Back inside Agnes’ room the Country and Western is pounding. “It’s alright mum,” says Bim, “I know what to do”.

He sticks cotton wool into both of her ears. She looks at him.

18

Later on, Bim and Georgie are in the kitchen drinking tea. Georgie is Agnes’ Home Help.

“No I ain’t bin upstairs for well part of a while now,” explains Bim.

“Why’s that?”

“Got an idea that’s obvious.”
“Is it?”

“Yeah, Georgie, it is”.

She looks at his legs. He takes a sip of his tea.

She breaks the silence with “You look tired”.

“Do I?”

“Yeah”.

He looks at his mug. Georgie looks at him and then looks down.
Eventually Bim says, “I won’t be long”.

“Take as long as you need, she replies.” I’ll phone if I need you”.
“Ta.”

Bim looks at his hands, “Listen, don’t go up stairs. Since, ya know…mi dad.

He looks up and smiles. He makes like he is a killer from an old fashioned movie. There is a nervous silence. “I’m joking. Do what ever you want. I reckon it’d be a bit of a mess, though. Bin a while since, ya know”.

“What happened to ya dad?”

“He left.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Years ago. Damn near killt mi mum”.

Georgie looks at him, “No-one’s bin upstairs since?”

Na, I was joking. Ain’t bin up there since mum had the stroke. No point in her being up there, is there?

Bim drinks the last of his tea, “right”, he makes to leave.

19

Bim has trouble getting his wheel chair onto the bus. The driver and another man lift him on.
As the bus pulls away Bim is looking out of the window at the other side of the street.

Georgie enters Agnes’ room. “Hi Agnes”. She sits down next to the bed. “How ya doing?” She looks at Agnes. “Fancy a bit of telly?” She stands goes to the television and turns it on. Agnes watches her as she flicks through the channels. “God,” gasps Georgie, “there’s nothing ta watch.”

20

The bus pulls away to reveal a high-rise tower block. Bim is sitting in his chair looking at it. He wheels himself over to the elevator entrance. He tries the lift. Nothing happens. He takes out his cell phone.

Kids are heard playing on the stairs.

As he talks on the phone he watches the empty courtyard.

A group of youths cross the yard. They wear expensive shoes and smoke cigarettes. The girls are not pretty but they’ve got the breeze in their hair.

“Hello Bim,” says a voice. Bim turns, “Hello Mrs Johnson”.

He looks at her white nylon puffed up coat. Her blond hair is dry with hairspray and a little age.

“I told you, I can’t help you upstairs”.

“Is there somewhere else we can go?”
“Sure”.

Mrs Johnson lifts the door to a car lockup garage. They both look around to make sure no one is watching. They go in. It’s dark. Mrs Johnson finds a light, it throws their shadow on the wall.

“Don’t say anything,’ she says quietly.

“I ain’t got nothing to say.”

“Either way”.

“I can feel the years slip off me,” he says with a smile.

“What?”

“Being ere”.

She squints at him. “Be better in the flat. Warm”.

“Well summuts stopping us”.

“Ain’t that the truth.”?

“Could just as well be your old man”.

“Yeah?” she says as she brings her mouth down to his.

“He’s gone put a right fear in me, I can’t move legs, Mrs Johnson. Paralysed.”

“Is that so?”

“That it be”.

“Spects I knows a thing ta raise ya back ta life”.

“Ya got the touch of Christ?”

“Careful he might well take mi hands away”.

“You’d still have the tongue of an angel Mrs Johnson”.

Her shadow grows bigger over his.

“Is that it?”

“It’s cold Mrs Johnson. Cold…”

They both laugh.

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