What Becomes by A. L Kennedy Page B

of his sentence.
    â€˜I’m sorry.’ Although she didn’t sound it – was more bitter, perhaps, angry, his thinking panicked across possibilities.
    â€˜There’s no need to be sorry.’
    â€˜I do care about you. I think about you all the time.’
    Already the silt in your blood, the closing down.
    â€˜There was somebody at the party that I knew. That we used to . . . And I hugged him goodbye.’
    Trying not to understand her. Trying hard.
    â€˜I . . . when we came back, I could still . . . I’m sorry . . . I could smell him on my clothes, on me – and then while we . . . it was like it was him.’
    I think about you all the time.
    â€˜I do care about you.’ And she’d brushed his back.
    And I do love you.
    â€˜I just . . . this is a, this is a mess. I’m not what you . . . I don’t want to hurt you.’
    But you did.
    â€˜I don’t think we can.’
    But you fucking did.
    â€˜Could we just leave it for now.’
    You fucking did.
    Dressing himself had been difficult, because of his numbed hands. ‘I’ll call you. To see how you are.’ Death starting with the hands.
    His fingers delicate as ash.
    A woman came into the shop: social worker type and wanting to talk when it’s time to close, when it’s time to give up and go away. She had leaflets.
    â€˜It works on the principles that all life is connected and this energy, it goes between us, there’s a flow.’ Knitted hat, shoes made from recycled tyres – the usual.
    â€˜We’re not all connected.’
    Pale enough to be a vegan and a funny shine on her skin, greasy. ‘Once you become accustomed to the idea you begin to feel it, you begin to be able to work with the energy.’
    â€˜We’re not all connected.’
    â€˜It chimes in with quantum physics very nicely, but of course the philosophy is very ancient.’
    â€˜We are not all connected. We are bags of skin. We are all separate bags of thinking skin.’
    Her mouth gave a tiny jerk. ‘I’ll just leave the leaflet.’
    â€˜You give me a way to stop thinking – I’ll paper the whole bloody place with your leaflets. How about that. I’ll give you the shop.’
    She didn’t look at him and didn’t set down her leaflet.
    â€˜I meant it. You just let me know.’ Shouting this at her back as she scurried to the door, escaped.
    â€˜You let me know.’
    Then he sat at the till and rubbed his forehead.
    He did that for a long while.
    He wanted to go to Edinburgh.
    SATURDAY TEATIME
    So.
    My head will keep on racing throughout this, I have no doubt.
    Racing and running away.
    Louping.
    Breenjing.
    Going a game with itself.
    Which may well be a sign of weakness. Before I turned up I did need to consider my weaknesses and strengths, how best they’d be accommodated. In here I will have to be able to second-guess myself, but that won’t be a problem – I’ve been doing it for years, because it is the key to any comfort.
    Given that I want a happy time.
    This is the general rule – people seek their happiness. Even if they’re masochistic, when they find their perfect pain, it should make them happy.
    And who doesn’t like being happy? Happy’s why I’m here. I am trying something new that should increase my happiness. This time it’s
flotation and relaxation
. I’ve walked in and bought an hour of both.
    At least, I suppose the
flotation
part is the one that’s guaranteed and whatever
relaxation
I get will be down to me.
    Quite possibly less than an hour of that.
    And thereafter I’d expect an amount of happiness will ensue.
    Anyway, I am predicting this is something I’ll enjoy: floating, relaxing, unwinding, enjoying the benefits of salted water.
    Whatever they are.
    I’m not quite clear.
    It feels slippery, somehow, the surface – slippery and thick. Not truly unpleasant and not exactly