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Eventually I pull away. ‘Thank you,’ I say quietly.
He looks at me anxiously. ‘Want to talk about it?’
Sighing, I give him a short version of my symptoms, of what the doctor said; of the fear I’ve had, from the start.
He looks anxious. ‘You’ve hidden it well.’
‘Yeah, well, no-one likes a sad git.’ Wiping my eyes, I attempt a smile.
‘And no-one would blame you for being worried.’ He shakes his head. ‘Life really can be shit sometimes.’
‘Would you like a cuppa?’ Suddenly I want him to stay.
‘If I’m not in the way?’
‘In the way of my self-indulgent snivelling?’ Raising one of my eyebrows, I try to make a joke of it. ‘Don’t worry. Once I start, whether you’re here or not, there’s no stopping me.’
After making mugs of tea, we go through to the sitting room where the sofa is angled to give a view onto the garden. AsForrest sits at one end of it, I notice how tired he looks. ‘It isn’t an easy time for you either, is it?’
‘Not really.’ He’s silent for a moment. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Joe. I went to his place the other day. It’s a rambling old farmhouse surrounded by fields. His mother was there. Knowing her, she was mentally totting up what she thought it was worth. I avoided her. We’ve never got on,’ he explains. A shadow crosses his face. ‘Joe was so unlike her.’
‘Tell me about Joe,’ I say quietly.
He sighs. ‘He was my best friend in the world.’ He looks at me. ‘But he was so many things. My sounding board; a gentle slap on the back when I went a step too far. The quiet voice of reason when my father shoved me off balance. I suppose no matter what else was going on, he was a constant in my life.’
I notice the sadness in his eyes. ‘You must really miss him.’
Forrest nods. ‘All the time. We used to spend so much time together.’ He pauses. ‘There was this side to Joe that not many people knew. Three years ago, he learned to fly. Flying was in his blood – his father was an airline pilot and his grandfather flew Spitfires in the RAF. One night, after too much booze, Joe let slip that he’d wanted to follow suit. But he failed his medical. It must have been a huge blow at the time, but he didn’t let it get to him. But Joe was like that. With a commercial flying career not an option, he got his private pilot’s licence. After that, he bought a little plane. So this will tell you what kind of guy he was.’ Forrest’s eyes light up. ‘It’s a hundred-year-old, bright red Gipsy Moth.’
‘Apart from the passenger kind, I don’t know anything about planes,’ I say hastily.
‘It’s a world apart from anything like that.’ As he goes on, he looks animated. ‘To start with, it’s an open cockpit biplane with fabric-covered wings. It smells of oil and leather and has the most basic flight instruments. When you open the throttle, thefeeling of acceleration is so gentle. Then before you know it, the tail lifts. You have that magical moment where the wheels leave the ground and you’re flying.’
‘You make it sound poetic,’ I tease.
‘It’s how it feels. Put simply, the Gipsy Moth was made to fly. Joe was so fucking proud of it.’ Forrest’s eyes mist over. ‘He mowed a runway in one of his fields and turned a barn into a hangar. It won’t surprise you to know that at first, I didn’t get it.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘If it was me, I would have gone for something sleek and modern. But as Joe used to say, it was a little piece of aviation history.’ He’s silent for a moment. ‘He used to say that when you were flying, everyone was equal. That the birds didn’t give a shit about how much anyone earned. It was about you, the plane, the sky.’ His voice is suddenly husky.
I’m curious. ‘You’ve been up in it?’
‘You could say.’ His eyes light up again. ‘After he bought it, we went flying together a few times. Almost straightaway, I knew what he meant. It’s another world up there.’ For a moment, he looks distant. ‘I was hooked. I started having flying lessons and got my licence. I ended up buying half a share. It made sense.’
Incredulous, I interrupt. ‘You can fly a plane?’
He nods. ‘It’s one of the things I love most. When I’m flying, everything else feels a world away. I’m just me. In that plane, it’s like you can tangibly feel the elements… Joe and I used to fly all over the place. The happiest times in my life.’ His voice is husky.
Gazing at him, I try to imagine him flying a plane. ‘It sounds magical.’
‘It is.’ He blinks away a tear. ‘I owe it to Joe. I’d never have discovered it without him.’ He breaks off, struggling with himself. ‘Sorry. I can’t stop thinking Joe’s death was such a senseless waste of a life.’
‘It really was, wasn’t it?’ As I reach for one of his hands, my skin tingles as he takes it, turning it over, tracing the Eye of Horus tattoo on my wrist.
‘Why this?’ he says quietly.
I shrug. ‘It’s supposed to symbolise protection.’ Time will tell as to whether it works or not. I gaze at Forrest, wondering whether to tell him about this fear I have, before deciding what the heck. ‘I know this will sound mad. But for as long as I can remember, I’ve had this sense that I’m not going to live long. When I try to envisage the future, beyond now, in my late twenties, I can’t. It’s the same when I try to imagine being with a long-term partner or having children… I know it sounds dramatic, but it’s as though it’s never going to happen.’
He looks surprised. ‘Until it happens, I don’t suppose most people can imagine having kids. I mean, it’s pretty life-changing stuff.’ He pauses. ‘Also, not everyone wants that.’
I know what he’s saying, but it feels more significant than that. ‘I know how it sounds. But it’s what made me get the tattoo. At least, that’s what I was thinking at the time. Anyway, it’s probably just my weird brain. Hopefully I’m wrong – and I’m going to live a long healthy life with years to look forward to – maybe with kids, too. Who knows?’
