

THE DIVINE

BOOK 1

## A NEW DAWN

ROB RADCLIFFE

Copyright © 2014 Rob Radcliffe 2014

The right of Rob Radcliffe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

THE DIVINE

ALSO BY ROB RADCLIFFE

### THE RACE

### MEAT MARKET

### THE AUTHOR

Rob Radcliffe started writing when he was four years old and hopes things have improved since then. For a while he was a ghost writer for aspiring authors across the globe and then decided he'd have a go at it himself. He lives in Manchester, UK with his partner and two children.

The Divine is Rob's most difficult and rewarding work to date. It comes in five parts and is five years in the making. He hopes, as always, you enjoy his story. It is the reason he continues to put pen to paper.

For Ian, my first and most respected critic

BOOK 1

## A NEW DAWN

1

SOPHIE: FROZEN

Sleep, my one true release from the harsh realities of my life. When it eventually leaves me like a dark cloud blocking out my sun, I am filled with a looming sense of dread. For a brief moment, as my brain reconnects all the dots and then realises there wasn't that many dots to connect after all, I lay in limbo, both mind and body detached from me, and I feel peace. Those brief moments are what I yearn for, to be content to just drift away into nothingness, but then my brain picks out something from the real world, a gentle sliver of sunlight peeping through the curtains and warming my face or maybe an orderly banging their trolley along the corridor which connects to my room. There is always something, some cruel invitation back to reality.

This morning it is Nurse Beatrix and her cheery morning humming. I can hear her arrival onto the ward as soon as she steps out of the elevators. The first few minutes of her day are always filled with 'good morning sweets' and 'what a beautiful morning' to anyone she might bump into. When she is not wishing the world a good day she is humming cheerfully. There is no middle ground; Nurse Beatrix likes to appear to be a cheery mother hen figure for her colleagues. It is only when she is behind closed doors " _seeing to her children_ " as she will describe us patients, that her cheery demeanour evaporates and we witness first-hand the indifference this lady exuberates.

My muscles ache from sleep and I yearn to be able to stretch out and fire a little life into my limbs. Not today. There will be no morning jog around the picturesque lake which taunts me whenever I am wheeled outside when the weather is fair. It has been two months now since I have left this ward, courtesy of a young doctor who likes to touch up patients like me, and I have grown restless. I will not be leaving with Nurse Beatrix on the prowl as she isn't a toucher, and whether it be a compassionate hand caressing my brow (Nurse Philippa) or the more sexual deviant finger inside my vagina (young Doctor West), human contact is what I need to get out of this room and out of this body for a while.

Beside me the machines that feed me and breathe for me buzz and whir in my ear, momentarily blocking out the nurse's humming. Any moment now she will enter my room, the kind smile she wears when in the company of her colleagues will disappear the moment the door closes and we are alone.

I move my eyes from the closed curtains and the sunshine to the crack under the door and watch as a shadow appears.

'Alright lovie, we can talk about it at first break over a nice hot chocolate,' the hummer tells some invisible staff member as she stops outside my door.

The door handle moves ninety degrees and in shuffles Nurse Beatrix, true to form her mother hen smile disintegrates the moment the door clicks shut.

'Good morning my little darling, let's get those curtains open and start a new day. How are you feeling today?'

Nope. Instead of the customary greeting which I receive from Nurse Philippa each morning she is assigned to my room, I am not even acknowledged. Nurse Beatrix shuffles her squat middle aged frame around my bed without saying a word. She begins twiddling with the dials on the machines which keep me alive and from the corner of my eye I watch her work.

She doesn't even glance over to me, she just continues with her morning ritual. When she does occasionally talk to me she speaks as though I am an afterthought from her machine twiddling. She doesn't take the time or have the patience to sit with me and let me speak. She has, after all, a schedule to keep. I am not the only prisoner of their own body she has to watch over on her rounds.

'Good morning sweetie,' Nurse Beatrix sighs as though it was too much to have to communicate with this statuesque patient. She then turns her back to me and without any warning yanks open the curtains.

An explosion of light engulfs my vision and forces my eyes shut.

' _What the fuck Lady!_ ' I scream out internally as she switches on the TV and turns the channel over to some morning talk show she enjoys. It's not as if I'm going to complain about her choice of programme, room 203's resident ornament. Beatrix turns from the TV and looks over me vacantly; I suppose mimicking my very expression. She then moves around the bed to my side and busies herself with plumping up my pillows.

' _Please touch my hand, please Lord have mercy on the statue and let this fierce fake fat fucker touch me, even mop back the hair which is in my eyes._ '

The Lord isn't listening this morning and so here I remain.

'The orderly will be along soon to take you for a bath. I will pick out a nice summer dress for you to wear for when your grandparents come to visit at one,' she says almost to herself, as if reciting the morning's tasks so that she doesn't forget.

There is no chance of escape through the orderly bathing me as they always wear gloves.

'There is also a pile of letters in reception for you which I will bring up and we can read together after your bath. I believe it's somebody's thirtieth birthday today. Well many happy returns.'

So sincere.

So thoughtful.

So utterly fake.

As if reading in a mono-symbolic tone from a page in front of her.

Nurse Beatrix then leaves without another word and I am left watching a panel of four ladies not unlike my nurse prattle on about grandchildren.

I close my eyes to try and sleep, the only physical function I am still able to control in this prison, but sleep will not come. My mind will not release me from this body which will not work and will not die. My only sanctuary right now are my dreams. I dream of being back at home with my grandparents. I dream of before the accident, working with the Red Cross in Africa. I dream of the carefree young girl at university and the "lifelong" friends who, after the accident, visited the obligatory once or twice to prove they were "real" friends and then vanished without a trace.

Most of all though I dream I am with my dad. He would have visited me every day had he been here. I dream I am still a little girl, before he was gone, and him wrapping his great big arms around me telling me everything will be alright in the end.

Oh how I yearn for the end.

2

BILLY: HANGOVER FROM HELL

I'm hung over, my eyes feel like they're bleeding, my head is about to explode all over the lecture theatre, and now the Professor is talking to me. Of all the people he could have picked on he decided I was the best victim. Isn't that just dumb luck?

'There is nothing any more special about you than there is the rest of this class, so why is it you cannot do what everyone else does?'

That's Professor Johnson, and he doesn't like me because I'm not enjoying his class. The reason for this is because I never really wanted to study genetics in the first place. I am doing it to try and please my father, who is Professor Johnson. Imagine telling your only child that he is not special. Tut tut tut daddy and you're wrong.

'I'm not a sheep,' I tell him, and listen to a few muffled laughs echo around the auditorium. He smiles and then turns his back on his students who are all waiting for his next move, all eager, pens poised and ready to strike down upon their notebooks to scribble whatever the master may drivel. It really is pathetic, I mean we all know that we descend from apes, that our DNA is ninety eight percent identical and at some point many moons ago we decided to swing down from the trees and walk, and then continue walking. That is fact, and I understand how people like to know where they're from and how they think studying our ascent to the planet's dominant species will ultimately hold the key to predicting where, as a species, we will go next, but come on. It's sunny outside, I'm still half-drunk from last night, and I want a top up beer with my mates down the pub.

Professor Dad turns with my essay paper in his hands and clears his throat, 'Well Mr William Johnson...'

Ouch. He knows I hate being called William.

'...on this occasion you are in fact special. When asked to discuss where next you think evolution will take this planet of ours and its species you chose superheroes and superpowers...' Another echoing of sniggers, this time at my expense, '...and for this you have received and extra special super F. Perhaps for next term you might think about switching to a Creative Writing course because the scientific world isn't yet ready for red capes and invisible men.'

Now they're all laughing at me.

What do they know?

Dad...ur, I mean Professor Johnson is smiling, revelling in his spotlight. He's enjoying watching his only child squirm when he should really be sticking up for his offspring. Isn't that part of the way of the world, to give life and then defend that life from all predators? Look at him, down there in front of the class. He's like the aging wilder-beast which pushes it's calf towards the pouncing lion so that he can make a swift escape. The bastard. I'm telling mum.

Perhaps I should explain the essay. Having studied the evolution of life on earth, from the first single celled organism and then moving forward a couple of hundred million years to when fish heaved themselves out of the water and took their first steps on land, and then onwards still to apes and then us, it appears we have evolved as much as any species might ever hope to. I mean, what else is there for us? Are we going to one day wake up with another head? And if so what purpose would that have apart from to greatly annoy the original? My essay was a serious theory of where humans as a species might be heading (excuse the pun).

Who was it that said people typically only use about ten percent of their brains? Was it Albert Einstein? Possibly, and although I know what was meant by this is that at any one given time only ten percent of the brain's neurons are firing, it still makes you think. In my essay I asked a big 'what if', and I'm classing that what if as the same 'what if we get down from the trees and walk for a bit?' the apes once chose but...what if telekinesis, teleportation, invisibility and flight is our next step? Would it be possible to unlock some of that other ninety percent of our brain power to achieve this, fire up a few more of those neurons? And have people been living amongst us for centuries having mastered these feats? Or is this theory so outlandish that I deserved my F and need to stop watching daytime cartoons and reading comics

'Class dismissed,' Professor Johnson announces.

I stand up. No more lectures for the week, it's Friday and now I can get back to doing what University students do best...

'William, could I have a quick word please?'

A couple of my fellow students turn and smile on their way out of the lecture theatre. I slowly sit back down and begin packing up my laptop case, head down flat on the table and now pounding even worse than before. Why oh why do we drink? Now that's an essay question I know I could answer and receive an A for.

The theatre clears and dad makes his way up to where I'm sitting, smiling the sympathetic smile I remember as a boy. The Professor's disappeared now; it's just me and my dad.

'How are you Billy?' he asks.

I shrug, not really wanting to make eye contact because then his suspicions will be confirmed. Bloodshot eyes = drinking too much and squandering my only chance of a decent degree following in daddy's footsteps.

'I'm fine,' I tell him, shrugging again, and he nods at me and passes across my essay paper.

'It's an interesting theory Billy...'

'It's not mine,' I tell him and he smiles.

'Had this class been about dissecting comic books you'd have been spot on in your essay, but it doesn't quite cut it for this class. Just keep your head down son, get your degree, and then the world is for your taking. You don't ever have to think about another form of natural selection or DNA strand again after next year if you don't want, but please just study hard now and choose the right path.'

I nod and dad stands up, patting me on the back and then making his way back down to his desk at the front of the theatre. For a while I stay seated. For how long I'm not sure. It was those last four words which dad had said to me that kept me stuck to my seat.

_Choose the right path_.

Was this the right path for me?

A first in Genetics and then off to spend my days in some lab somewhere studying the mundane, the occasional field assignment to the greenhouse counting how many types of tomato plants evolved from their one common ancestor. Is that the path I am destined to walk down? Because I want more than that and I know somewhere inside there is more for me in this world than that, I just need to find it...but first a pint.

3

SOPHIE: ROUTINE

Routine, this is what defines my existence these days. At eight o'clock each morning one of the nurses or doctors will arrive at my room. My machines will then be checked over, a few twiddles of knobs and buttons pushed. A clipboard with data which hangs by a hook at the front of my ventilator is consulted, something is written down and the clipboard is returned.

Some of my visitors talk to me while this task is being carried out (Doctor West, Nurse Philippa), others (Nurse Beatrix) prefer silence or the drone of the TV to mask that silence. My curtains are opened and I am checked over.

Because of the extremities of my condition I cannot control any of my bodily functions. A machine helps me breathe, tubes feed me, and orderlies bathe and change me each day. The only thing I can control is my eyes. I can blink and I can move my eyes around the room I have become so accustomed to, and because of this I can also communicate with the more patient staff.

I also have a computer which hangs from the ceiling above my bed. With a special pair of glasses that are calibrated to respond to my eye movement and transmit the signal to the computer I can control the on screen cursor. A pronounced blink of my eyes 'clicks' the cursor, and with this technology and the software on the computer I am able to key in text, if what excruciatingly slowly, and the audio system relays my letters, words, and sentences into the spoken word. I also have the internet which often holds off boredom. But there is of course a catch. I need someone to turn on the computer and put the damn glasses on my face.

Nurse Philippa always switches on my computer, and has the patience to listen to me and read to me. Nurse Beatrix does not, and Doctor West, I think, almost had a heart attack the day my grandparents came to visit with this state of art piece of machinery. I will not tell anyone of the Doctor's extracurricular activities with his fingers though; he is a doorway from this prison, my day release.

Once my day has begun I am then left for a short while before the orderly comes to take me for a bath. Always wearing gloves my bather will wash me economically and it is not exactly the candle lit exercise in relaxation I had been used to in my other life, before the accident. No bubble bath, or bath salts, or soft music playing, instead I am hauled out of my wheelchair and onto a gurney which then lowers into shallow, lukewarm water. I am quickly sponged down with as much tenderness as you might offer when washing the dirt from your car's windscreen. A quick soaping up followed by a jug of water splashed over me to wash the suds away and I am done, the gurney is lifted out of the bath and I am thrown into a thin dressing gown. Twice a week my hair is washed too, who says life isn't without its little treats?

I am wheeled back to my room, often shivering, often unnoticed. The orderly then disappears and I am left to admire whichever wall I have been left in front of. Then I wait. A lifetime can pass before anyone arrives to dress me and in this time I may shut my eyes and escape into my thoughts, living an entirely different existence, children, a loving husband, a home in the country, weekends spent at the seaside sailing and playing with the kids in the surf. The sun beats down on my fully functioning body and I can actually feel the heat, taste the salt from the water which splashes up into my face.

