my mum died, I lost my ability to be in the world, but now I’m ready again. I’m ready to step out. And so are you, Graham – so are you.’
Graham rubs his hands together as if he’s about to start clearing a garage of junk. Richard half expects him to push up his sleeves.
‘You’ve just got to get out there and get on with it,’ he says. ‘Haven’t you?’
‘The last time I saw my mum, she wished me a nice trip,’ Richard says.
‘Now I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Just that that was the last thing she ever said to me, but I didn’t know it at the time so I guess I didn’t lend it too much importance. But we once talked, you and me, about the things we say to each other and about what’s important, do you remember? And you said it’s all important. All those little things. I’ve thought about that a lot and now I think that what my mother said that last time was very important. “Have a nice trip.” It was normal. It was normality.’
‘It was love,’ Graham says. ‘Just as much as anyone saying they love you.’
‘It was the candle,’ Richard replies, blinking fast. ‘The warmth that helps us survive.’
Graham stands up abruptly, making his chair scrape, and rubs his hands on the sides of his sweatshirt. ‘Listen, mate, anyway, I just wanted to say ta, like, for everything you’ve d-done for us.’ He hands Richard a white envelope. His face is pink and he cannot hold Richard’s eye. ‘You can open this once I’ve gone, ’cos I’m too embarrassed for you to read it now, all right? It’s well mushy.’
‘All right.’ Richard shakes Graham’s hand and meets his eye once, twice. For the moment, he is too choked to speak.
‘See you later then, yeah?’ Graham’s voice cracks. He takes a step back.
‘Good luck.’ Richard gets the words out before they shatter. ‘Goodbye, Graham. Be free.’
Still backing away, Graham points at Richard. ‘Pray for us, yeah? It seems to work when you do it.’ He makes two thumbs-up signs, turns, and like that, he is gone.
The doorway is empty. Surrounded by the shouts and bangs from elsewhere, the chapel is quiet and still. Richard turns the envelope over in his hand, his throat thick. Richy-Rich, it says on the front, and this makes him smile. He puts it in his pocket but almost immediately brings it out again. Half of him wants to save it until he finds the perfect moment, but the other half knows that waiting for the perfect moment is a dangerous, dangerous game.
He walks over to the window and opens the envelope. On the small white sheet of paper, words are arranged in what looks like a poem. The handwriting is painstakingly neat. There is evidence of pencil lines that have been rubbed out after the ink has dried. All of this moves him, and steeling himself, he reads.
I had a friend in front of me,
If I would only dare
To talk, to find the hardest words,
While he was waiting there.
* * *
He listened while I got it out
And now I’m going home.
I will not see him anymore
So I’m leaving him this poem.
* * *
It’s you, the friend, old Richy-Rich!
You’ll always be my mate!
You helped me fly like the seagull.
Like you said, it’s never too late.
Told you it was embarrassing. Cheers, mate, seriously. Take care, all right? See you sometime.
Gray
Richard puts the letter in his pocket and wipes his eyes, hoping that the chapel will remain empty while he composes himself. What was it Viv said? These poor buggers might have a funny way of doing it, but they do give something back, you know, if you let them.
Outside, in the courtyard, the small patch of yellow sunlight makes its way around the yard. The men stand huddled in it for warmth. They will follow this light, as the day grows old and dies, down to the far corner. They will reappear tomorrow, back where they started, pulling at cigarettes and following the imperceptible progress of the sun. In another wing, men paint and strip walls, walls they will paint and strip again tomorrow, and the next day, over and over again. In the classrooms, men of thirty will disrupt English lessons with bravado and buffoonery, stuck in a teen age that never ends. And here in the chapel, troubled souls will pour out their stories while Richard listens. That they will leave him a little lighter is