When I Died for the First Time by Tim Booth

Author:Tim Booth [Booth, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781408718902
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2024-05-16T00:00:00+00:00

On the bus Josh’s grey blackout curtains are pulled tight across his bunk.

‘You fucked up the driver’s hours so we’re stuck here for the night.’ He said on the phone. ‘And your girlfriend called. Said she’d been trying to get hold of you.’

Two missed calls.

In the taxi I listen to her message.

Been trying to get hold of you. Where are you, love? Please call me.

Can’t ring her now, too late and she’d smell the guilt on me.

I’m too wired to sleep so I go find Lee, who’s alone in the upper-deck lounge, standing over a collage laid out on the floor, shifting images around. The room’s a mess of shredded magazines. I make him a coffee, move scissors and glue off the couch and sit with him.

‘When’s the exhibition?’

‘Around the album launch.’

‘Clever. What’s this?’ I nod at the collage.

He gives me an irritated look.

‘A collage.’

‘Yeah, but—’

‘It’s an imaginary album cover for an imaginary band,’ he says without looking up.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘A German band – Altz Heimer,’ he says.

‘Alzheimer?’

‘You’re quick.’

I try to read the haphazard letters he’s cut out from the magazines.

‘‘‘I’m lost”?’

‘Fuck off and go and annoy somebody else will ya.’ He blows out his cheeks then turns to me. ‘I’ve Lost My Keys. It’s the album title.’

I laugh.

‘This for your exhibition?’ I ask.

‘No, my peace of mind,’ he says.

‘This Altz Heimer’s first album?’

He nods.

‘Second one should be called Are You My Husband?’

His eyes flash me. ‘Bastard. That’s good, I’m nicking that.’

‘The third . . . Who Am I?’

His laughter falls into sadness.

‘Quit while you’re ahead.’

We sip coffee in silence.

‘How is your mum?’ I ask. The silence deepens.

‘Not my mum any more. Mum’s gone and left this . . . ghost.’ He stares ahead, cradling his mug. ‘She looks like my mum, but she’s not my mum. The only time she comes alive is when she hears music. Music from her day, Beatles, Stones. She completely lights up and recognises me . . . and Dad. The power of music.’

He leans towards me and sniffs.

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Don’t be daft!’

‘You smell of booze.’ He scouts my face for a lie.

‘I was with drinkers, not drinking.’

He doesn’t believe me so I offer up a hostage.

‘I kissed a girl who was drinking.’

‘I kissed a girl who was drinking’ isn’t cutting it either. Need to give him more.

‘Actually . . . I nearly slept with her. That’s why I’m late. Don’t know what I was thinking.’ Genuine remorse infuses my lies but he knows me too well, so I prattle on.

‘You know that big guy in the gig tonight? The one I sang to? He bushwhacked me on the way to the bus, dragged me off to some bierkeller with his mates for an armistice. I ended up with this, this beauty in some dodgy part of— Stop looking at me like that, will you! I feel shit enough as it is.’

He doesn’t flinch. He picks up his collage and props it up on the seats.

‘I didn’t drink anything!’

He grabs handfuls of scraps from the magazines and chucks them in the bin.

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