I often have such lucid daydreams that when I 'wake' I wonder if in fact my mind has it the wrong way around, that my dreams are actually reality and this, this room, is a night terror I cannot escape. If only this was true.

After an undisclosed amount of time my favourite nurse, Nurse Philippa, will often be the one to come and dress me with the same orderly who bathed me earlier. My clothes hang in the small wardrobe in the corner of my room, constant reminders of the places we have been together and the things we have seen. Now when I wear these costumes from my past they are never lived in, these days I am nothing but an oddly shaped clothes horse. Most of my clothes do not fit properly anymore and drown my frail frame. Locked in Syndrome certainly is one hell of a weight loss programme, that's for sure.

Despite the staff dressing me there is never any skin on skin contact, hospital rules says that gloves must be worn for this procedure.

If only this was not so, I would have the opportunity to escape, for mine and my host's minds to swap over and for me to be free. I have to concentrate though. The first time it happened I was daydreaming, off climbing mountains in the Andes, and I hadn't noticed Nurse Philippa enter the room. The next thing I knew she was leaning over me to brush my hair and...well, I don't know what happened. That was the first time.

Once I am dressed I will either get to return to my bed or stay in the wheelchair, and because I am a super-efficient mass of broken body, breakfast as an occasion, a meal, can be skipped. My trusty machines do all those inconvenient time consuming things for me. Breathing, eating, swallowing, these are things I no longer have to worry myself with, and so there is no break-up of the day once I am dressed other than the nurses visiting to check I am still alive, and when I get my almost daily visit from my grandparents.

Sometimes they will stay for hours, telling me about how the family is, reading to me, and with the help of my computer we also have stunted conversations.

My granddad always tries to hide it but I can see the heartbreak in his eyes, the tears only just held back. My grandma is more positive and practical for me compared to granddad's sorrow and regret, a true fighter who, if I'm honest, has been the one to instil that tiny glimmer of hope inside me. She talks about specialist doctors she is in contact with and a few have even visited the hospital to run tests. Each doctor has come to the same conclusion, that there is a very specific part of my brainstem which is damaged, the connection point between brain and body, thought and physical.

Time and time again these doctors have given us the same prognosis, that Cerebromedollospinal disconnection is an affliction which there is no known cure for. That I should be thankful I do not have total locked in syndrome where by my eyes would be paralysed like the rest of my body, making communication of any kind impossible.

'Unfortunately it is extremely rare for a patient to have significant motor function return to them,' each doctor would end with.

My Grandma would scoff each time this life sentence was handed to me from all of the different doctors, the eternal optimist.

'But there have been recoveries?' she would ask each time, already well aware of how many people in the world have recovered totally from LIS and having even met one of them to try better to understand the hell I go through with every waking moment.

'Well yes but...' the doctors try but there is no telling my grandma that I won't recover from this terrible affliction. After six month and twice as many specialists grandma has now focused her energy on getting me home.

From what I have learned over the years, my granddad made a fortune through amassing a large property portfolio back in the sixties and seventies. This meant he was able to retire early and live a very comfortable life from the income those properties made. It also meant when grandma told him they were going to transform their ten-bedroomed estate into a 'Sophie friendly environment' he set forth, bank card in hand.

The first thing they bought was my computer, next they hired a full time nurse for when I am released from the hospital (Nurse Philippa will be a welcome addition to the household) and sought her council over how the house must be modified to enable a comfortable 'life' for me.

During my grandparent's visits my grandma will always disappear to find a doctor to harass about my release, it has been nine months now and still a parole date has not been set. While grandma is out fighting the world on my behalf my granddad sits with me and we talk. One side of the conversation is crackled and ageing and the other side sounding robotic with no sense of tone, words with no illumination which often bothers me. My computer will translate my thoughts into spoken words but it cannot express the feeling I wish to convey.

We talk about a lot of things but my favourite theme is when granddad tells me about my dad, about what kind of a man he was, although the stories he tells me are never of when dad was a child and granddad often gets dates mixed up and I'm sure people too. Like the time he and dad drank a case of beer each the night of the moon landing (my dad was born in 1968 so would have been a year old at the time). Or how at grandma and granddad's wedding in 1958 my dad delivered a knock out best man's speech which had everyone in stitches...I suppose granddad is getting old bless him.

Mostly he will talk about how much my dad loved me. He will tell me about when I was a toddler and my dad taking me to the park at the weekends with a friend of his, but he will never mention my mum. I know that she left when I was just a baby but the reasons for her departure elude me.

Eventually and reluctantly my grandparents leave. They promise they will return in the next few days and as I watch my company vacate my cell and its door clicks shut I am once again alone. I will then silently sob, my cries deafening inside my head but even at the height of my emotional state my sorrow and frustration remain confined. An outside observer would only see the statue before them.

The similarities between my life here in room 203 and that of a prison inmate are not lost on me. The only real difference being there is no parole for a victim of Locked-in Syndrome, my sentence is indefinite.

I have a secret though; I have found a doorway out of my cell. I cannot explain it, nor do I try to think too much about how it came to be because rationalization would surely send my mind the way of my body. My 'day releases' are infrequent and rely upon good natured doctors and nurses, although as I have explained before in the case of Doctor West his intentions are more primal lust than compassion. Even so his touch, like the rest of them, opens up my secret doorway and freedom from my broken body. This is the only real thing which keeps me going from day to day, that glimmer of hope that my routine will be smashed into oblivion by the touch of another. In the case of my grandparents, who frequently hold my hand and kiss my forehead during their visits, I would not try to jump with them. This is a strange magic which I possess and I would never put anyone I love into harm's way of the unknown.

My days here consist of routine but very soon that routine will be broken. Tonight when Nurse Philippa comes to me I will ask her to hold my hand and I will escape. Call it a birthday treat, to walk and talk and not have to rely upon machines to breathe for me.

Tonight I will have my freedom

4

BILLY: DOWN THE PUB

It is raining outside now and in some strange way this seems to add weight to my hangover. I've got to wonder if I have that Seasonal Affective Disorder because as soon as the sun comes out my mood tends to brighten up. Living in the north west of England though this happens very rarely and I spend most of the year depressed for no reason. That, I suppose, is why I find myself in the pub more often than not. More than living a typical university student's life, I find I am depressed and then head off to the pub on a daily basis. Hell, I even have my own table at The Moon Under The Water on Deansgate. Upstairs, pass the bar, and head into the corner and you will see me there most of the time when I am not in lectures. Sad isn't it? But hey, that's the name of my mood disorder. I've tried the happy pills but the only thing that brings me out of my depressive daze is the sun. I'd make a rubbish vampire.

I'm here now, sitting at my booth reading through the comments dad wrote on my essay when Paul walks upstairs and makes his way over.

'Alright pal?' he asks and sits down across from me, sliding over a pint and then hissing.

'What?

He nods in front of me at the glass, 'don't you think it's a bit early for the whiskey?'

I shake my head in response, 'I blame the weather.'

'Oh yeah, right,' he laughs, 'the weather, the perfect excuse to drink hard spirits on your own in a badly lit booth in a pub in the middle of the day.'

He's just trying to get a reaction out of me but I'm not biting, not today, I'm too depressed. Did you know that this year there were just eighteen days of sunshine? Eighteen. What kind of a joke is that?

'I've just come from speaking to your dad,' Paul tells me and this time I do bite.

'My dad or Professor Johnson?' I ask, because there's a difference. My dad taught me how to swim and ride my bike; Professor Johnson simply teaches me that my essays aren't worth the paper they're printed out upon.

'Urh...well both, kind of. Professor Johnson seemed a bit distant when I asked him a question about Charles Darwin but then your dad kind of took over, swinging our conversation around to you.'

'Me? Why, what was he saying?'

Paul shrugs, 'I don't know, he asked me if I'd read your essay and I told him I had and I thought it was good, and then somehow we got onto your sleeping pattern.'

'My sleeping? You didn't tell him about my nightly falling sessions did you?'

A grimace on Paul's part followed by a slight nod and then, 'yeah I mentioned them, and he appeared concerned.'

'Of course he did. He's wants to know if I'm pissing all of Granddad Johnson's hard earned money I inherited last year up the wall.'

'Your Granddad died last year? Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't know, you didn't mention it at the time.'

I smile, 'I never met the guy, dad told me he died when he was young and left a load of money, some of which I inherited upon my twenty first birthday.'

Paul shakes his head, 'but how does your sleeping patterns tell him you're on the piss all of the time?'

'It doesn't, but he'll assume my interrupted sleep patterns are because of drinking. What exactly did you tell him?'

A shrug, a sip of his pint, and then, 'just that there was a point when you were jumping, or falling, a lot in your sleep and that it has calmed down a lot recently. Anyway, have you got that sorted yet? You said you were going to go and see someone.'

I nod a yes to this but the truth is I haven't seen anyone. I don't know what causes my slip from almost sleeping back into real life and usually a heap on the floor. There was a point during what pitiful summer we had that it was happening every night, ten times a night. I hardly slept a wink for weeks but it didn't matter because there was sunshine and those warm rays seemed to energize me.

'He also asked if you'd give him a ring this weekend.'

I frown at this and Paul lifts his hands to his face in defence, muttering something about a gun and a messenger. Why the hell would he want me to ring him? We don't do phone conversations. Usually it's a voicemail asking me to give my mum a ring, that she hasn't spoken to me for a while and she'd like to hear my voice. What on earth would I have to talk about to dad? Genetics? Biology? Charles bloody Darwin?

'Anything else?' I ask a little too harshly. That's another thing about me when it rains, I can be a right twat with people.

'Well,' Paul says, reaching into his satchel, 'I was going to put something across to you which I think you'd like, but if you're in your twatty mood then I'll ask someone else if they'd like to accompany me and my family to our Christmas retreat in Cape Town.'

I grin. Despite the rain Paul has managed to drag me out of my SAD depression and my hangover in one swoop. Christmas in Cape Town, South Africa, sun, ohh glorious sun.

'When?' I ask, now eager.

'Next Saturday. Straight after we break up for the Christmas holidays. One of Lisa's mates couldn't make it so there is a free ticket going if you fancy it?'

I laugh out loud, 'of course...Christmas in the sun and the prospect of seeing your sister in a bikini on the beach, what more could any red blooded male ask for?'

'Fuck off Billy, she's too young and innocent and you're trying to use the fact that you know she has a soft spot for you to piss me off.'

I laugh again, 'no mate, Lisa is madly in love with me and she's not too young at all. She's nineteen, and contrary to what you might think with those brotherly blinkers on she is not a virgin.'

'Don't,' he tells me with a smirk as I embark upon our age old argument.

'How old were you when you lost your virginity?'

'Fifteen,' he sighs, bored already because we have echoed this conversation a million times before.

'And how old was the girl you scarred for life with your tiny pickle?'

'The same,' he adds.

'And she probably wasn't half as fit as your...'

'Okay, I've heard it all before,' he interrupts, putting up his hands to stop me. 'Yes or no right now, are you coming?'

I nod.

'That's fantastic because now you can be my winger.'

I raise my eyebrow, 'winger?'

Paul nods. 'Lisa's mate is an absolute stunner and I reckon I can get in there.'

'That too is fantastic' I tell him, 'because then we can double date. You and this bird and me and...'

'You're not shagging my sister Billy. No way, no how, she's my baby sister, you're my best mate, and I don't want to have to choose sides when you eventually get bored and dump another one.'

'Ok, ok, I'll leave her alone; I won't speak to her, or look at her, ok?'

Paul nods, 'Good. You can have anyone else, the bikini clad world is your oyster, but if I find out you've shagged Lisa while we're away I'll burn your passport and return ticket on a barbecue and you'll have to figure out another way of flying home.'

Charming, I think, and then I shake on it. Lisa will be disappointed though, especially since we have spent the past two months seeing each other in secret. Paul will come around eventually, I mean, it's not as if he'd really try to kill me if he caught me in bed with his little sister.

5

SOPHIE: BIRTHDAY WISHES

'Now we want you to look presentable for your grandparents on your birthday don't we dear?'

Nurse Beatrix, droning on as per. She hasn't bothered to make eye contact just yet but she has only been in the room twenty minutes so there is still time.

Nurse Philippa is on the late shift today so I am stuck with Beatrix's dress sense and no way of communicating my distaste for the clothes she picks for me to wear. Earlier she mentioned putting me in a nice summer dress but now it's come to the crunch she selects on old tweed skirt, floral blouse, thick tights, and an old grey cardigan.

Ten minutes later I am wearing what a fifty year old spinster deems 'presentable' and feel absolutely miserable. Nurse Philippa would do my makeup and maybe plat my hair; Nurse Beatrix scrapes my greasy hair back into a greasy ponytail. Fortunately before she can do any more damage to what little constitutes as my self-esteem these days, grandma and granddad come bustling into the room.

'Happy birthday my darling,' grandma announces as she skips across the room to where I am sat in my wheelchair and gives me a huge hug, plastering kisses all over my face. My inward smile levitates my mood, it has been two days since they last visited and it feels like it has been months.

Behind her, granddad sets down three bulging carrier bags and gives me a smile and a wink before setting himself down too.

'Ok now Nurse Beatrix, we will let you know if we need anything,' grandma tells this morning's 'carer' as she leads her out of the room. 'That woman,' grandma says as the door shuts, 'she would have hung around all afternoon if I hadn't shown her the door. Remember last month when she kept hovering around while we were here Alan?'

Granddad nods.

'Asking us about what our plans for dinner were later that evening? It's almost as if she was waiting for an invitation.'

Granddad rolls his eyes and winks at me again and I too roll my eyes, one of the last little tricks I am still able to accomplish.

