We ride the lift in silence. My mind is bursting with things I want to say but my voice won’t work. I want to tell her about all the articles I’ve been writing in my spare time. All the work I’ve put in to pitch theFragmentstwentieth anniversary feature idea to her. That’s all been for nothing. She follows me through the barriers.
‘He wants me to take your pass,’ she says softly.
I hand her my lanyard.
‘Keep writing, Liv. You’re good at it.’
‘Bye,’ I squeak, then turn and run through the doors onto the busy street. I let out the sob that’s been jamming up my throat and run all the way to the station with tears pouring down my face.
On Saturday, Mrs Bailey greets me as usual, cheerfully offering tea and biscuits. I wasn’t sure if Tumi would have been in touchto tell her I’d been fired, but everything seems normal. I don’t suppose it matters toAmplifyif I carry on with the archive. We agreed Mrs Bailey would give me cash for ‘expenses’ but she usually presses two twenty-pound notes into my hand as I’m leaving each week.
I’m so glad I still have this job to do. Now I’ll no longer be researching Tracks Decoded stories or trying my hand at reviews, it’s all I care about. I’m almost done though. I will be sad when I finish up these last few boxes.
No matter how hard I try to keep busy today, my mind keeps wandering back to getting fired. Things I wish I’d said to Tumi and Paul keep popping into my head. I want to call Chloe, tell her all about it, but she’s still not taking my calls and I have to fight back the tears. I go to put music on to distract me, but when I get my phone out, there are four missed calls and a message from Mum. I’ve had it on silent all day.
Mum:Don’t forget it’s Grandad’s birthday. I need you home by 5pm so we can pick up the cake on the way. Let me know you’ve got this message x.
If I leave in an hour, I should get back in time. I message Mum to let her know, then I go back to choosing music, but all the recent playlists are ones that Nathan sent me.
And that’s it – I’m ugly-crying, cross-legged on the floor of the Bailey’s garage.
Only a few weeks ago, we were kissing; he gave me that necklace. I thought he liked me. I had an awesome summer job I was good at, and a best friend to laugh and joke and share stuff with. But all of that’s gone. I sit there bawling until I remember I need to head back, or Mum will kill me.
The trestle table is a mess of notebooks, boxes, photos, and letters. I pull myself together, wipe my nose on my sleeve, and start tidying up. The tape machine is taking up space. I go to put it away, but as I pull the box out from under the table, a flash of colour catches my eye. Tucked into the flap at thebottom of the box is a folded piece of orange paper. I pluck it free.
It’s a hospital patient leaflet for a condition called otosclerosis. What’s otosclerosis? I sit on the floor and lift the concertina flap to read:
Did Will Bailey have otosclerosis? Why else would he have a leaflet about it? I read the leaflet from front to back twice. I learn that although surgery sometimes helps, it’s risky and doesn’t always work. In some cases, it can cause further damage to the inner ear, making things worse. Hearing aids work for some people, but there are no guarantees.
The lyrics to Will’s last song pop into my head. Didn’t he sing about not being able to hear? I find the recording on my phone and listen to the lyrics.
If I can’t hear
your voice in my ear
Your laughter and your tears
Your secret hopes and fears.
If I can’t hear
you talk about your goals,
Your thoughts and your ideas
Little pieces of your soul
Then I can’t go on
Although I’m afraid
This pain will stop
When the music fades
Since I first heard them weeks ago, these lyrics have puzzled me, but now, with the help of this leaflet, they make perfect sense.
Will Bailey had otosclerosis.