’s because I’ve never been this happy. Not ever. This is difficult for someone like me to explain but I try. I feel like I’ve been given a reprieve. Like I was on death row and some lawyer in a John Grisham novel found some obscure piece of precedent law that meant I could waltz out of death row and skip on out of prison and take one of those Greyhound buses they’re always taking in America and just . . . just be on my way. And, peculiar as that may sound, that’s how I feel. And the really weird thing is that I don’t just leave it there, the thought that is banging against the walls of my mind. No. I go right ahead and share the thought with Brona.
    She tries to take it on the chin but she’s pretty shocked. I can tell. And then, instead of giving her a moment to digest all this talk of happiness and the John Grisham novels and the obscure pieces of precedent law and the Greyhound