'Ok Sue, sit yourself down and let's get cracking with these prezzies.'

Granddad then stands and switches my computer monitor on, wheeling me besides my bed so that I can see the monitor. He then opens my bedside drawer and fishes out my glasses, placing them onto my face and touching the small sensor on the side of them to switch them on. The computer beeps, recognising the software and then the starter screen, my custom starter screen, appears on the monitor. The qwerty keyboard slides up from the bottom of the screen and I begin to key in the letters.

t h a n k y o u f o r c o m i n g t o d a y b e a t r i x w a s d o i n g m y h e a d i n a n d l o o k w h a t s h e d r e s s e d m e i n

I hit the speech button and the computer separates the letters into words and a robotic voice expresses my message.

'That woman,' grandma says, shaking her head. 'Is nurse Philippa working today?'

3

Grandma checks her watch and I consult the wall clock. And silence. There are often many silences on these visits. Despite grandma trying to talk none stop to ward off those silences even she has to pause for air now and again.

w h a t i s i n t h e b a g s

Granddad smiles, 'why don't we have a look?'

For the next half an hour they read birthday cards out to me from well-wishers who have never bothered to visit. There is a huge 30th birthday card signed by all my 'close friends' which granddad reads out.

'Get well soon Soph, You're one in a million, Miss ya lots chick, See you soon mate...' and lots more mindless drivel from the people in my former life who think writing a few words in a birthday card somehow makes up for not once visiting me. I'd like to think if it had been one of them stuck like this I would have visited but then again having spent the majority of my adult life as a doctor for the Red Cross I was very rarely in this country. Granddad tells me not to harness bitterness towards these people. That these friends still have their busy lives to be getting on with and it might be difficult for them to see me like this. On some days I agree with him but on others I despise these people who were my friends and I despise the carefree lives they continue to live.

Next we unwrap some presents.

A handful of new movies to watch on my computer, pairs of socks (of course), a beautiful lilac cashmere scarf, perfect for when the weather turns in this temperature controlled hospital room, or for those long walks in the wilderness no doubt, a huge makeup set for them all to spruce me up like a doll...I begin to grow bored of these gifts which are utterly useless to me and become eager for the bag from which they are pulled out of to empty.

There is one birthday card which my grandparents have not opened and read to me yet, the birthday card from my dad. Every year I would find a card from him, it would always be the last one I would open, and to this day I do not know if it was granddad writing as my father or that dad wrote out multiple cards, one for each year of my life. I have never asked my grandparents. In truth I have never wanted to know the reality of the annual card's origin. Some mysteries are better left unanswered.

At some point during the present opening I must have dozed off because when I wake silence greets me. I quickly scan the room and see my granddad asleep on the chair next to my bed. Grandma must have left to wreak havoc on the ward.

W a k e u p o l d m an

Granddad opens his eyes and smiles, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze, 'sorry angel, you're not the only one who tires of your grandma's constant prattling on.'

h a h a

He sits up and surveys the wrapper strewn room and shakes his head, 'I told her we shouldn't go over the top with these gifts. Most of which you are unable to use right now.'

g r a n d m a l i k e s t o t r y a n d a c t l i k e e v e r y t h i n g i s n o r m a l

'Amen to that,' he pauses for a moment, letting out a deep sigh, 'I'm guessing you've noticed your dad's card wasn't amongst the pile?'

y e s ? ? ?

'It's at home, and there is a parcel with it. I didn't bring it for a reason, because after this birthday card they stop and I want to talk to you about that and about your dad.'

Silence.

There are so many questions I want to ask but not like this. There is one question which I need to ask now, a question which has haunted me for twenty one years.

h o w d i d d a d d i e ? ? ?

Granddad bows his head into his hands and when he looks back up into my eyes tears roll down from his. 'I'm sorry Soph but I can't tell you here. There are things about your father that you must know but not here and not now.'

He leans forward and kisses my forehead and for a moment I am tempted to jump, to take over his body and run all the way home, to find dad's letter and the parcel and rip them open, to try and make sense of this. As I look into those tired teary eyes though I know I don't have it in me. For one thing, to jump into an elderly man's body...I simply don't know what affects it would have on granddad. The stress could cause him to go into cardiac arrest and then which body would be privy to the heart attack? Would I find myself trapped in granddad's body while his life slowly ebbed away, all the while with him looking on in horror, frozen as Sophie? Or would the stress follow granddad into my useless cocoon where I would watch myself die and then spend the rest of my days living as an elderly gentleman?

I guess it would be granddad's body which would suffer the heart attack, physics being what it is but then how am I able to do what I do under the laws of physics? Even so, neither of these scenarios are the reason I do not jump. It is because I love this man before me. From the age of nine granddad became the only father figure in my life and I will always love him as a father.

Even so, there are still questions which I need answers to and the first inkling of a plan has begun to form as Nurse Philippa opens my cell door to say hello.

6

BILLY: FALLING

I can't be sure what time I was finished drinking the last of my whiskeys. It was possibly moments before the barmaid refused to serve me another drink on the grounds I couldn't even stand up properly, never mind walk straight. It was kind of those two door supervisors to help me down the stairs, although they needn't have pushed me out of the doorway quite so hard so that I almost tripped and landed in the middle of the main road in rush hour traffic. How I got back to the house is beyond me, and I should really remember this as it was only a few minutes ago.

Did I get a taxi?

Yes, I must have done.

Was I sick on the way home in the taxi?

Using the garden gate as a means to turn back around and survey the way I have just walked/staggered/lunged, by leaning on it and swinging back and forth, I can make out that yes I did in fact get a taxi and yes I was in fact sick, on the road and a bit on the door of the black cab.

I wave at the taxi driver who is now wiping my vomit from his baby and I think he waves back. I can't really hear what he has just said but that doesn't matter, I'm pissed, nothing matters.

Using the garden hedge to steady myself I start my long and perilous journey to the front door. Key in my hand...no, wait, that's not my key that's a cigarette lighter...but I don't even smoke? Where the fuck is my key? No matter.

I land on the doorstep with my head and relax. It's comfy down here on the pebbledash pathway, and look, the clouds are parting and...and it's sunny. For the first time in over a month the sun's rays massage my aching winter ravaged body. I've missed you sun, but I'll be seeing a lot more of you soon when I arrive in Cape Africa in South Town for Christmas. And Lisa's going to be there too. I love Lisa, she's so fantastic and...

'For fuck sakes Billy, what the hell are you doing lying on the garden path,' Paul shouts at me as he opens the front door and almost trips over my head.

I smile up at him, what a great guy, and say, 'I'm telling the truth on the garden path, not lying, and the truth is you my friend are my bestest friend.'

He rolls his eyes at me and I laugh at this, accepting his hand as he pulls me up to my feet.

'I only left you two hours ago, how the hell did you manage to get into this state in such a short time?'

I shrug, sensing with my acute sense of sensibleness that this is a rhetorical question.

'I think you need to go to bed mate,' Paul tells me as he lifts me into the house and we help each other up the stairs and into my room.

No sooner is the door open I manage to stumble the few steps to my bed and fall on top of the mountain of pillows, a precaution for when I am falling a lot in my sleep. Paul leaves the room, closing my door, and I roll onto my back, reaching out to open my curtains so that I can feel that glorious sun on my face again. The curtains and pole come crashing down on top of me but that's fine. I shrug them to the floor and get undressed, lying naked above my covers so that the dwindling rays massage my whole body. I can feel a tingling sensation in my legs, it is moving across my torso and up my neck to my face. I turn over onto my front, feeling energised but at the same time quite drowsy. I need to sleep. I'm pissed and I need to sleep. I close my eyes and the sun is behind my eyelids, momentarily burnt into my retinas and shining bright into my soul. It is growing, engulfing my whole line of sight, the tingling now feeling as though it is moving my whole body, charging me up into a great explosion which does not come. Instead the sun dies out and I begin to fall aslee...begin to fall asl...begin to fall...I'm falling!

My bedroom door slams open to Candy, another one of my house mates, standing there, hands on hips and a bemused smirk across her pretty face. I open my eyes and notice that I am now at the other side of the room and on the floor.

'Bad dream?' she asks and I blink a couple of times before standing up, my feet still tingling from the sun. She throws me a pair of shorts from the pile of dirty washing by the door and I quickly slip into them.

'No, not at all, I was just drifting off and then...' I stop as I glance out of the window. All traces of daylight have disappeared and it is now raining hard. Shaking my head I ask her what the time is, to which she smiles sweetly and tells me it is quarter past nine.

Quarter past nine. How did that happen?

'Paul,' I call out but there is no answer.

'He's out love,' Candy tells me.

'What time did I get home?'

She shrugs and then adds, 'it was before six because I got back then and you were sleeping like a little naked baby on top of your covers.'

Three hours. How can I have been sleeping for three hours? I have just closed my eyes this very second.

'Would you like a coffee? You still reek of whiskey.'

I nod, grabbing my towel which is sort of hanging up over the clothes rack that is my wardrobe, 'I'm going to grab a quick shower,' I tell her as I bolt past her and across the landing to the bathroom.

'You ok Billy?' she asks through the bathroom door to which I groan a yes and jump into the sobering ice spikes which are better at waking you up than any cup of coffee.

Ten minutes later and I'm downstairs sitting at the kitchen table, Candy facing me, cups of coffee between us.

'Did you fall again?' she asks me once she's rolled herself a spliff and lit it.

I nod, 'I guess so, but this time it was different. Usually I have been asleep for moments before I fall, this time it was over three hours.'

She shrugs because she does not have any insight to add into my strange sleeping patterns, and so I too shrug, smiling a little and accepting the spliff as she offers it to me.

I still feel as though I'm half asleep.

Am I, or is this just the hangover kicking in for the second time today?

'Do you ever fall?' I ask my fellow stoner.

'Sometimes. It has never ended with the crash your falls do though. I just jump and wake myself up, happy that the bed cushioned my descent.'

I laugh at this. I wish I could have it that easy. I haven't woken up across the room for nearly four months, and usually the booze helps me avoid any unpleasantness at all. Usually I will get a decent night sleep when I'm pissed out of my head. Why not this time?

I pass the joint back to Candy and she gets up from her seat, coming around the table and giving me a hug, 'you're a strange one Mr. Johnson but I love you for it, now I'm off meeting everyone down the pub, fancy joining us?'

I shake my head, 'nah, I think I'll try a bout of sobriety for the rest of the evening and besides, I don't fancy like going out in this weather.'

Candy shakes her head, and as she picks up her coat and handbag mumbles, 'I don't know, you and the bloody rain. It's any wonder you didn't decide to go to university somewhere along the equator, then you'd have your precious sun almost all year around.' She comes back around the table and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, 'and before I forget, your phone has been going off like mad for the past hour.'

'Shit,' I curse, getting up and heading off upstairs to try and find the stupid thing. I was supposed have given Lisa a call at half past five.

'No wanking in the living room,' Candy shouts up after me.

'Why would I when there's your crisp and clean double bed up here,' I shout back down but she's already gone and with her departure the front door slams shut.

I find my phone in my jeans pocket and check the screen. Shit. Eighteen missed calls from Lisa and three text messages which don't seem all too great either.

IF UR PISSED AGAIN U CAN 4GET RINGING ME L8ER!!!

That was the nice one.

Scrolling down the list I see that dad has rung me too and I then remember Paul's message from dad to give him a ring. I select his name and press call. The phone rings nine consecutive rings before I hear dad's voice, slightly out of breath. He has probably legged it from the kitchen to his office upstairs so that he can receive his telephone call in private. Is he even aware that it is Friday and mum'll be out at bingo so he's the whole house to himself? Probably not, that'll be the old age creeping in.

'Hello?' he answers and I can hear his leather armchair squeak as he sits down.

'Hiya dad it's Billy, Paul mentioned you'd asked me to ring you over the weekend...'

A pause...he'll be trying to recall this particular conversation which he shared with Paul just five short hours earlier. It's the old 'forgetful Professor' routine, fun at first but contrary to my previous remark about dad's memory, he's as sharp as a razor. Alarmingly so actually, he remembers everything.

'Oh, yeah, hi William, I just wanted to know if you were getting on alright. It seems like ages since we've had a chat, however brief that might be, outside of the lecture theatre.'

I smile, 'well you keep setting us a million essays with added reading material every week dad, I'm usually quite busy.'

There's a pause before, 'hmm, and are you still doing most of your work upstairs in the corner booth at that pub?'

'It's quieter than the house and a great place to observe our species taking a step back through the evolutionary process, first by degenerating the ability to speak and then losing the capacity to walk upright. It's great watching the fifth monkey revert back to an image of its ancestors.'

'Indeed,' dad tells me with a stern body to his tone before the old deep sigh and then, 'you are alright aren't you Bill? It doesn't take a genius to work out that you're drinking somewhat excessively. I've seen it a thousand times sitting in on my lectures, the bloodshot eyes, the inability to focus on anything coherent...'

'Dad I'm a university student,' I argue, cutting him off before this turns into another one of Professor Johnson's lectures, 'I'm living the uni life, I'm making the grades, and I'm enjoying a healthy social life. Look, it's a Friday night and I'm not out painting the town red am I? I'm talking to you instead.'

Another quick sigh to say he's satisfied and his worrying is over for the moment, 'Ok. Now what's this I hear about your bad dreams coming back?'

