Eddie Potter said to have suffered crippling hand injuries…
The youngest Potter was discharged from St Mungo’s after three days, just in time to attend the funeral of the only other casualty of the fire.
Emilia Leanne Brown.
It was a quiet affair, mostly just immediate family and a few friends. Henrietta didn’t attend, Zak noted, not certain if he was pleased or annoyed by this. He took another swig of coca cola and decided he didn’t care any more.
The remnants of Phoenix gathered at Zak’s flat the day after the funeral, having decided to meet up to commiserate - and also, in theory, to celebrate Eddie’s return to his flat from hospital, though Zak doubted anyone would be in the mood to do much celebrating. They had intended to watch some pointless yet distracting films, play some cards, try to sidetrack one another from the world - but somewhat unsurprisingly, without any conspiracy, everyone had individually decided to bring a six-pack with them.
Four hours and a seemingly impossible-to-measure amount of alcohol later, Zak reflected that he had, in all likelihood, never been this drunk before, and, come the morning, would probably decide never to be so again. But for now the whole world was skewed around the edges, which made it a lot easier not to look at the things he didn’t want to.
The others were just as bad as he was, Zak knew. They had spent most of the last few hours talking about ridiculous things and impossibly funny jokes that he knew were only funny because he wasn’t sober, but now things were quiet. The seven of them were scattered across the room, each deeply involved in their own thoughts. Eddie was sitting on the floor leaning against the side of the sofa, several drinks behind everyone else but somehow seeming far more intoxicated. Zak knew he shouldn’t let Eddie drink any more, but his hand had found his own most recent can and swigging it down seemed the only natural thing to do by this point.
It was only when he saw the devastation clearly visible on Eddie’s face that Zak realised his friend needed to go home. He sent the others wandering to taxis and walked Eddie the short distance between their flats themselves, collapsing on Eddie’s sofa when he didn’t feel he could make it back home.
~
February 2030
It was a quiet, cold day. The temperature was the lowest of the winter that February, and the sun shone clearly and harshly down on the frosted pavements and icy roads in London. In an apartment on the third floor of a pleasant if run-down building, a young man with black hair and bandaged hands was rummaging through his desk drawers.
Eddie took out a huge wad of papers from the second drawer down and started shuffling through them. It had been just over two months since the fire, and without an income he had finally decided to move back to his parents’ house until he could find another job. He’d held out this long because he was determined to retain his independence; but if he stayed any longer, he would have to start reaching into his savings which he reluctantly knew would not be a good plan in the long run. So, he was spending today sorting through his things. It was an uninteresting but welcome distraction from both the dull, barely-numbed pain in both his hands and from the other more inescapable fact: that since the fire, he had not been able to write a single note of music. His imagination, normally overflowing with tunes and melodies and rhythms, had failed him, and he had spent the last sixty-five days bereft of inspiration, in a silence that seemed to burn at his heart.
Some of the papers slipped out of his hands and he went to catch them without thinking. The muscles in his hands seized up and he flinched, dropping everything he was holding. Eddie let out a long sigh and knelt down to gather the papers together again carefully. His hands had been severely damaged; magic was helping - without it he would have lost both of them - but it would still take a long time before they were fully healed. He was beginning to get back the movement that he had lost, but they were still weak and painful.
Trying to focus more on the matters at hand, upon reaching the bottom of the pile of paper he discovered several pages of music drawn in a childish hand. These must have been some of the first things he had written, back when Jamie had shown him how to. He pulled them out from underneath everything else, smoothed them out on the surface of the desk, and began to read.
A few minutes later, without looking away from the piece of paper, his bandaged hands reached for the book of manuscript paper on the shelf above the desk.
~
Three days later, Zak had had enough. He and the others had arranged to meet up with Eddie on different days, knowing that if no one went to see him he would just stay inside his flat, doing little. Their plan seemed to have worked at first, up until now - Webster and Adam had been supposed to meet Eddie and go to the football a couple of days ago, but he hadn’t turned up. Fair enough; they all knew Eddie had his bad days. But when Zak had called him the next day, unable to visit because of a family member’s birthday, both the landline and Eddie’s mobile had rang and rang and rang with no answer. Today, Zak decided Eddie had hidden long enough. He called the others together and he, Amy, Adam, Sam, Finea and Webster made their way to Eddie’s flat together.
