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Authors: Gary McMahon
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it was the last thing you heard before leaving the house. I can barely believe that I did not hear the words last night, when my young visitor bequeathed them to me.
  I take a deep breath, close my eyes. Open my mouthâ¦
  "He said, 'it wasn't your fault. The brakes have been faulty for weeks, but I couldn't afford to get them done. First it was mum's birthday and then I bought you those flowers. I could've still got the brakes fixed, but our Dave borrowed the money to pay off a gambling debt. Let it go, Sal. Let all the blame go and fall in love again. Just remember me as I was and not as I am now.'"
  Then I hear nothing more. Billy is once again silent, but his face hovers in my mind, that wide grin still locked firmly in place.
  The girl's mouth gapes; her eyes are moist, but they are shining.
  Shining.
  My job is done; the task I was given has been carried out to the best of my abilities.
  (If only every one was that simple, maybe then I could find a sense of peace.)
  I leave Sally to heal. Hopefully she will do so, and perhaps my intervention has even helped in some small way. At the very least she will be sure to forgive herself for the accident. At some point in the future she might even climb onto a motorcycle again. She is young enough that anything is possible.
  Shining.
  Suddenly, as if it has been waiting patiently for me to realise, my purpose in life becomes clear. Walking back to my private room, I know what it is I must do, and I realise that I need to get started as quickly as possible.
  And her eyes â her eyes were shining.
  But was any of it real?
SIX
I knew I had to visit Baz Singh, but had been putting it off for reasons I couldn't even begin to think about. More than the fact that I'd seen his daughter's body hanging from the ceiling â and still saw her now, on my upstairs landing â was the conviction that Singh was an unhealthy presence to be around. I'm not a fool. I'd known all along that Singh was at best a man of dubious business interests, yet I had accepted his offer and followed his daughter to her death.
  I never claimed to be a good decision maker.
  I was pondering these thoughts when I heard a knock at the front door.
  It was just after noon. Time had run away from me. Ellen had always had that effect on me: in her company, time became irrelevant, simply a measure of how long I was with her.
  I got up and went to the door, glancing out the window on my way. A huge light-skinned Indian man was standing on my doorstep, his face calm and dark and intelligent. I knew immediately that all the time I'd been thinking about avoiding Baz Singh, he must have been biding his time before making steps to summon me.
  I opened the door.
  "Good afternoon," said the man. He was wearing a dark grey suit and a white shirt with no tie. There was nothing threatening about him apart from his build, and the fact that he was standing there outside my door. Otherwise, he seemed very pleasant.
  "Hello. How can I help you?"
  The man smiled. It was an expression he used often; I could tell because he slipped it on so easily, and it suited his big, kind features. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr Usher, but Mr Singh sent me to request your presence. He would like to see you, and he asked me to say that he's rather surprised you haven't called by."
  I nodded. "I've been expecting you, or someone like you. Give me a minute and I'll join you."
  "No rush, Mr Usher. I haven't been sent to threaten or intimidate you in any way, merely to invite you to come and see my employer. If you don't wish to come, I can pass on a message." He smiled again. And again it wasn't threatening, just⦠nice. Friendly.
  "No, no. I do owe him a visit. It was rude of me not to call by or even telephone, particularly after what's happened. I'll be
  I take a deep breath, close my eyes. Open my mouthâ¦
  "He said, 'it wasn't your fault. The brakes have been faulty for weeks, but I couldn't afford to get them done. First it was mum's birthday and then I bought you those flowers. I could've still got the brakes fixed, but our Dave borrowed the money to pay off a gambling debt. Let it go, Sal. Let all the blame go and fall in love again. Just remember me as I was and not as I am now.'"
  Then I hear nothing more. Billy is once again silent, but his face hovers in my mind, that wide grin still locked firmly in place.
  The girl's mouth gapes; her eyes are moist, but they are shining.
  Shining.
  My job is done; the task I was given has been carried out to the best of my abilities.
  (If only every one was that simple, maybe then I could find a sense of peace.)
  I leave Sally to heal. Hopefully she will do so, and perhaps my intervention has even helped in some small way. At the very least she will be sure to forgive herself for the accident. At some point in the future she might even climb onto a motorcycle again. She is young enough that anything is possible.
  Shining.
  Suddenly, as if it has been waiting patiently for me to realise, my purpose in life becomes clear. Walking back to my private room, I know what it is I must do, and I realise that I need to get started as quickly as possible.
  And her eyes â her eyes were shining.
  But was any of it real?
SIX
I knew I had to visit Baz Singh, but had been putting it off for reasons I couldn't even begin to think about. More than the fact that I'd seen his daughter's body hanging from the ceiling â and still saw her now, on my upstairs landing â was the conviction that Singh was an unhealthy presence to be around. I'm not a fool. I'd known all along that Singh was at best a man of dubious business interests, yet I had accepted his offer and followed his daughter to her death.
  I never claimed to be a good decision maker.
  I was pondering these thoughts when I heard a knock at the front door.
  It was just after noon. Time had run away from me. Ellen had always had that effect on me: in her company, time became irrelevant, simply a measure of how long I was with her.
  I got up and went to the door, glancing out the window on my way. A huge light-skinned Indian man was standing on my doorstep, his face calm and dark and intelligent. I knew immediately that all the time I'd been thinking about avoiding Baz Singh, he must have been biding his time before making steps to summon me.
  I opened the door.
  "Good afternoon," said the man. He was wearing a dark grey suit and a white shirt with no tie. There was nothing threatening about him apart from his build, and the fact that he was standing there outside my door. Otherwise, he seemed very pleasant.
  "Hello. How can I help you?"
  The man smiled. It was an expression he used often; I could tell because he slipped it on so easily, and it suited his big, kind features. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr Usher, but Mr Singh sent me to request your presence. He would like to see you, and he asked me to say that he's rather surprised you haven't called by."
  I nodded. "I've been expecting you, or someone like you. Give me a minute and I'll join you."
  "No rush, Mr Usher. I haven't been sent to threaten or intimidate you in any way, merely to invite you to come and see my employer. If you don't wish to come, I can pass on a message." He smiled again. And again it wasn't threatening, just⦠nice. Friendly.
  "No, no. I do owe him a visit. It was rude of me not to call by or even telephone, particularly after what's happened. I'll be
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