As a kid I could never seem to settle at night. Put me out in the garden on a beautiful summer day and I'd sleep forever, but come night time mum and dad used to say I was like a junkie turning my back on the gear. It was like a fever which never broke but which would constantly turn out hot and cold flushes. Eventually I'd knacker myself out enough so that I would fall asleep, only to be woken from 'bad dreams' which were in fact my old friend the sensation of falling and then waking up with a start. Sleep therapy was an expensive waste of time, the Doctor could find nothing wrong, and so I was drugged every night. This stopped the falling and the sweats for a decade, until I reached puberty and then it seemed my body had bigger problems to worry about. The falling has only really started again in the last year or so, since I've been living away from home and my night dose of night nurse. These days a belly full of beer and whiskey is my night nurse but it doesn't always work.

'Dad, they're not bad dreams, I'm not waking up in the middle of the night crying like a baby and wanting my mum, this is me drifting off to sleep and then suddenly being snapped back to reality so hard I manage to throw myself out of bed' and across the room (although I'm not going to mention that).

'And how often does this happen? When was the last time you fell?'

I check my watch, 'urrrrr...thirty five minutes ago was the last time it happened and it occurs nighty, often several times a night. It's back to the same drill as when I was younger.'

'And they're more often when the weather's warmer?'

'Yep, as soon as the sun is out I'm like a jack in the box all night.'

I wait for the next question, is he going to ask me to name the Capital of Brazil for ten bonus points? I hope not, I'm crap at Geography. Like dad, I'm a little bit of a history buff.'

'This isn't affecting your studies is it William, because if it is I'll enquire about you seeing another specialist.'

'Dad, don't worry. I'm fine...well, I'm better than fine actually, Paul has invited me on his family Christmas holiday to Cape Town at the end of term, and for free as well.'

'That's, that's fantastic...' he stutters and then pauses, probably trying to muster a little more sincerity in his tone because we both know he would much rather have me at home for Christmas. Our family may not be a large one, just dad and Uncle Eric on his side and my grandparents and my mum's sister on hers, but what we lack in size is made up in prezzies. I'm a big kid at heart, '...we'll miss you on Christmas day.'

'Yeah, I know, but you'll still have uncle Eric to play Jenga with, no doubt he'll leave it until late in the evening as usual before turning up but hey...'

'I'm concerned Billy,' dad tells me now, which is just what I need, dad chill out for once in your life. Were you actually born with your stuffy Professor's jacket and half-moon specs on?

'I'll be fine. We're staying at their gated house with swimming pool and...'

'No, not about Christmas, I'm sure you'll have a great time and I wish I was going in your place, no, what I'm concerned about is your sleeping and I don't want you to think that you can't speak to me about anything that might be on your mind. No matter how silly it may sound.'

My phone beeps, call waiting, it's Lucy.

'I'm fine Dad, listen, I've got another call I need to take so I'll speak to you soon ok?'

We say our goodbyes and I laugh at dad's last words. I wonder how he'd respond if I told him I seem to be able to literally catapult myself across my room while I'm asleep? Or if when I told him about...shit, what am I doing going off on a tangent, Lisa's on the line waiting for me to speak.

'Hi there sexy,' I tell her.

'DON'T YOU HI THERE SEXY ME'

Women.

7

SOPHIE: JUMPING

'Hey there Sophie,' are nurse Philippa's first words as she pops her head around the door. She then smiles at my grandparents and tells me that she will be back in a while once my visitors have left.

On cue grandma gets up and scurries after the nurse, probably to enquire once again about me leaving the hospital. Inwardly I smile. If only she knew that by tomorrow morning Grandma would have me back in her house and I'd be sitting at the kitchen table with granddad having a steaming cup of coffee.

There is no time to waste, with grandma out of the room I begin furiously typing out what I need to tell granddad.

i a m g o i n g t o a s k n u r s e p h i l i p p a t o g o t o t h e h o u s e a n d c o l l e c t m y

p a r c e l f r o m d a d

I watch granddad's response as the computer turns the stream of letters into its robotic words. I see an uncomfortableness wash over him and he lifts himself out of the armchair next to me.

'ur...I was hoping I'd be able to have a talk about your dad before you receive the parcel,' he tells me, trying to show a smile, to regain his composure but it is too late. His initial reaction has raised more questions which I need answering.

l e t s t a l k t h e n

Granddad frowns, a rarity, especially around me, and sits back down, taking hold of my hand once again. I look down at our entwined fingers. I can feel nothing. Watching out through these eyes it is as though he is holding someone else's hand.

'Sophie please, this isn't the time. Your grandma will be back any second and I need time to organise my thoughts.

w h a t i s i t

The old man shakes his head and begins to silently sob, lifting up my hand and kissing it hard, 'my darling there are things in this life you could not possibly understand. Even now over eighty years in I still do not understand...'

He trails off and I am left wondering what it is about dad and the parcel he left for me to receive on my thirtieth birthday, over two decades ago.

I look back over at the only father I have ever really had, the only constant man who has ever been in my life. He looks tired, worried, worn down by a secret surrounding my dad which he has carried now for a long time.

He shakes his head and looks back up from my lifeless hand, a quick smile and the granddad I have always known and loved is back. He nods his head and says, 'when should I expect the nurse?'

i w i l l a s k h e r t o n i g h t i f s h e w i l l p i c k u p t h e p a r c e l

Just as the last metallic echo of my computer voice fades, grandma slips back into the room with a smile of her own, 'come on now old man, let us get ourselves off, we've Martha and Donald Jones coming for supper.'

Granddad rolls his eyes and then winks at me. I wink back and then too roll my eyes, the only aidless communication I have. Grandma then smothers me with a thousand wet kisses and promises they will be back on Sunday after church and then they are gone.

Ordinarily the aftermath of visitors is a sad time for me as I sit or lie here in my room alone. The loneliness engulfs me and as much as I try not to let it in, self-pity will often veer its nasty little head and stay for a while. Not now though. I need to prepare myself, have all my actions worked out once I am on the other side of this body because everything must be fluid, my interactions with others must be pleasant but forgettable. Nurse Philippa is my favourite host and while I am 'with her' I always respect the life she lives.

I move the cursor across my computer screen and click on the alarm clock icon. I set it for five. Nurse Philippa's nightshift ends at six o'clock in the morning and she always checks on me just before she is leaving. Next I type out the words PLEASE LEAVE ON across the computer screen and then close my eyes. Sleep always comes to me quickly, lifting me away from this room and taking me on a journey across time and space. I often find myself reliving long forgotten memories when I dream. I am nine years old and dad has taken me to the park with his friend, the giant of a man whose name I cannot remember but who spent a lot of time with us during my childhood. I know that I am nine because this is when the giant man introduces me to his young son. The toddler and I play on the swings while dad and the giant man sit on a bench and watch us while they talk. I wave across to them both and they smile and wave back. The sun's rays are hot today and the toddler runs around none stop, even when I tire.

I call out to my dad and ask what the little boy's name is. He shouts back something but the words are lost in the breeze. Later the four of us eat ice cream and walk around the lake. My little friend falls asleep in his pram when we get to feeding the ducks, tired out from all of that running. I remember him waking very suddenly, his pram violently rocking as he is slammed back into consciousness. He starts to cry and as both dad and the giant man try to sooth the boy, they talk.

'He wakes up like this all the time,' the giant man tells dad, 'I worry that this is the start of something bigger trying to break free.'

Dad grins, looking down at the child, _'you're worried the little man is a chip off the old block Doc?'_

Doc, dad just called the giant man Doc and now a little more comes back to me, the nickname doc and a childhood using this name for the giant man.

Doc smiles and shrugs his shoulders, _'do you ever worry that Sophie might be one of us? It has yet to happen but maybe this generation...'_

'I constantly worry. I worry because I am scared I won't be there for her if she is like us, to try and explain what it is we are.'

_'Don't be worried daddy,'_ I tell him, latching onto his leg and squeezing. I look into the eyes of both adults and receive a look of adoration back from both of them. Dad picks me up and starts tickling me and I scream like anyone would when being attacked with the tickly fingers. I grab hold of his neck and scream for him to stop. Eventually he does and we are all laughing.

_'What's the matter Soph,'_ the giant man doc says, _'don't you like being tickled.'_

I shake my head and as we walk on I hear a distant humming in the air. Dad looks down at me and tells me that he loves me and so does granddad and grandma.

_'And what about Doc?'_ I ask, peering up at the giant man. He smiles and before the humming gets too much I catch him telling me both he and little William also love me very much.

William.

His son's name.

Why had I forgotten that?

As my dream turns lucid I am aware that the humming sound is the alarm I set for five am and I know that any moment I will wake. I hold on tight to dad's neck and tell him that I miss him and don't want to wake.

With a kiss and a big hug, he then whispers something into my ear. I try to hold on, to keep the protective clutches of sleep all around me, but the alarm is now deafening and I can feel my grasp around daddy's neck loosening.

'But I don't want to go. I want to stay here with you.'

He repeats those words again and I open my eyes back in my hospital room. Nurse Philippa was good enough to leave my glasses on while I slept and so I click the alarm off. Those words buzz around my head, a message from my dad from beyond the grave.

Find the Doc.

I blink a few times which is my version of stretching my aching post-sleep body. I can feel the onset of cramp in my left calf and close my eyes, trying to focus my mind as far away as possible until the pain recedes. One of the worst things about being stuck in this lifeless body is without a doubt when the cramps set in, torturing my limbs with a vengeance for not using them. Sometimes I can catch someone to massage the cramp away but this relies upon them paying attention to me, my computer being switched on, and them actually being in the room when the cramp visits. There is no buzzer to alert people of my distress. There is no way of me sounding the alarm. Instead I take my mind back into my memories and I journey back to that little village in Ghana where I spent almost two years.

Find the Doc.

Working for the Red Cross as a Doctor myself I was welcomed to the village and it didn't take long to fall in love with the people. My role was to treat the sick but I spent more time teaching English to the children who were all so eager for knowledge in a community which knew so little of the world outside their own. Far away in the distance I hear my door open but that is in another life, a life of oppression where my body is my cell. The children took to me a lot quicker than the adults. Viewed with suspicion, at first a lot of the community shunned the white woman who wanted to stick everyone with her needles and it wasn't until an outbreak of small pox in the community and their traditional doctor's failure to cure the disease, that my team and I were approached.

Find the Doc.

Through my living memories I hear nurse Philippa's voice calling to me through the haze that separates me now from the present.

I am aware that my eyes are still open but through them I cannot see. I am back in my class room teaching about how the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog to the delight of twenty children.

In the distance a click of the fingers in front of my face.

None responsive.

The pain succeeds and as I leave my children I do so once again with regret.

Nurse Philippa is now by my side checking my chart.

c r a m p i n m y l e f t c a l f

The nurse turns and smiles, sitting down in the chair next my bed and pulls up the leg of my pyjamas, exposing the muscle which twitches uncontrollably. She rubs her hands together to create a warmth I will not feel. Focus. And I watch as she slowly massages my leg.

Nausea.

My stomach starts to roll and a tingling sensation in my head begins to morph into waves before my eyes. I feel like I'm being pushed gently on a swing, my body moves forward and then back again without actually having moved at all. Nurse Philippa is talking to me but now her words are mute. All that I hear is the cracking of electricity. I focus on the nurse's hands working their fingers into my flesh. I feel her energy, like a hot slice of metal burning down into my leg. Within her actions I follow the kinetic connection we both share, the swinging towards those hands becomes faster as the crackling in my ears intensifies. I close my eyes and for a split second watch as I massage the leg in front of me. I open my eyes again and roll into the static which is alive in my head, my mind swings in continuous broad strokes towards the nurse; I take my first lung full of air in a month and cough. In front of me my host coughs, the knuckles on her fingers growing white as she squeezes the paralysed flesh beneath them. I close my eyes again and feel the flesh beneath my fingers, the cool rigidness. I look up into the ghost of a face I once knew so well and then blink and I am back looking at the Nurse although her face has now sagged and is an expressionless void, a shell in which I am to inhabit. I can smell the perfume on my host's neck, some flowery concoction which reminds me of long childhood summers. I blink and my own drawn out face is back before me, another breath of sterile, hospital room air, the crackling in my ears reaching its crescendo. I shut my eyes and concentrate on my breathing, my host's breathing, listening as the static subsides. Breathe. Breathe. I open my eyes and let out a low primeval sigh, standing up on unsteady legs. I feel sick, the nausea has returned but it will soon pass. My host's heart races in her chest and I feel a little dizzy because of this. A wave of tiredness passes over me but I fight it off. To sleep would be to wake up back in my own body. I reach across to my face and take off the glasses which control my computer. Looking down on myself I feel an urge to sob but I push back the self-pity, there is no room in this body for that sort of thing. I then smile and kiss her forehead.

'I'll be back soon,' I whisper to the body which failed me and then leave the room, picking up my new cashmere scarf from the side on my way out. It is, after all, a chilly morning outside.

8

BILLY: MAN'S BIRTHPLACE

'Willie. Slow down, you're too fast, I can't catch you'

'Come on, run faster, try and catch me,' I cry out with glee as we race round the park's open green.

The little girl chasing me jumps out to me, tackling me to the ground and we roll about in the grass laughing.

'Oh Willie,' she says, straightening her long dark hair, 'I wish you were my little brother and not just my cousin. Then we would live together in the same house and have so much fun every day!'

She grabs me around my neck and squeezes, 'I love you Willie.'

I jolt awake to the crash of my knees hitting the fold down table in front of me and I land back on my seat, dazed but feeling no confusion whatsoever. I had fallen and my body had propelled itself upwards, pulling tight my seatbelt and then forcing my knees up in front of me, knocking everything off the table.

Paul slaps my arm a couple of times and laughs, 'Jesus Billy, I think you might have rocked the plane with that jerk.

