Lifesaving for Beginners

you. Wherever you’re going, all right? Don’t worry, love.’
    I turn on my side and close my eyes. May tiptoes out of the room and whispers, ‘Night night.’ She closes the door and I hear the creak of the stairs. When she’s gone, I get up and open the door. Just a tiny bit. A thin line of light falls in from the landing. Not much but just enough to sleep by. I’m really tired but it takes ages to fall asleep. Downstairs I hear the low murmur of voices. I expect they’re talking about the woman. Katherine Kavanagh. I wonder what she looks like. I wonder what she’ll say to Faith when she sees her tomorrow? I hope it’s something nice, I really do.
    I think Faith could do with someone to cheer her up.
    I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of it.

 
    The red flashing light turns out to be a message from Thomas. His voice fills the cold and dark of the hallway, instantly familiar and strange, all at the same time.
    There is relief. That it isn’t the man. The one looking for Killian Kobain.
    Or someone looking for me.
    The girl in the letters.
    Faith.
    And there’s apprehension. What does he want? Thomas is not a phone person. He doesn’t ring for conversation. He rings for a reason. A specific reason. Like news to impart. Phone conversations with Thomas never last long. Not even in our heyday. Twenty seconds. Thirty, tops. Long enough to say ‘who’ and ‘what’ and ‘when’ and ‘why’ and ‘where’. The five Ws. Once a journalist, always a journalist, I suppose.
    The first W he covers is ‘why’. Why he’s ringing on the landline. ‘I didn’t want to ring your mobile because I wanted to make sure you were at home when I talk to you.’
    Relief seeps away and apprehension is all that’s left now.
    Then comes the ‘what’.
    ‘I wanted to tell you the other day. At Ed’s swimming gala.’
    Brief diversion here: ‘Ed was great, wasn’t he? He’s really coming on. He used to be nervous competing, remember? He looked like such a natural in that pool, didn’t he?’
    There are a few features in Thomas’s voice that I recognise. There’s pride. There’s definitely pride. I recognise that. I’ve heard that before, when he’s spoken about Ed. As if it’s true. What Ed says. About Thomas being his best friend.
    And there’s hesitation. A dragging of heels along the floor of this one-sided conversation.
    He launches into a ‘why not’.
    ‘I just . . . when Ed told me your news, I didn’t feel that it was appropriate then to talk about my news.’
    His news?
    The ‘what’ again.
    ‘It’s just . . . I wanted to tell you myself. I mean, I didn’t want anyone else telling you . . .’
    Tell me what?
    ‘It’s not like it’ll come as a huge surprise to you. Or even that you’ll care all that much and why should you? But still . . . I wanted it to be me to tell you and there might be a small mention of it in tomorrow’s paper so that’s why I’m leaving this message . . . sorry it’s so bloody garbled. I hate these machines.’
    Tomorrow’s paper?
    I hear Thomas take a breath. A really long one.
    Then another pause.
    ‘I’m getting married.’
    Nothing. No dramatic reaction from me. No leaning my back against the wall and sliding down and down until I am sitting on the floor. No escaping moan. No gasp. Nothing. I’m just a woman, standing in the cold and dark of her own hallway, with her coat on, listening to a message – a garbled message – on her answering machine, from somebody she used to know.
    ‘Engaged, really. I’m getting engaged. I am engaged. To Sandra. I mean, Sarah. Christ, you have me doing it now. I got engaged to Sarah.’
    A short pause here as if he thinks I might laugh at this and is waiting for me to finish. Polite. To a fault. I have to give him that.
    ‘So, that’s it. That’s all. I just wanted you to know.’
    Another pause. Then an addendum that doesn’t come under any of the five W headings.
    ‘And your news. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I think it was shock, really. The idea of you being a mother. I don’t mean . . . it’s just you always said . . . Anyway, just, sorry.’
    A pause. A really awkward one.
    ‘And, you know, you can . . . give me a buzz. If you want to have a chat, or . . . a talk or something, I don’t know. I mean . . . I’d say we can still talk to each other, if you’d like to. You know?’
    And in the cold, dark of my hallway, I find myself nodding. I do know. And I did know. Even back then,