Lifesaving for Beginners

phoned 999 and Brona remained in a seated position on the flat of the man’s back until the police arrived. She may be small but she’s pretty solid.
    ‘Kat?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘My goodness, you really are in a daze today. I should let you get back to the writing.’
    ‘Yes, I . . .’
    ‘You’re thinking about the drop in Paddington station. WHSmith. Aren’t you?’
    ‘Why on earth would I be thinking about that?’ Brona claims she’s got ‘the sight’ ever since she had a premonition that Jeremy would sustain a grievous bodily injury, and the very next day, Jeremy’s boyfriend, Harold, rang in to say that Jeremy was incapacitated following an incident with a lawn mower and some WD40.
    ‘Because . . . you know . . . you met Thomas after. On the plane home, remember? It was a Friday. It poured with rain.’
    ‘You’ve some memory.’
    Brona is a details woman. And she’s also an incurable romantic – her description, obviously. She thought it was romantic, the way me and Thomas met. She thinks lots of things are romantic but there’s nothing romantic about a suspicious package in the men’s toilet in Terminal Two.
    But now I’m thinking about the magic show in the Button Factory and I hate the way memory does this. Goes from one thing to the next, like a line of dominoes falling one by one.
    Oddly, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, the magic show. It was better than I expected, actually. A lot better, in fact.
    Brona says, ‘What do you mean?’
    I say, ‘What?’
    ‘You said, “a lot better”.’
    ‘Did I?’ My thoughts are seeping out of me. Probably all the time I’m spending on my own.
    Brona persists. ‘What’s a lot better?’
    ‘Oh you know, everything really. Now that everything’s, you know, pretty much back to normal.’
    ‘That’s marvellous, Kat.’ A lengthy pause ensues. Then Brona says, ‘So, the manuscript. I’m simply dying to read it. May I?’
    ‘May you what?’
    ‘Read it.’
    ‘Oh . . . yes. Of course. But I’m . . . it’s not finished yet.’
    ‘No, no, of course not. Don’t overdo it now, will you?’
    I look around. The apartment looks like it’s been burgled. And the burglars ate a fair amount of fast food, judging by the empty boxes and cartons lying about. And they got through a fair bit of wine. I haven’t seen my laptop in weeks. It might be under my bed. There’s some kids’ programme on the telly. The main character is a yellow sponge, as far as I can tell.
    I say, ‘No, I’ll try not to overdo it.’
    ‘Good luck.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘I’m so excited about this one, Kat.’
    ‘Me too.’
    ‘Ta ra, then.’
    ‘Yeah. Ta ra.’
    ‘So you’ll call me?’
    ‘Hmmm?’
    ‘When it’s done? You’ll let me know?’
    ‘Of course.’
    When she starts into her usual recital line of ‘Byebyebyebyebye . . .’ the relief is gigantic. And when the line, eventually, goes dead, I lie on the couch for a long, long time as if I’ve been exerting myself. Overdoing it.
    But I haven’t been overdoing it. I haven’t been doing anything. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

 
    Rob and Faith have a meeting with somebody called Lewis Lennon, who is in charge of the Crowns. Rob bought a new-second-hand leather jacket that looks the same as his old one except there’s no hole in the shoulder from Faith’s cigarette. He is wearing sunglasses. The windscreen wipers on his van make a screeching sound every time they move across the window.
    I’m in the back seat. Sometimes Rob lets me sit in the front even though you’re supposed to be twelve years old or a hundred and thirty-five centimetres. I’m short for my age but Faith says that Ant and Adrian were midgets till they were eighteen and now they’re even taller than Dad.
    I’ll be ten next month. Double digits, Mam said. She said Damo could have a sleepover when I was ten. Not on my actual birthday. Maybe on Boxing Day or the day after that. She said she’d take us to the cinema and for a proper meal afterwards, one with cutlery that’s not plastic and fish and chips that aren’t wrapped in paper. I don’t know if Faith knows about the sleepover. I’ll tell her about it when she’s happy again.
    Rob lights a cigarette and Faith tells him to put it out. He pulls down the window and blows the smoke outside. Faith shakes her head and Rob says, ‘For fuck’s sake,’ and Faith says, ‘Can you stop cursing?’ and Rob shakes his head and Faith sighs and Rob throws his