before i die Jenny Downham

nineteen

Theres a dead bird on the lawn, its legs thin as cocktail sticks. Im sitting in the deck chair under the apple tree watching it.
It definitely moved, I tell Cal.
He stops juggling and comes over to look. Maggots, he says. It can get so hot inside a dead body that the ones in the middle have to move to the edges to cool down.
How the hell do you know that?
He shrugs. Internet.
He nudges the bird with his shoe until its stomach splits. Hundreds of maggots spill onto the grass and writhe there, stunned by sunlight.
See? Cal says, and he squats down and pokes at them with a stick. A dead body is its own eco-system. Under certain conditions it only takes nine days for a human to rot down to the bones. He looks at me thoughtfully. That wont happen to you though.
No?
Its more when people are murdered and left outside. What will happen to me, Cal?
I have a feeling that whatever he says will be right, like hes some grand magician touched by cosmic truth. But he only shrugs and says, ll find out and let you know.
He goes off to the shed to get a spade. Guard the bird, he says.
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Its feathers ruffle in the breeze. Its very beautiful, black with a sheen of blue, like oil on the sea. The maggots are rather beautiful too. They panic on the grass; searching for the bird, for each other.
And thats when Adam walks across the lawn.
Hi, he says. How are you?
I sit up in my deckchair. Did you just climb over the fence? He shakes his head. Its broken down the bottom.
Hes wearing jeans, boots, a leather jacket. Hes got something behind his back. Here, he says. He holds out a bunch of wild green leaves to me. Amongst them are bright orange flowers. They look like lanterns or baby pumpkins.
For me?
For you.
My heart hurts. m trying not to acquire new things. He frowns. Perhaps living things dont count.
I think they might count more.
He sits down on the grass next to my chair and puts the flowers between us. The ground is wet. It will seep into him. It will make him cold. I dont tell him this. I dont tell him about the maggots either. I want them to creep into his pockets.
Cal comes back with a gardening trowel.
You planting something? Adam asks him.
Dead bird, he says, and he points to the place where it lies. Adam leans over. Thats a rook. Did your cat get it?
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Dont know. Im going to bury it though.
Cal walks over to the back fence, finds a spot in the flowerbed and starts to dig. The earth is wet as cake mix. Where the spade meets little stones, it sounds like shoes on gravel.
Adam plucks bits of grass and sieves them between his fingers. m sorry about what I said the other day.
Its OK.
It didnt come out right.
Really, its OK. We dont have to talk about it.
He nods very seriously, still threading grass, still not looking at me. You are worth bothering with.
I am?
Yeah.
So you want to be friends?
He looks up. If you do.
And youre sure theres a point to it?
I enjoy watching him blush, the confusion in his eyes. Maybe Dads right and Im turning to anger.
I think theres a point, he says. Then youre forgiven.
I hold my hand out and we shake on it. His hand is warm.
Cal comes over, smeared in dirt, spade in hand. He looks like a demented boy undertaker. The graves ready, he says.
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Adam helps him roll the rook onto the spade. Its stiff and looks heavy. Its injury is obvious – a red gash at the back of its neck. Its head lolls drunkenly as they carry it between them over to the hole. Cal talks to it as they walk. Poor bird, he says. Come on, time to rest.
I wrap my blanket round my shoulders and follow them across the grass to watch them tip it in. One eye shines up at us. It looks peaceful, even grateful. Its feathers are darker now.
Should we say something? Cal asks.
Goodbye, bird? I suggest.
He nods. Goodbye, bird. Thank you for coming. And good luck.
He scoops mud over it, but leaves the head uncovered, as if the bird might like to take a last look around. What about the maggots? he says.
What about them?
Wont they suffocate?
Leave an air hole, I tell him.
He seems happy with this suggestion, crumbles earth over the birds head and pats it down. He makes a hole for the maggots with a stick.
Get some stones, Tess, then we can decorate it.
I do as Im told and wander off to look. Adam stays with Cal. He tells him that rooks are very sociable, that this rook will have many friends, and theyll be grateful to Cal for burying it with so much care.
I think hes trying to impress me.
These two white stones are almost perfectly round. Here is a snails shell, a red leaf. A soft grey feather. I hold them in my hand. Theyre so lovely that I have to lean against the shed and close my eyes.
Its a mistake. Its like falling into darkness.
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Theres earth on my head. Im cold. Worms burrow. Termites and woodlice come.
I try and focus on good things, but its so hard to scramble out. I open my eyes to the rough fingers of the apple tree. A spiders web quivering silver. My warm hands clutching the stones.
But all that is warm will go cold. My ears will fall off and my eyes will melt. My mouth will be clamped shut. My lips will turn to glue.
Adam appears. You all right? he says.
I concentrate on breathing. In. Out. But breathing brings the opposite when you become aware of it. My lungs will dry up like paper fans. Out. Out.
He touches my shoulder. Tessa?
No taste or smell or touch or sound. Nothing to look at. Total emptiness for ever.
Cal runs up. Whats wrong? Nothing.
You look weird.
I got dizzy bending down. Shall I get Dad?
No.
Are you sure?
Finish the grave, Cal. Ill be OK.
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I give him the things I collected and he runs off. Adam stays. A blackbird flies low over the fence. The sky is griddled pink and grey. Breathe. In. In.
Adam says, What is it?
How can I tell him?
He reaches out and touches my back with the flat of his hand. I dont know what this means. His hand is firm, moving in gentle circles. We agreed to be friends. Is this what friends do?
His heat comes through the weave of the blanket, through my coat, my jumper, my T-shirt. Through to my skin. It hurts so much that thoughts are difficult to find. My body becomes all sensation.
Stop it.
What?
I shrug him off. Cant you just go away?
Theres a moment. It has a sound in it, as if something very small got broken.
You want me to go?
Yes. And dont come back.
He walks across the grass. He says goodbye to Cal and goes back through the broken bit of fence. Except for the flowers by the chair, its as if hes never been here at all. I pick them up. Their orange heads nod at me as I give them to Cal.
These are for the bird.
Cool!
He lays them on the damp earth and we stand together looking down at the grave.
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