A Voice in the Distance Read Free Page A

onto the ground with his arms spread out. I watch
the man continue along the path, around the curve
of the pond and over the grass towards the gate. I look
down at Flynn. He has his eyes closed.
    I start to laugh. 'I don't really think I'm the outdoorsy
type.'
    He opens his eyes and sits up. 'What about being
adventurous and spontaneous?'
    I laugh and lean back on my hands, resting my head
against his shoulder. 'I'm sorry.' I start to giggle again.
    He glares down at me. 'You are so not forgiven.'
    I inhale deeply and look up at the night sky. 'Oh,
look at the moon!'
    It is round and full, a large cardboard cut-out hanging
low in the sky. 'Make a birthday wish,' I say.
    Flynn closes his eyes. There is a silence. Then he
opens them.
    'Done?' I ask.
    'Done,' he says.
    'What was it?'
    He glances at me. 'Can't tell you or it won't come
true.'
    'Oh please!' I say. 'Please, just one tiny clue?'
    He looks at me and smiles. 'Something about you.'

Chapter Two
FLYNN
    I teeter on the edge of wakefulness, the pink glow
behind my closed eyelids suggesting it is already late
morning. Voices drift up from the street below and I find
myself gliding effortlessly into a meadow as sleep takes me
again, spiriting me along, weightless as a breeze. The
voices take on the form of two old men sitting on a bench
in the middle of a forest, and I brush the tops of their felt
hats as I pass, and then I feel myself rising up, towards the
dappled sunlight falling between the leaves. The trees are
hundreds of metres high and the sun is nothing but a
shimmering corner of distant gold. I'm rising, rising,
reaching out, trying to touch the tops of the trees and the
clear blue sky that I know lies above. I wake.
    The room is flooded with sunlight, slanting in
through the partly drawn curtains. Around the bed,
remnants of a late night – clothes on the floor, an overflowing
laundry basket, a toppled pile of library books,
a scattering of hairgrips across the carpet. Beside the
window, the desk is piled high with clutter from
the living-room table – bills and uni notices and
photocopies and lever-arch files. Beside me, her head
falling off the pillow, Jennah lies sprawled on her front,
her arm hanging off the side of the bed. Her shoulder
blades are visible under the thin white T-shirt she sleeps
in and a fine golden down covers her bare arms, still
tanned from the hot summer. Her long chestnut hair is
spread out across the white pillow. I roll onto my side,
propping myself up on one elbow to look over at her
still-sleeping face. Her lashes are dark against her cheek.
I lean over her slowly, carefully, and kiss her forehead. I
want to do more but I stop myself, afraid of waking her.
I content myself with looking at her instead. I was
touched that she went to all that trouble yesterday –
once I got over the initial shock of finding our tiny flat
crammed full of people. I remember the descent down
the fire escape and smile to myself. That was the highlight
of my day. Leaving the heaving flat and walking
through Hyde Park with Jennah. Kissing her next to the
moonlit water. I break my resolve and reach out a hand
and stroke her cheek. She sighs and stirs but does not
wake. I still can't believe it. Still can't believe she is here,
with me, in our flat, in our room, in our bed. Still can't
believe she is my girlfriend.
    I get up quietly and pad to the bathroom. When I've
finished peeing, I pull on some jeans and go into the
kitchen to put the coffee on. I fill a tall glass with tap
water and take my pills at the sink, looking out over
the small back gardens. I put two slices of bread in the
toaster and peel and cut up an apple. Hm, apple
and toast, not exactly a luxurious breakfast. There are
some tinned cherries in the cupboard. I open them and
add them to the apple slices. I put some honey on top
for good measure. The toast pops up and I spread
butter and jam. I make up a bowl of cereal and put the
lot onto a chopping board. I carry it back to the bedroom.
She