I smile sheepishly and apologise, to which he grins. On closing my eyes again I am met with the little girl from my dreams. She is, as always, smiling at me. Why does this scene at the park, with dad and Uncle Eric and the little girl keep coming back to me? And cousin? What the fuck?

Trying to understand the significance of this dream or supressed memory, I attempt to work my way back through my life to when I was a kid but my memories fade the further back I go. I can remember going to the park, but Uncle Eric was not with me and dad, and I was old enough to talk in any memories I still keep hold of.

I look around and see Paul is back in the land of the Zeds. I then peer across at Lisa who is watching a movie, and will her to make eye contact so that I can tell her, telepathically of course, to come to the back of the plane so that I can kiss her. Because I am not an X-man, my non-existent telepathy doesn't work and so I resign to watching her watch her movie while Paul snores in my ear.

After what feel like a week, Lisa gets up to visit the little girl's room and I too am up in a flash, following her to the back of the plane, pinching her very fine derriere as we walk.

Once in the toilet I throw myself at her, kissing and groping hungrily until there is a knock at the door.

We both stifle laughter and Lisa sighs, biting her lower lip, 'is this how it's going to be all Christmas, stealing kisses whenever Paul is out of the room?'

I open my mouth to tell her no, that I will tell him about us soon, but am interrupted again by another knock at the door.

'Come on you two,' our stewardess whispers good-naturedly and we open up, me grinning like an idiot and Lisa turning bright red with embarrassment. 'This is not the mile high club flight kids,' she continues with an ' _I've seen it all before'_ smile.

On the way back to our seats, after pinching Lisa's arse once more and her stifling a giggle, I lean over her shoulder and whisper 'I love you' into her ear.

She whispers back, 'I've always loved you,' and then sits down, smiling across towards me as I take my seat back beside Paul.

As I close my eyes once more to feign sleep, I feel the sun's rays move over my face from the small aircraft window. I silently rejoice in that big ball of fire finally showing itself over the early morning African sky.

As a child I was always sickly during the winter, always running up a fever which would come and go sporadically but never really break until spring time, and the months from October 'til mid-Aprilish, affect my health to this day. Dad used to make up stories about it when I was a kid. He'd tell me that because I was born in the summer my body lived for the sunshine and that when there was none, all the little people who worked as a great big team to keep my body running, couldn't see what they were doing. This was the reason I would feel ill. He even incorporated my falling into his story, as my falling has always been much more frequent in the summer months. He'd say it was the little people (who were all called Sammy the cell) working overtime to catch up on the work they missed in the winter because of the dark.

This story, even now, comforts me, and I mention it because all my little Sammys are going haywire right now. One day they are fumbling around in the dark, not sure where they left those important documents which need to be faxed to the brain ASAP, and then, as the plane touches down at Cape Town International Airport and I walk through into the forty degree heat of mid-summer, their shift leader (also called Sammy) announces out of the blue that it's overtime for the foreseeable future.

This is how I feel as we walk through arrivals and outside into the baking heat, that my entire body has been jolted awake, every little Sammy given a sudden burst of energy and now working hell for leather.

Ian, Paul and Lisa's dad, heads off to find the hire car and their mum lights her first cigarette in twelve hours. Paul is busy watching all the bronzed bikini clad holiday makers returning to go back home and this is the moment which Lisa decides to come up behind me and quickly kiss the nape of my neck.

I smile and reach behind me to find her hand and give it a squeeze

In the beginning Lisa and I would flirt, but I think to begin with I was doing it more to wind Paul up. Lisa has always been an attractive girl and Paul has always been all too aware of the attention this has brought her from guys.

I began to take an interest in her after she came home from her year back packing across Europe with friends. She had always had a crush on me, from an early age, but when she returned to the UK she had changed. I'd like to say she left a girl and came back a woman but I know how clichéd that sounds...but when she did get back, and I chatted to her at her welcome home party I found I wanted to spend the entire night talking to her.

She had been away and discovered that there really is a big wide world out there and the possibilities infinite. I found myself drawn to her new outlook on life and the glint in her eye, and we talked, we laughed, we drank, oblivious of the party going on around us. Later, when the party had finished and everyone else had gone to bed, we kissed and I had fallen for her. The next night we slept together and the day after that I told her I was going to one day marry her. She had laughed, hit me on the shoulder, and told me she had wanted to marry me since she was five years old. I guess that's why we work; we have known each other forever. I am almost like a part of the family and have been so since I started playing at Paul's house as a kid.

'Right then, I've found the car,' Ian says as he returns from the sea of vehicles parked in rows under whitewashed metal awnings, 'it's this way.'

We begin to steer our luggage trollies in said direction and Paul approaches and slaps me on the back, 'not a bad flight hey? Just think this time yesterday we were back in the sleet and rain.'

I smile and nod at this, he's right, the journey over wasn't too bad at all.

When we arrived at the airport and had booked our baggage in I had received a phone call from dad. He asked where I was and when I answered Manchester Airport he told me to turn around. Instinctively I did as he asked and there he was smiling like he used to when I was a kid, a smile I have not seen for a number of years.

'What the f... what you doing here old man?' I said as we walked towards one another and he wrapped his arms around me, kissing my forehead which felt a bit strange.

'I've come to see you off haven't I? What, you think because you're off to the other side of the world to no doubt try and impregnate everything that moves around in a short skirt, that you're too old for an embarrassing send off from your old man?'

I tightened my arms around dad's back and whispered my thanks to him. Despite all my Billy-Bullshit-Bravado and the hard time I usually give dad, I was very happy to see him.

As we pulled away dad stepped back from me and wiped his eyes. Silly old man, I was only off on holiday and he was bibbing like my mum would whenever one of her favourite soap characters died.

'Alright dad, calm down on the emotion will you, people are looking.'

I looked around and Paul pointed to the restaurant they were all going to wait and have a drink in and I nodded as he disappeared with his family.

Through the tears dad laughed and said, 'I'm sorry Billy, come on, let's take a walk. What time is your flight?'

'In about an hour or so.'

Dad nodded and then reached into his jacket pocket, taking out a plastic shopping bag and handing it to me.

'What's this, a going away present?'

'Just some light reading for the plane. I thought you'd like it given your penchant for superpowers and red capes.'

I laughed at this and thanked him for the book although the skinflint could have bought me a new copy. Glancing over 'The Divine' it appeared quite weather worn and old. Obviously picking up on my distaste of the book's condition, dad told me that the book was now out of print and had been banned from publication for some time. This sparked an interest and I made a mental note to actually read the thing.

We arrived at a bank of chairs outside a Mac Donald's and sat down, watching people come and go for a while, stuffing their faces with burgers and fries. Dad turned to me and asked how my falling was, to which I replied with a shrug, 'same old same old. Those little Sammies are still banging around in the dark, but not for long. Once I'm out there in the sun it'll be overtime all day every day for them.'

'If anything happens Billy, if anything ever happened to you that you did not understand, you know you can come to me don't you?'

I frowned and shrugged at this as we stood, what was the old man going on about? Probably worrying as usual about me and the choices I make in my life.

Dad checked his watch and then held out his hand, I shook it, and moved in further for another hug.

'Thanks for coming dad, mum rang me earlier to wish me a safe trip but she never mentioned you coming here and seeing me off tonight.'

'I, ur...was just passing,' he said grimacing at his own words.

I nodded, 'course you were. Just happened to have this book with you too eh? No, cheers dad, it means a lot.'

He then gave me an embarrassing thumbs up and as he turned to walk away said, 'There's an email address written in the back of the book, when you've finished it send me a message, let me know what you think.'

I mock saluted him, 'will do dad, see you later.'

And then he was gone, swallowed up by the throng on busy travellers.

The 'car' is actually a 4x4 truck with flatbed to the rear, and while Lisa and her friend Melissa get comfortable in the back of the vehicle, Ian driving and Linda next to him on the passenger seat, Paul and I climb in the back with the suitcases.

The drive to Fish Hook, or Vis hoek as the sign says on our way out of the car park, is an eye opener. Ten minutes into our journey to the coast and I witness the very real poverty which holds the majority in its grip. A fenced off shanty town runs parallel with the road for about a mile and a half. Thousands upon thousands of poorly built shacks with rusting corrugated iron roofs and crude holes in the walls for windows stretch out as far as the eye can see. And people really live in these shacks, often quite large families I am led to believe as Paul gives me a running commentary.

'Amazing,' I tell him and as we turn off the motorway I glance behind me into the car and catch Lisa's eye. She smiles and I watch as her and Melissa then start to giggle.

'What you smiling at?' Paul asks me as I turn back to face stretch of road our vehicle leaves in its wake.

'Nothing,' I am just happy to be here, away from it all, away from my life of pubs, drunken fights, and hangovers. Maybe it is because I haven't drunk myself into a coma for a few days now that is making me feel so alive, my body repairing the damage I have systematically inflicted upon it for so long. Maybe it's the heat and the gentle breeze, and the sun which is filling me with this growing sense of elation. Whatever it is, I feel fantastic.

As the first specks of deep blue edge onto the horizon, I marvel at the wonder of this land. Africa. This is where we all came from, where man evolved and then migrated outwards to end up dominating the planet. This place is our species' first home and it feels a real privilege now to be here.

Growing up, my dad would tell me stories about this place. Not so much Cape Town but more Africa as a whole. He had travelled extensively in his youth and it was our species' first home continent which he had always talked of the most fondly. He passed down stories of my great-grandfather who had fought alongside Churchill in the Boer war, and their capture and subsequent escape from Pretoria after being taken prisoner. He spoke of villages so remote that the inhabitants had absolutely no idea about the larger world outside their territory. As a child the tales of Africa would spark my imagination and I often spent hours in dad's study pouring over maps and picture books of this place. Dad would usually come over from his work at the desk and we'd go through the books together. I'd ask a tiresome amount of questions about every little thing and he would answer my musings with another tale of adventure in this far off land, promising one day to take me here. That day never came but here I am anyway, following in the footsteps of Johnsons who have lived before me, happy to be here and excited for the unfolding of my adventure I might one day tell to children of my own.

9

SOPHIE: THE IMPOSTER

Outside my hospital room I am filled with a sense of dread. This feeling has washed over me every time I have jumped, feeling I am going to be stopped and questioned over the nature of my business. Like getting pulled over in a stolen vehicle and being asked for my licence and registration. It is of course absurd, that anyone in their right mind would question nurse Philippa about her purpose in walking around in her own body, but still this feeling of being an impostor walking about in another's skin stays with me throughout my jumps.

I head down the hallway and pass the nurses station, smiling at anyone I might come into contact with. My feet and hands tingle but I know that will stop within the next ten minutes or so. I head towards the door marked STAFF and sweep the nurse's ID pass across the plastic pad. This is the sixth time I have made this journey so I am becoming quite familiar with my surroundings.

As a patient here I am restricted as to where I might go. I am wheeled to the wash room for my showers and baths; I am taken to the far end of the corridor to the lift which on occasion takes me outside and into the grounds. Because of this I have had to think on my feet when in another's body.

The first time I jumped it had been a brief outing; unable to understand what was happening I thought I was having a stroke or a heart attack. The touch of the nurse had made my body or mind or both react and the next thing I knew I was staring at my own frozen face. Within the matter of a minute I think I must have fainted, and when I woke I was back frozen in my own body.

It had been my second outing, this time having just been sexually assaulted by Dr West that I decided to try and leave the hospital. With the Doctor as a host I was able to walk around unrestricted. Kind orderlies showed me how to operate the swipe machine on each door, probably concluding that I was either really tired or really drunk not knowing how to the open secure doors despite me (Dr West) having worked here for the past three years.

Once in the locker room I had a little bit of trouble finding the correct locker (another Doctor assisted Dr West in the tracking down of his locker and then asked me if I was ok). After assuring my colleague I was fine and just a bit tired I got changed and headed down to the staff car park, jumping in the Doctors little two seater convertible and racing away.

As West I was able to leave without any questions being asked but now I am Nurse Philippa and that is why I waited for the end of her shift before jumping. The nurse will have a rota and people watching her. I have witnessed nurse Beatrix reduce a member of staff to tears because they have been away from their post during shift and I would not want nurse Philippa getting into trouble at a later date by leaving early because of my anxiety to get out into the big wide world.

Jump number three was in the middle of the night. Nurse Philippa had come in to check my vitals and leaned over me to brush my hair away from my face. I had been ready and I had jumped but I knew I could not leave the hospital. The nurse was only half way through her shift and although I could have used the old 'I've taken ill, I need to go home' excuse, people would undoubtedly ask nurse Philippa at a later date when she came back to work if she was feeling alright. Having no memory of leaving half way through her shift this would cause her to ask herself questions I would rather not have asked.

And so on my third jump I spent the night as the ward's night nurse, I made the rounds (fortunately everyone was sleeping and no one was dying), I went down to the cafeteria, ate a tired ham salad sandwich that tasted absolutely sublime having not eaten anything for so long. I interacted with people, spoke, conversed, simple things which I had missed so much. I went through the nurse's locker and found her car keys and sat in her little Nissan for a while, letting the cool air from the air-con wash over me, trying to understand how any of this was possible or if it was even real. I fell asleep and when I woke I was back in my room, in my bed, in my body. Later on that night my host visited me and I watched for any sign that something might be amiss with her. There didn't appear to be but even so, I am cautious with what I do and where I go when I jump.

