Hannah

Snowdon

He found her strewn across their bed, dark tattoos and darker hair contrasting against the white sheets. Their small dog, Oskar, was curled up behind one of her legs – the other was bent at a seemingly awkward angle, like she was a ballerina completing an en dehors turn. Oliver looked down at her, a smirk tugging at his lips. In his hands were photos, and he was running his index finger over the corner of one, listening to the quiet flicking sound. He padded around to the other side of the bed, reaching into his pocket and producing a small ball of blue tack.

Hannah slipped sideways as Oli sat down, stirring in her peaceful sleep, filled with dreams of them together. They had been picnicking on the beach in this one. Hannah had no idea why – the beach in winter was an icy hell. She could barely sleep without the heater on full blast at night, there was no way she would willingly put herself in the middle of frosty winds that slapped at her cheeks and stung her eyes.

Nonetheless, they had been there. Oli was holding her hand – keeping the cold tendrils threatening to wrap around her heart at bay. They weren’t doing anything. Simply standing and looking while the waves crashed mercilessly against the sand. As she slipped in real life, dream–Hannah slipped too, stumbling into the reach of the waves. Oli soon followed her, grabbing her around the waist with his free hand. Throwing her over his shoulder, he started mumbling her name.

“Hannah,”

“Hannah, love, you have to wake up.”

Opening her hazel eyes, she looked up at Oli, a blank expression on her face.

“You woke me.” Oliver rolled his eyes at her, picking up her fingers and fiddling with them, tracing the marks there.

“No shit, Sherlock. Aren’t you happy to see me? I’m home.” He let his words sink in, knowing she wasn’t at her brightest after she woke up. He watched her blink, her long lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks as an uncovered yawn accompanied it.

“So you are.” She said afterwards, squeezing his hand and pulling him down to the bed. “Welcome home, baby.” She wrapped her arms around him, snuggling into his skinny chest, her head resting in the crook of his neck. She felt his lips brush her temple.

“I’ve missed this.”

“What? My grumpy morning demeanour?”

Hannah felt a vibration against her ear and she felt tremors rock through Oli; it was accompanied by low laughter. “Not at all. You’re a ray of sunshine, you are.” Hannah’s hand drifted through the air, landing on Oli’s arm lazily. “I have something to cheer you up.”

“Really?” Hannah didn’t look up at Oli, instead opting to nuzzle against him further. “Can I guess or will you spoil my fun?” Oliver paused in his movements to run the edge of the photographs up Hannah’s thigh. She took his silence as the former answer. “Do you have a funny story to tell me?”

“No.”

“A kiss?” She tilted her head up and he met her lips briefly before she snuggled back down.

“I didn’t but you changed my mind. Now how about the actual cheering–up part?”

“Are you sure you don’t have a story?” Oli let out a sigh, knowing there was no way of weaselling out of it. Hannah was determined.

“One,” he warned before he began, “two Saturday’s ago, me and Jordan were sitting on the back of the bus, right, and Lee walked in, my brother in tow.” Hannah nodded – it was more of a tilt to the head to indicate she was listening due to the restricted space. “Me and Jordan don’t think anything of it but Tom’s jumping up and down like he’s got ants in his pants. And Lee keeps on staring out of the window and blushing really hard. Like, his face has gone beet red. Like your lipstick you wear sometimes.”

“That’s pretty red.” She murmured, Oli humming in agreement.

“Jordan shut the TV off and asked what was up. Turns out they’re dating.” Hannah let out a small shriek, hitting Oli once again – harder this time.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me earlier?”

“It seemed the thing to tell in person.”

Hannah may not have been awake a few minutes ago, but she definitely was now, her eyes wide and a smile stretching across her face. “And that wasn’t even the cheering up bit?”

Oliver handed her the photographs. There were seven in total, all taken on the same battered Polaroid camera that Hannah had had for years. She gave it to Oli before each tour – “to show me all your memories as you make them.” Select photos were now stuck to the wall, in a huge collage to keep Hannah company at night in the middle of long tours when she felt the loneliness begin to creep into her bones and make a home in her chest and for them to talk about when they were together, watching the scenes play before their eyes as the other retold a tale. Sometimes more than once.

One of was the newly announced couple; they were holding hands with their shoulders touching, happy as larks. There were several of Oli; one was a selfie with a goofy smile on his face and two more taken by crew as he sang. The final four were of off days and what looked like a soccer match with Oli as a goalie. He had taken up a ‘starfish’ stance – arms stretched wide and legs at an obtuse angle. His focus wasn’t at the camera lens, it was on the field in front of him.

Hannah flicked through the photos slowly, imagining different scenarios behind all of them. “Blue tack, please.” She requested, shuffling over to the wall and positioning them. Breaking off small pieces of the tack, she applied a greater force to the photos and made them stay in position.

“You’re going to have to tell me all these stories.”

“Is that so?”

Hannah nodded at Oliver, “of course. They all seem magnificent.” She rummaged in her bedside table drawer and produced a Sharpie, dating the photos. On Lee and Tom’s photos she wrote ‘the new couple’ – a simple title and another memory – trigger if she wanted to hear the story again.

“Are you ready to eat breakfast?” Oliver asked her finally, growing impatient of her photograph viewing. His stomach was growling at him angrily, as though demanding sustenance.

“Not yet. Just wait.” And so he did.