A to Z of You and Me by James Hannah Page B

and the words grow more distinct.
    â€œ So what about the Budget then, eh? Terrible, wasn’t it? ”
    The Budget. Ugh, noise. Outside noise. Noise of a world carrying on without me.
    â€œ But you wouldn’t want to be chancellor, would you? No. You wouldn’t want to be chancellor .”
    Everything in me wants to turn back to my room, to get back into bed.
    â€œ Can you imagine? Cutting all those public healthcare budgets. You wouldn’t dare fall ill, would you? ”
    No, come on, come on.
    â€œ …well, I’m sorry, Chancellor, all these health cuts, you know? I can’t afford to give you anything for constipation. You’ll have to stay full of crap. ”
    In the TV room the television’s broadcasting to an audience of empty chairs. Screen light switches upholstery now blue, now yellow, now white, now blue. I’ve gotten this far. I might as well sit and watch for a bit. I select the chair next to the big trunk of toys, pick a Rubik’s Cube off the top, rotate it uselessly in my hands.
    â€œ So what’s the answer, eh? You’re so good at budgets, I suggest you go back to number eleven and work it out with a pencil. Yes? ”
    There is loud laughter now, and I wince at the noise. They turn it up higher and higher these days.
    â€œ That’ll help him budge it, won’t it, eh? ”
    Laughter.
    Amber appears at the doorway, carrying two empty coffee mugs. I look up at her and smile.
    â€œHiya.”
    She peers at me from behind her hair, and I think for a moment that she’s not going to acknowledge me, but she does, tentatively stepping in and looking at the screen.
    â€œOn coffee duty?”
    She doesn’t reply but looks down at the mugs in her hands.
    â€œI’ve come to get myself a bit of culture.”
    â€œOh, him. Yeah. I don’t really like him.”
    â€œThey always turn the audience up so loud.”
    She smiles politely. Ugh. Such an old-man thing to say.
    We’re not such different ages. Twenty years. Twenty-two, -three. I just want to say to her, I understand you . I get what it is you’re trying to say. With your deep blue streak of hair and the way you dress . I mean, I want to turn to her and say, You, me, friends, yeah? Same, yeah?
    But no. No, no.
    You can’t cling on to things like that.
    â€œSorry to be a pain,” I say, “but if you’re off to the machine, would you mind getting me a cup of tea? I’d go myself, but—”
    She clears her throat. “Sure,” she says. “Milk and sugar?”
    She disappears.
    I flick through the channels for something a bit less full-on. News, news, panel show. What would Amber want to watch? I end up on one of the music channels and leave it at that. Turn it down to background.
    She returns bearing two mugs. Deep red and deep blue. One says Humph on the side, and one says Albert .
    â€œHumph,” she says.
    â€œThanks very much.” I take it from her.
    She retreats a few seats away and sits cross-legged, cradling the cup against her lips, propping her elbows on her knees. Green-and-black-striped tights.
    â€œHave you got stuff to keep you busy out there?” I ask. “All the waiting. It’s draining.”
    â€œI’ve got some books. But it’s not really the best place to read. I can’t concentrate.”
    â€œNo, it’s hardly surprising, is it? You want to try playing Sheila’s game.”
    â€œWhat’s that, then?”
    â€œWell, what you do, you go through the alphabet and think of a part of the body for each letter. Then you think of a story about that body part, like, say what is the best thing your fingers have ever done. The moment in your whole life when they were best used.”
    My explanation grinds to a halt, and I think she must wonder what the hell I’m talking about.
    â€œAdrenaline,” she says brightly. “I’d start with A for adrenaline