I make my way into the locker room and head straight to locker number six, fishing out the correct key from the bunch on my belt. I check my watch, 05:56, and pull out the clothes which are neatly folded in a pile. A pair of slim blue jeans, pink t-shirt with a print of a city skyline on it, a lovely soft tortoiseshell pullover which, when I pull it over my head infuses my senses with a soft lavender fragrance. I sit down and pull on nurse Philippa's Ugg boots and as I grab her jacket the locker room door opens. I freeze on the spot. The imposter. Another nurse walks in and smiles at me. I don't recognise her but that isn't to say Nurse Philippa wouldn't. Returning the smile I quickly sling the small sports bag onto my shoulder and leave before any words might pass between us. I check my watch, 06:02. Two minute past freedom.

Nurse Beatrix will now be on the ward but I know from conversations with nurse Philippa that she routinely tries to avoid the women when their shifts collide, so it would not be out of the ordinary to leave the hospital without talking to her.

I reach the lift and as the doors shut I let out a huge sigh, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror opposite me and then turning away from it. It is still an extremely unnerving experience to look into a mirror and be greeted by another face.

I close my eyes. Another wave of tiredness hits. I need coffee or an energy drink to keep the body from fighting me and shutting down, expelling my intruding mind back to whence it came. Something buzzes in my bag and my heart begins to race. I set it down on the floor and open the side pocket. Her phone. Someone is ringing her. Someone called Patrick if the caller ID is to be believed. I take a deep breath and answer.

'Hi there sexy nursey,' the alien voice announces. Why the hell did I answer? I could have ignored the buzzing. Fear. That's why I answered, fear of acting out of the ordinary despite being alone in a lift.

'Hi,' I say back.

'Soooooo, what about it?'

This is my worst nightmare, being caught up in a conversation I have no way of manoeuvring around.

'What about what?' I ask the voice of Patrick noncommittally.

The voice laughs out loud, 'oooooh you are such a tease Miss Bradshaw, you know exactly what. You getting your sexy little arse around here this minute so that I can make you breakfast and then give you a night cap that is sure to make you sleep.'

I smile despite myself. Patrick is obviously the nurse's love interest. My first impulse is to make up some excuse that I can't come around but I stop myself. Something stirs deep in my stomach. A feeling I have been void of for as long as I can remember. Butterflies. This body is lusting after physical contact and if I'm honest, the thought of sex, of the intimacy, of the raw lust and physical gratification sends my head in a whirl.

'Nursey? Philippa?'

I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks flush as I think about a chance encounter with this total stranger.

'How about you come to mine? I'll let you make me breakfast in bed after my nightcap.' Oh my god I am actually flirting with this man.

'Tell me when beautiful and I am there,' my soon to be lover demands.

What the hell am I doing? My plan had been to go to granddad and grandma's house, pick up my parcel, head back to the hospital and deliver the parcel to my room and then head off home, or rather to nurse Philippa's home and get into bed.

'I've a couple of errands to run before I head home,' the voice of nurse Philippa says as I walk into the hospital foyer and head out towards the car park, scanning the half dozen cars for a small red one, 'give me a couple of hours and then I'll be all yours.'

There's a pause on the other end of the line. Have I said something, worded something wrong? Would nurse Philippa have said 'go home' instead of 'head home?'

'I'll see you then beautiful,' Patrick says and then hangs up.

Oh the joys of paranoia.

I put the phone away and stop in front of the nurse's little red Nissan.

I always have to give it a minute before I drive while inside a host. This is without a doubt the most dangerous of times. What if my concentration was to lapse and I jumped back while driving? Although this has never happened, the fear that it could is always there. And then what would become of my host, suddenly finding themselves speeding down the road with no clue how they got there? I always keep this in mind and my mind focused when entering a vehicle while jumping.

I get into the car and immediately open the driver side window. Yes it might be the middle of winter and it might also be teetering on freezing at this time in the morning but the cold will keep me alert and fight off the tiredness. The fourth time I jumped was into Nurse Beatrix and I simply couldn't stay awake. She ended up falling asleep in the hospital cafeteria and I woke up once more entombed in my own flesh, a journey wasted.

I start the engine and push the gear into drive, thankful as always that the nurse drives an automatic. I then pull out and I am away, speeding along the motorway towards my grandparents wondering what the hell I am going to say to granddad when he opens the door to greet his granddaughter's favourite carer.

Forty-five minutes later, as I turn into the little cul-de-sac where I spent my teenage years playing out, I glance at the weak winter sun rising to meet the day and smile. I look up into the hills, following the stone wall which leads up to my grandparents' house, set in the surrounding fields with a little woodland area to the right of the building. I stop in front of the gates and get out of the car, making my way around to the intercom and after a couple of buzzes granddad answers, static crackling on the line.

'Hi there Mr Chesterfield, it's Philippa Bradshaw, your granddaughter Sophie's nurse?'

A pause and more static before, 'yes of course, Sophie told me she was going to ask you to pop by.' The gate begins to open inwards and I feel delighted at the safe familiarity that welcomes me. The rolling fields tarnished with a soft sprinkling of snow which leads up to my home. 'Straight to the top, my dear, I'll put the kettle on.'

As I drive I am reminded of a thousand happy childhood memories. To the left sits my favourite great Oak, a primitive rope swing which I helped my dad put up for me when I was seven years old hangs still in the morning smog. I remember dad spending hours with me underneath that tree, pushing me on the swing or reading to me in the cool shade on hot summer afternoons...I park up in front of the house and granddad greets me at the door with a wave. I smile and wave back as I get out of the car.

'Come on in my dear and get yourself out of the cold. Would you like tea or coffee?'

'Coffee, strong please,' I tell him, forcing a little distance between us as we walk into the house. My initial response to this old man's presence is to grab hold of him and hug him tightly but that would not be what nurse Philippa would do and so when offered, a simple hand shake is all I receive.

'How is Sophie?' granddad asks as he leads us into the kitchen and shows me to a seat at the breakfast bar. I look around me; they have redecorated since I was last here. Gone are the worn wooden worktops and in their place is shiny dark granite slabs. The same battered kettle still stands by the oven though, looking somewhat out of place in this new modern monstrosity but defiant against the winds of change.

'She is doing okay,' I tell him, 'frustrated to say the least but she is trying to remain optimistic.'

Granddad hands me a mug and sits down next to me at the bar, turning in his seat so that we are facing each other. His smile is forced and I can see the sadness in his eyes. Without realising what I am doing I reach for his hand and squeeze it tight. 'It's going to be alright.'

He breaks down, his body deflating and the tears burst from his eyes as he shakes his head and sobs into his free hand, 'I'm so sorry, it is just too much to bear. My little angel stuck in her body like a prisoner. You know as a child she used to be so active, forever running out into the woods and building forts and tree swings, making camp fires and often coming back with all manner of cuts and scrapes on her. A regular tomboy she was....'

I nod and smile, it's true, dressing up and dolls were not something I involved myself with. If there was a tree then I had always needed to climb it.

'What life is she ever going to be able to lead now?'

I shake my head. He is asking the wrong person. This is the one question I have asked myself over and over again in my deepest moments of despair, when all feels lost and I'd rather die than spend another day trapped in my body. What kind of life can I lead as a victim of Locked-in Syndrome?

I shake the nurse's head. There are no words to comfort my granddad. I want to reach out to him, to tell him that inside this body I am here, his Sophie, his princess, but that would be the quickest way of getting thrown out of my home.

'You know I have seen things in my life, things you wouldn't believe if I told you. There are people who can do amazing things that are simply inexplicable. My granddaughter is part of that legacy and she doesn't even know it. Her whole childhood has been surrounded by secrets and lies. Secrets and lies,' he repeats, only this time in a whisper.

'You know you can trust me Mr Chesterfield. I have only Sophie's best interests at heart. I have agreed to quit my post at the hospital when the time comes so that when Sophie comes back here I can give her the care she will need, and if there is anything you feel you need to tell Sophie but don't know how then I am...'

Granddad raises his hand to stop me, 'young lady I believe your intentions are good but my story is for Sophie's ears only, for family. I do not mean to appear rude in saying this; it's just the way it is.'

I smile and nod but inside I scream it's me granddad, Sophie. The inexplicable you talk about is staring you right in the face. You talk about amazing; I can jump into any person's body that makes contact with me. Top that old man!

'Sophie told me she receives a birthday card from her father every year despite his passing many years ago. Tell me about that please.' I place my hand back on top of granddads. He looks so old and weak now, like all his energy has been sapped from his very soul.

He nods; taking a sip of his coffee and then carefully placing the mug back down in front of him. 'Sophie's father, Eric, was a great man. I really don't know where to begin, to tell you the truth, or how much I can trust you not to talk to Sophie about this. It must come from me.'

The nurse lifts up her arms and shows granddad her palms, 'anything you tell me to keep quiet will remain so sir.'

Granddad smiles and shakes his head, leaning back on the breakfast bar stool. He reaches behind him on the floor and picks up a battered leather briefcase and lifts it gently onto the worktop.

As he flicks the catch and the lock springs open granddad looks into my eyes and says, 'I'm sorry but this really is for Sophie to hear from me once she has received her present.'

He then reaches inside the briefcase and pulls out a mahogany coloured leather bound book and hands it to me. I turn it over in my hands.

'The Divine,' I hear myself saying out loud to which granddad nods and turns back to his coffee. Noticing the author's name I then ask him who Mr E might be.

Granddad cracks another smile, this time I can see it isn't forced and I watch as something inside him illuminates, making his eyes sparkle. 'That, my dear, has been one of the publishing world's best kept secrets since the book was first published in 1978. Mystery, or Mr E, is a pseudonym of the author because they had the foresight to realise controversy would plague the book. They were right.'

I frown. But what would a dusty old book published in 1978 have to do with dad? He wouldn't have even reached his twenties in the late seventies. Opening the cover the spine crackles and I'm met with that musty smell which only really old books possess.

'The Divine, first edition,' I read out loud and then look up at granddad who is still nursing his coffee. 'What is this book about to have caused such controversy?'

He shrugs, 'immortality, evolution, angels, and one self-proclaimed devil. Mr E's book was banned in the UK for a decade which made it all the more popular, and now because of the internet and social media, bloggers, online conspiracy theorists, and 'divinians' as the fanatics like to label themselves, this book is soon to be re-published and available to all.'

I turn the first few pages over and read out loud the author's dedication.

For those of you out there, my brothers and sisters who live in the shadows.

I love you all

Mr E

Having never really had an interest in books outside the medical text books I had studied through at university, I am now curious about this particular piece of work. Not least because my father had for some reason intended it for me.

'Was Sophie's dad a big reader?'

Granddad laughs out loud at this, 'Eric? No. He could speak and read in a dozen languages but not once did I ever see him pick up a book.'

'He could speak a dozen languages? Why? How, where did he learn...' I stop. These are not questions the nurse should be asking. These are my questions for granddad and they will come soon enough but from me not my host. She has no right to ask them. 'I'm sorry, Sophie has talked at great length about the things she remembers about her dad and I suppose to learn something new and exclusive...'

Granddad frowns at me with suspicion and I realise, as nurse Philippa, I have over stepped the mark. I close the book and shake my head, 'I'm sorry, you don't need me hammering you down with questions. You will obviously want to talk to Sophie about these things.' He nods and then smiles again, reaching back into his briefcase and pulling out a small padded envelope which has yellowed with age. On the front in simple bold writing, my dad's writing, it says To Sophie.

'I was planning to bring the book and the envelope in for Sophie when we next visited but as you know she can be impatient at times.'

He then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a USB drive, handing it across to me with the envelope, 'the book has been scanned into a file on this drive so that Soph can read it at her own leisure. Please tell her that no matter what, her grandmother and I love her and we will see her on Sunday.

I nod and reach to give Granddad's hand another squeeze. Having now concluded our business he stands up and moves around to the kitchen sink. I quickly finish off my coffee and follow suit, thanking him for the hot drink and thanking him for his hospitality. Upon showing me the way back to the car I turn and ask him a question which response would keep me up all night.

'The Divine? Is it a work of fiction or non-fiction?'

Before closing the front door my granddad shakes his head and tells me, 'if that book was just a work of fiction then there wouldn't ever have been any problem.'

10

BILLY: HIDE AND SEEK

When I was younger I idolised my father. I'd follow him around everywhere and cry when he would leave the house to go to work. My mum would try to console me but it would be no good, my hero had gone, left me for a classroom full of students. I would resent that and I would resent how busy dad always was even when he was around in the evenings.

The hours I'd spend in his study playing with my toys while dad would be busy working behind his desk are some of my fondest childhood memories believe it or not. Eventually dad would stop his work and look over at me playing by myself and come and join me on the floor in front of the fire. We would play trucks, or maybe hide and seek around the house, sometimes we would go down into the cellar and make a 'base' with old boxes and spare blankets. And when it was time for bed it was my dad who would hide with me from the evil tyranny of my mum.

Eventually though the tyrant would have her way and my dad and I were separated. I would be sent off to the POW camp which was also bed, and dad would, I believed at that young age, be _forced_ back into his study to do more work.

On summer days and at the weekend dad would take me to the park with Uncle Eric, and in my earliest memories of such occasions I recall a girl playing with me. She was much older than me and I would follow her around everywhere. Her name now escapes me and I cannot remember if my memory of her is just one occasion which I have superimposed over all my other memories of the park and childhood summer days, or if this little girl was a childhood friend. I was very young, and memories are always open to corruption. The brightest memory might have actually been a dream from long ago which my mind has hung onto and over time those images have been reconstructed as very real memories. Sometimes I think about that girl from my childhood. I wonder who she was and if she actually existed at all and was not just some character from a dream long forgotten which has now come back to haunt me when I sleep.

I have never asked my dad about her and if she really existed at all, but even now when I shut my eyes I can see her vividly, the pretty yellow floral dress she wears, her long wavy chestnut brown hair and her bright blue eyes. She still visits me in my dreams when I am back in the park from my childhood. She pushes me on the swings and we race around after each other. Dad and Uncle Eric watch on and wave at us and this is the one true time when I feel content in my life. Sad isn't it, that only when I sleep do I feel happy with my lot? Then of course my consciousness will violently yank me away from my little friend and I wake up across the room with a crash and usually the last remnants of a hangover still pounding in my head.

I open my eyes and watch the red neon digits on my bedside alarm clock, which is now upside down and on the floor, change from 08:29 to 08:30.

_Willy, come back, I can't catch you_ the little girl's voice echoes into reality

My landing has woken me up with a thud onto the pile of dirty washing besides the door and I groan, rubbing my eyes to be greeted by the sun shining through the window and a naked Lisa asleep in my bed.

Shit. We were only supposed to cuddle for a few moments after our secret midnight liaison and yet here she still is, starkers and in my bed

'Lisa,' I hiss, army crawling back towards the bed. 'Lisa get the fuck up woman, your idea of a few minutes cuddling is completely fucked.'

Nothing, she doesn't even stir. Any moment Paul could...

There's a knock on the door.

'Come mate, wakey time. Let's get down to Boulders beach for a morning swim with the penguins.'

I must still be asleep. Swimming with penguins? We're not in the North Pole.

'Just give me a minute,' I call out to Paul who continues to hammer on my door.

'You're not wanking are you?'

No mate that was hours ago and instead of using my hand, your sister gave me a help in hand so to speak.

'No, I'm just getting up.' I turn back to Lisa and through clenched teeth hiss as loud as humanely possible, 'Lisa get the fuck up now.'

'I'll see you on the terrace in ten then,' Paul tells me and I listen to his flip-flops flip-flopping down the hallway. When they have disappeared completely I spring up and jump onto the bed, trying my hardest not to admire the slim toned body of the girl I love and instead concentrating on getting her the fuck out of my room.

Quickly Willy, faster, faster.

Great, just what I need, remnants of my reoccurring dream getting involved. I shake Lisa to life and she jumps up with a well-placed 'Shit it's light,' jumping off my bed and throwing her dressing gown around her. She smiles and winks before blowing me a kiss and pulling open the door, checking the coast is clear and then disappearing into the hallway.

I sigh and flop down onto the bed, shaking my head. That was a little too close for comfort. Paul would have gone mental if he'd have barged into the room. Four days into the holiday of a lifetime and I very nearly had myself hung drawn and quartered by an avenging older brother.

With the girl who spends her time constantly in my thoughts while I'm awake now dispatched back to her own room, I turn my thoughts to the girl who is becoming more of a regular occurrence in my sleep.

She was there again, playing with the toddler me, chasing me around the park, playing tag with me, playing hide and seek, not being able to catch me because I'm too fast. Why has this memory unearthed itself now? I need to know who she is. I need to find out if she is real and then...and then what? Go searching for her? Rock up at some lady's house with a smile and a 'remember me, it's Willy? We used to play together in the park when we were little?' This is stupid but I can't shake her from my head.

I reach for my phone and unlock it, take a deep breath and then press call.

'I'm sorry the person you are calling is not available, please try again later,' that stupid cheery woman on the other end announces and then hangs up on me. Bitch. I try dad again and get the same response which is strange because dad is always available and even if he is using his phone it should direct me to his voicemail.

I try again once more and am greeted in the same fashion. Dad has his phone switched off.

Let's play hide and seek Willy, you try and find me!

'I will,' I tell the ghost of the little girl barely remembered, and find another number which is stored in my contacts list.

'Hello?' that voice says after two rings.

'Uncle Eric?'

'Billy, how's it going boy?'

Instead of engaging in the small talk which would usually surround the opening of telephone conversations with my family, I jump right in, intrigued as to how Eric will react to my enquiry.

'Who is the little girl from my childhood Eric?'

Silence.

'Uncle Eric come on, speak to me. Lately I have been having vivid dreams of when I was a little kid with you and dad in the park and there is a little girl in these dreams too. Who is she?'

'Billy listen to me,' the only other man I have known my entire life and who I respect to no end says to me, 'you are not ready for this. Have a great time while you are out there in Cape Town, get drunk and eat too much and forget about this.'

'But Eric...'

'Billy do not pursue this. I'm sorry, you want to talk when you get back then we will...'

'No I don't want to talk when I get back Eric, I rang you now expecting you to laugh at me and tell me I've a little girl stalking my dreams, to get a grip but instead you haven't, which means the girl is real, was real...and we were once close.'

More fucking silence.

Who is she Eric?' I ask him quietly and I hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone.

'My daughter.'

'What do you mean your daughter?' I ask a little too quickly. 'Well where is she, what's her name?'

I listen to a defeated half laugh and then, 'Her name is Sophie,' he then hangs up.

Let's play hide and seek Willy, you try and find me!

If it is the last thing I do Sophie, I _will_ find you.

11

SOPHIE: THE SECRET

I am back frozen again. This morning at around ten o'clock nurse Philippa slipped into my room and left me the leather bound hardback book with the unopened envelope on the side table and the USB drive slotted into my computer. I (Sophie) was sleeping at the time and didn't wake. She was then good enough to put my glasses upon my head and switch on the sensor, ready for when I woke up. With nothing else to do I then left in my host's body and headed off to the nurse's home, completely forgetting about the nurse's lover Patrick until the phone rang again. This time I didn't answer. As much as a chance encounter with a stranger would have been nice, I now had to get back to my own body before the nurse woke up.

It is a constant worry that my hosts talk about their encounters with me when I jump. I had jumped into the nurse's body early this morning and now, after four hours, it was time to jump back by falling asleep. That way the nurse would wake up in her bed, possibly a little disorientated and not remembering how she got home that morning but her memories of being stuck inside my body would be put down to a very strange bad dream. There would be no evidence to suggest anything other than just that.

When I arrived at the house I let myself in and went straight to her bedroom. This was my porthole back into my body and almost immediately after my head hit the nurse's pillow I felt the static begin to buzz inside my head.

And here I am back in room 203. As I open my eyes my first thought is the book. I glance across the room at where I had left it on the side table. I wish now I had opened the envelope and read dad's letter but there hadn't been time, fatigue was pushing me out of the nurse's body and I knew I had to move quickly, the four hours I'd spent within my host is my longest jump to date.

I blink at my computer screen and the monitor springs to life, I then open up the file on the USB drive and copy it onto my desktop, getting ready to settle down for a read. Before I manage to open the file marked divine.doc Nurse Beatrix flutters into my room. I follow her around my bed and to my monitors.

Good morning to you too, you rude bitch, I scream inside my head. Fuck this; I haven't time for her messing around, switching on my TV and settling down for an hour of mindless drivel.

p l e a s e l e a v e

Beatrix spins around on her heels to the sound of my computer voice, her smile slipping from her face.

'Excuse me young lady but there is no need to be rude. I am here to help you.'

h e l p m e b y l e a v i n g

As she makes eye contact with me I see that we are in a standoff situation. Beatrix doesn't have people tell her what to do. She runs the ward on her shifts, every member of staff is beneath her and us patients are so far down the food chain we don't even get a smile from this woman. The only time she puts on the fairy godmother act is when family and friends of patients are present, a regular nurse Ratchet that's for sure. So for a patient to make a stand like this, especially a patient who cannot even ask her to leave with her own voice, it must be grating on her.

n o w p l e a s e

Her expression hardens and I see a flash of something in her eyes. Having called her out I have forced her to make a decision, fight or flight. For a moment it appears as though she is going to swallow her pride when she walks towards the door and touches the handle. I never take my eyes off her. She pauses for a moment but then turns back to me, taking her hand off the door handle and walking back into the room.

'You know young lady I cannot tolerate this kind of insolence on my ward. We are here to help you.'

l e a v e m y r o o m I d o n t w a n t y o u h e r e

She smiles at this and moves closer, running her fingers along the chrome bed guard until she is close enough to me so that was I able to, I'd be able to lash out at her.

'How about we switch this off Sophie,' she says, reaching up to my monitor and flicking the button. The screen dies and I am now left without any means of communication. 'There,' she hisses through clenched teeth, 'that will keep the disrespect to a minimum, won't it?'

Nurse Beatrix then moves even closer, her nose just inches from mine.

Please touch me; please let your nose brush past mine, because that is all it will take.

'I think you need to learn some manners young lady. This is not your room, you are a guest here and I am the one who decides how comfortable your stay might be here.'

I close my eyes, showing that I am not listening to her, tempting her to lose control.

She slaps me hard across the face and my eyes shoot open.

Do it again you evil bitch, I promise this time you will not have a chance to recover.

'You silly little girl, do you think I got to this position in life by letting patients order me about like some hotel maid?'

She pivots again, raising her hand to strike and I focus. I focus on that hand. It will be quick, barely a touch before contact is lost. I focus and as the hand flies towards my face time for me slows, the solitary bead of sweat crawls down the side of nurse Beatrix's face, her face contorts with sheer hate, not for me, she barely knows me, I am a mere insignificance. This hate I can feel is directed at my willingness to stand up against her. No one likes to be told to fuck off, especially not some highly strung middle aged spinster who was probably bullied as a child, powerless towards the torment her peers unleashed upon her and that is why now she holds onto her power in this hospital like her life depends on it. That is also why she lashed out at me when I defied her but she won't do it again.

Focus.

Her hand moves downwards towards my left cheek and once again the pendulum swings towards that hand, the static in my ears deafening me. As our bodies make contact, hand to face I open my eyes and immediately step backwards away from my body. I look into those eyes and see fear. She is in there somewhere, crying out; unable to comprehend what just happened.

I take a step forward and grab hold of my face, moving Beatrix's mouth close to my ear and saying, 'you venomous bitch. This is what you deserve. Stay away from me and my room or this will happen again.'

I then turn and grab The Divine and envelope which sits on top, walking out of room 203 for the second time today. I immediately make my way down to the cafeteria, checking my watch. It is ten past eleven in the morning. I spent only an hour in my own body before jumping again.

'Strong coffee please, and a bacon sandwich,' I ask the lady behind the counter and I turn to find a place to sit. As I pay for the coffee the cafeteria lady smiles at me and I walk over to the nearest table, setting out the book and envelope and then sitting down myself. The tingling in my hands and feet begins to subside and I sip my hot coffee, savouring its bitter taste.

I reach across to the envelope and pick it up, turning it over in my hands, watching as dad's unmistakable scribbled Sophie disappears and reappears.

'There you go,' the lady says as she places the bacon sandwich down in front of me.

'Thank you,' I reply and as she walks away I open the envelope.

Inside, as predicted, is my birthday card. On the front there is a picture of a white teddy bear holding a pink balloon with HAPPY BIRTHDAY written onto it. I smile and open the card and another smaller envelope falls out onto the table. I ignore it for a moment and read the inscription in the card.

To my little angel Sophie,

As your grandparents will have told you, this is to be the last birthday card you receive from me. I wish I could have been there for each of the passing years to give those cards to you myself on your birthday but this is how it has had be.

I love you Sophie, and I always will. You are the light of my life and now, on your Thirtieth birthday, I hope that you are happy in your life. I miss you and I will always be there for you.

Dad

xxx

This is the first year I have read one of dad's birthday cards through another person's eyes but even still I can feel the tears welling up. I close the card and kiss the white teddy bear, whispering under my breath, 'I love you daddy' and then placing the card underneath The Divine. I next turn my attention to the bacon sandwich. I need to keep this body fuelled to keep the tiredness at bay. I devour it in seconds, marvelling in the meat's saltiness.

God I miss food so much.

I rip open the second smaller envelope and tip out its contents, two photographs and a folded sheet of paper. The first photograph is of dad holding a tiny baby in his arms and smiling at the camera. He is wearing a white shirt and jeans and he stands in front of granddad and grandma's house leaning on the bonnet of a car. He is how I always remember him, the deep brown eyes and almost black tousled hair, giving way to an easy smile. I flick the photo over and written on the back it says Eric and baby Sophie Feb 1980. I am two months old in that picture.

Placing the photograph down I pick up the second one, this much older, the edges frayed with time. I read the faded inscription on the back, proud Godfather Eric and baby Alan, 3rd September 1938.

Something stirs deep inside me, adrenaline.

The baby in the picture is my granddad. I know this before even flicking the photo over and taking a look because Granddad's birthday is 3rd of September, he was born in 1938 and his Christian name is Alan. I take a deep breath to try and steady the tremors in my hands and turn the picture over. The photograph is black and white or sepia as I believe the correct term for the colouring is, and standing there in much the same pose as before, baby cradled in his arms, is my dad. He smiles out at the camera, the same easy going smile showing anyone who might pick this picture up and look that he is the proud Godfather of this new arrival. He is stood inside a nondescript doorway wearing some sort of army uniform. The baby is wrapped up in a light coloured blanket and appears to be sleeping.

How is this even possible? Is it a hoax photograph? I study the older picture. It appears legitimate but how is my dad there holding his new born father in his arms? What does this mean?

I place the photographs down side by side onto the table, pick up the piece of paper, unfold it, and read.

Dearest Sophie,

This is the hardest letter I have had to write in my entire life. By now you will no doubt have looked at the two photographs and you will have so many questions racing around your head and clouding your judgement. As with any family ours has secrets, skeletons locked in closets.

Please read the book that comes with this letter, The Divine, and read it with an open mind because you will need that if nothing else.

I love you my baby.

Now and for eternity

Dad xxx

I look up from the letter towards the book. My host's heart is racing in her chest and with each thud I feel another wave of tiredness overcome me. I pick up both of the photographs again and study them, each time dad smiles back at me, telling me to read on and discover the truth behind his ability to pose for photographs forty-two years apart without aging a single day.

With another sip of my coffee I pick up the book and open the front cover. THE DIVINE by Mr E. I turn a couple of pages further and rest upon the first chapter entitled A New Dawn. My tiredness is beginning to tunnel my vision, a sure fire indicator that soon I will be battling to stay awake but stay awake I must. I cannot afford to jump back right now. I start to read.

A NEW DAWN

It is widely accepted these days that man evolved from apes, and that if we traced our ancestry back through the ages all of man and today's apes would arrive at one being, the common ancestor. Slowly through time our mother ape's offspring branched out into many different species, but it was the evolution of man which would shape the world in which we now live. Indeed it was man who conquered the earth.

Although hard to imagine the early days, through thousands and then millions of years, mankind's path spewed off from that of the apes creating new species. Man evolved from Homo-habilis to Homo-erectus, and then finally to the Homo-sapien. At each point along this journey man changed, his brain growing larger and with it he learned new tricks to hedge his chances of survival on the earth. From fashioning tools to help him hunt, the discovery of fire, creating shelter and then communities, agriculture, religion, war, construction, industry, technology, to sending man to the moon, man's destiny as the planet's dominate species has spiralled him to the top of the food chain where he has remained indefinitely. The survival of their species was down to their larger brains which, in turn, have guaranteed them their mantel.

Let us go back for a moment, back to our mother ape. While we moved on through the ages her and her species died out, but we were not alone on this journey. Our cousins, whose ancestors and ours is the same, are today's Orang-utans, Gorillas, and Chimpanzees.

Over millions of years we all divided and went our separate ways, and then our particular species split again, creating a sub-species. It is believed that around three hundred and fifty thousand years ago five separate species of human lived on the earth at the same time and for about seventy thousand years. It is believed also that these five 'brothers', Homo-erectus, Homo-ergaster, Homo-neanderthalensis, Homo-heidelbergensis, and Homo-rhodesienis lived in different parts of the world, although whether they fought, lived separately in their own communities, or even cross bred with one another is unknown.

Now a new dawn is upon us.

Although I can tell you that evolution's new dawn has been rising for eight hundred years, I cannot begin to estimate when my kind and mankind's split.

Am I an ambassador for the next step in mankind's journey?

Is my kind a sub-species of the Homo-sapien?

Is the Homo-sapien's time coming to a close?

These are questions I cannot answer, and I know by writing this memoir I will be putting not only myself, but my entire species under threat.

History has shown me time and time again that Man exterminates what he does not understand and so fears. It would be nice to say through time Man has evolved in himself and learned the true nature of his namesake humanity, but this would be untrue. He has simply modified his methods through technology of culling that which he does not understand.

Man will fear us and a new war will be fought, not for religion or politics, land or wealth, but for fear of us, the unknown, the Divine. And I fear we still number so few that we will be slaughtered instead of embraced.

A new dawn is upon us all, and we are amongst you.

12

BILLY: RUNNING

Walking out onto the terrace I am greeted with a cheer by the whole fielding clan. Despite learning moments earlier of my cousin Sophie's actual existence I know there is nothing I can do while I am here. As soon as I get back to the UK though I am going to go straight around to dads and giving him the biggest bollocking ever. All this time she has been out there somewhere.

'Glad you could join us,' Lisa says with a smile and I catch Paul's eyes. He is busying himself with a piece of toast and chocolate spread.

Pushing the little girl in the park to the back of my mind, I return Lisa's smile and say, 'couldn't seem to sleep last night, something kept me up,' to which Lisa raises her eyebrows and giggles.

Paul then passes me an orange juice and I sit down, happy to kick back and watch the family go about their holiday breakfast.

Crickets buzz around the pristine gardens which look out over Fish Hook bay. The morning sun is bearing down on us with the promise of more of the same as the day progresses and I grin like an idiot as I listen to Jan and Ian (Parents) talk of their plans to go to the Waterfront, a quayside shopping centre with bars and restaurants overlooking Table Mountain, for a spot of lunch later.

'Any takers?' Ian asks the table which nudges me out of daze.

Lisa and Melissa opt in for the excursion and Ian then turns his attention to the boys, me and Paul. Paul shakes his head as he swallows the last of his toast and says, 'nah, Bill and me are off for a wander down the beach and then maybe into Simons Town to Boulders.'

Jan and Ian smile at this and Jan says, 'oh Billy you will absolutely love Boulders. It where a colony of Jackasss Penguins nest, there is a little lagoon to swim in with them and plenty of boulders, obviously, to jump off into the water from. You'll have a blast.'

I turn to Paul who, although is aware I am staring at him, doesn't meet my gaze.

Ian claps his hand together and stands up from his seat, 'right then, I'm off for a shower, girls, make sure you are ready to leave in forty-five minutes, lads, have a great time bumming around the beach. We'll see you this afternoon.'

He and Jan disappear back into the house and Paul perks up, slapping me on the arm saying, 'right Billy boy, first port of call is the beach to checkout any hot bronzed beauties who might be out for a swim.'

Although he is talking to me, I watch him watching Lisa for a reaction.

He knows.

Fuck.

Or is he just testing the water, playing the game and trying to get Lisa to reveal all by her reaction to his comments.

Lisa, as cool as ever, laughs at this, 'at this time in the morning the only bronzed beauties down on the beach will be the retired expats. I didn't know geriatrics were what you guys went for these days.'

Melissa too joins in with the giggling and I smile, 'yeah mate, not really my thing eyeing up the wrinkled inhabitants of the bay.'

I wait for Paul to crack a grin but he doesn't, instead he simply shrugs and stands up, 'suit yourself mate, I'm heading down there anyway.'

'Wait, Paul, where you off?'

'To get into some swimming shorts,' he says without turning back as he heads into the house.

Lisa motions with her eyes for me to go after him and like a good little boyfriend I do as she silently suggests.

I catch up with Paul just as he is about to enter his room and spin him around to face me, 'what's up mate, you seem well off today?'

Paul frowns for a second, I can see the betrayal there in his eyes, the vulnerability and upset, a moment later though it is gone and he wears the mask with his grin and cocky self-assurance well, 'sorry mate, nothing, just a bit grouchy this morning. I didn't sleep well either, kept up half the night by creaking beds.'

He defiantly knows. The creaking bed was mine because his baby sister and I were creaking the hell out of it. Bloody creaks, why the hell doesn't anyone oil those damn things?

'Look Paul...'

Paul holds up his hands, 'come on, I'll meet you out the front in five.'

I am there and waiting moments later, apprehensive about the conversation which will now ensue between Paul and I. I imagine he will swing for me and I suppose I deserve the punch. I have been fucking his sister for the past nine months and haven't bothered to let him know. What kind of a mate does that make me?

George, the gardener, approaches me and nods, 'howzit boss.'

'Not too bad mate,' I tell him as he offers his hand and I shake it.

'Going to be another lekker day today, plenty of braais and beers later I hope?'

'Well this _is_ a holiday George, it'd be rude not to,' I say, not really sure what lekker or braai is but that's ok.

'Miss Lisa is growing up into a beautiful young lady yes?'

Fuck, why would he say this? Does the fucking gardener know I'm fucking ' _Miss Lisa'_ too?

'Yes.'

'But mister Paul always a jealous and possessive big brother?'

'Don't I know it pal.'

'Be more careful boss, if I see you so does mister Paul.'

He then walks off, picking up a rake which leans by the wall and attacking a small lawn at the side of the house with it. As I turn I find Paul by my side and grin, 'we all set for playing on the beach matey?'

Paul smiles, 'of course,' clicking the fob for driveway's electric gates and we make our way down the road, side by side.

I now find myself in something of a predicament, I mean, although I am sure from Paul's body language at the breakfast table and the comments he made that he knows about me and Lisa, he doesn't know that I know he knows and so I need to carry on as usual. This is going to be tough. Paul will play the part of not knowing, and that Paul will wonder why I'm not flirting with the natives. As much as I'd love to explain to him that the reason I'm not looking is because I am in love with his sister, this is now a game of pretence and I will not be the one to crack. On the other hand though, if I play along, umming and ahhing at the talent on the beach then Paul could easily voice my gazing's to the whole family later, landing me in hot water with Lisa.

So it's pretend to be on the pull, to act the way Billy acts with the unsuspecting Paul because that is how he would expect me to act, and then have Lisa at my throat later, or appear nonchalant around any young bikini clad ladies and Paul will question my reluctance to flirt, even though I am now sure he knows why.

This is all my fault, you see as cover for sneaking off for liaisons with Lisa I have developed a web of lies for Paul which paint me as a serial shagger, on a rampage to stick my bits into every female on the planet. When asked where I was last night, or where I disappeared to so early at the party I will spin off a name and then a brief description about the lucky 'fake' lady I was with last night. Not only is this exhausting but it has also meant that I've had to remember specific details about my made up life and the ladies which inhabit it.

I hope you are happy Lisa because all this has been for you and now I'm going to have to try and double bluff my way through today.

As we walk Paul plays tour guide, pointing out places of interest in the bay and I listen to him, watching for any sign that he might just lash out but it does not come. The paranoia is my own doing and after a while I begin to relax, convinced he is not going to kill me just yet.

It is beginning to get hot, ridiculously hot, with not much of a breeze considering we are now spitting distance from the sea. Paul slaps me on the back and heads off sprinting away from me.

'Come on Billy, I'll race you along the catwalk to the beach,' he calls back, leaving me in his wake.

Paul is fast, a sprinter who used to always win the 100m, 200m and 800m dashes back in high school. I on the other hand would usually be behind the proverbial bike shed during P.E, smoking or snogging whatever I could get my hands on. Right here and now though, with the sun beating down on my bare back and no bike shed in sight, I feel ready to burst with energy, my whole body is tingling and before I know it my walk has quickened into a stride, stride into a jog, jog into a sprint of my own and I'm running, flip-flops kicked off, my bare feet barely touching the hot stone pathway as I leg it after Paul.

I feel exhilarated, I feel free, and I feel myself speeding up more. I am running fast now and the ground between us is closing up. Paul glances back at me and I catch the twinkle of fear in his eye. He has always been immensely competitive and even this silly 'race you to the beach' will be taken seriously by him. He wants to win and now I want to beat him, now I will beat him, the conditions are perfect; the sun is my ally, powering me forward.

I catch up with him and laugh. His pace is beginning to slacken but still he pushes forward, taking to the rocks to the right of us, jumping across two and then landing back onto the catwalk, shortening the distance for him to the finish line, the beach. I too take to the rocks and we hop, skip and jump our way across the rocks, both still neck and neck. Up ahead I can see a great big boulder strutting out of the sea, it's a fair distance to jump to it and Paul sees it too.

'You'll never make it,' he pants, laughing as I lose my footing for a moment and he races ahead.

I spring back up, completely focused on that rock, trying to work out the best angle in which to jump and make the jump. Leaping back onto the catwalk I speed up, watching Paul in the corner of my eye as he continues to leap across the boulders. I can't believe I'm still going. Where is my stitch? Why am I not keeled over at the side of the path trying to catch my breath?

'You'll hurt yourself,' Paul calls to me but I'm not listening, all that now matters is making this jump and landing on that boulder because then, for the first time ever, I will have beaten Paul in a race and maybe then I will be worthy in his eyes to see his sister. Maybe?

'I've tried jumping it a hundred times and have always landed in the sea.'

That's because you didn't have the sun powering you on my old friend, but I do. The rock juts out of the water about a hundred yards ahead of me, a solitary guardian of Fish Hook beach, and I power my legs faster than ever, anticipating the jump and following the straightest path that will lead to my lift off and victory.

Fifty yards to go and my whole body is tingling with the sun's rays, a billion Sammies going hell for leather. At the water's edge lies a single rock which will be my springboard over the water and onto my crowning glory. I concentrate on this rock now, adjusting my strides slightly so that my left foot lands on the very edge of the rock to give me more propulsion into the air. I bend my knees a little and as I jump know already that I have misjudged something, I am not going to make it. As I flay through the air I have a strange sensation that something is amiss, the air feels thicker, like it is carrying me forward and higher than possible. The sun sparkles up at me in the sea's reflection and I hear rushing in my ears, a spike of pins and needles travels through my limbs and with this my concentration wains and I fall, splashing down into the cool waters of the Indian Ocean. I hold my breath, not beaten yet as Paul will have stopped to search the water's edge for me, and swim under water, around the boulder and reach the beach, defeated but not beaten.

I almost had it, I could feel myself making the jump but then gravity got in the way, the bastard. I watch Paul from the beach entrance, still searching the water and call across to him. He turns and smiles, giving me a round of applause as he jogs towards me.

'Jesus Billy you almost made it.'

'I did?' I ask, looking back over his shoulder at the jagged guardian of Fish Hook beach.

Paul nods, 'another couple of feet and you'd have been the first person I've ever seen to land on that rock from the catwalk.'

I smile but it is only for his benefit. I could have made it. Something happened during my jump, almost as though I was willing myself across, the thickness of the air, the rushing in my ears. For a split second I felt as though I was in complete control of my jump and had been willing myself across. As stupid as it sounds that's how it felt.

Paul slaps my back and heads on past me, 'come on mate, there's a café over there. Let's grab ourselves a drink and then go for a swim. Unlike you, I haven't sampled the water yet.'

COMING SOON

THE DIVINE

BOOK 2

BAPTISM OF LIFE

\- 81 -