When they got there, they knocked on the door. There was no response. They banged on the door, called his name, but there was nothing. Silence. The six of them stood there in the corridor, looking at each other, wondering what to do. Eventually, worried, Zak produced a hairpin and began to pick the lock.
–How did you learn to do that?†asked Amy suspiciously, as Zak knelt down to get the best angle.
–Joe taught me,†Zak said with a wry grin. –Always a useful talent, particularly if you’re like me and you lock yourself out a lot.â€
After several seconds of careful concentration, the lock clicked and Zak stood. Turning the handle, he opened the door hesitantly.
–Eddie?†he called softly, no longer wanting to shout. The heating was on but the flat seemed cool, dry and still. He walked cautiously and slowly into the flat, the others behind him. He couldn’t hear any movement. However, on the back of the sofa and scattered all over the floor, there were dozens of sheets of paper.
–It’s manuscript,†said Finea quietly behind him, bending down to look. –Zak?â€
Zak had moved away from the group, around the other side of the sofa. As the others watched, he crouched down to something they couldn’t see, and then raised his head.
–Guys, come give me a hand, will you?â€
The rest of them came around the end of the sofa. Eddie was sitting on the floor, his head resting in between his arms on the low coffee table, his eyes closed, deeply asleep. Several empty cups that smelt strongly of coffee were beside him, and beneath his head was another sheet of manuscript paper, this one only half covered with Eddie’s undecipherable scrawl. The floor around him was covered with similar sheets, arranged to no particular order that Zak could make out.
Slowly, Zak knelt down next to him and placed a hand on his back.
–Eddie?†he called softly. Eddie murmured something Zak didn’t make out and turned his head slightly, but didn’t wake up. Zak took hold of his shoulder, carefully making sure it was the left one as he knew the right was still sore, and shook it gently as he called Eddie’s name again.
–Eddie? Ed? Wake up, Ed,†he said. At this Eddie’s eyelids fluttered a little, then opened briefly before he scrunched up his eyes and recoiled from the light in the room.
–Mmm? What… what time is it?†he asked slowly, his voice croaking a little with tiredness. He yawned as he pulled himself upright, rubbing at his eyes gently with a bandaged wrist.
–Nearly half-past four in the afternoon, Eddie,†Zak said, raising his eyebrows. –Been busy?†He glanced around the room at the mass amounts of manuscript paper, wondering how long it had all taken to spread out like that - or had Eddie been writing all this time? Zak wouldn’t have put it past him.
–It looks like you got caught in a musical whirlwind, Ed,†said Finea. Eddie gave a short laugh.
–Something like that,†he said, looking around.
–Want some help gathering it together?†Adam asked, and at Eddie’s sleepy nod the other five started to gather the sheets of paper together in loose piles. Zak stayed by Eddie’s side - his best friend seemed more than a little out of it and Zak couldn’t help but be worried that he might pass out.
As they tidied, Amy spoke.
–Hang on, Ed - I haven’t seen this before.†The others looked around; she was studying one of the pieces of music.
–Is this new music, Eddie?†Sam asked curiously. –I thought you couldn’t write -†At a warning glance from Zak, Sam stopped abruptly, and there was an awkward pause. Eddie said nothing, still rubbing his eyes and blinking slowly.
When they had made all the music into a pile on the coffee table in front of him, Eddie carefully, and not a little bit clumsily, got to his feet. He stood there, looking exhausted.
–Eddie… this music… did you write it all in the last couple of days?†ventured Zak warily. Eddie nodded and closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, clearly worn out but determined to stay awake. Finea returned from the kitchen - Zak hadn’t noticed she had gone - with a plastic bottle of water. Eddie took it from her gratefully and gripped it in both hands to drink. The water seemed to revive him a little. He looked around at the others.
–I think…we could do it.â€
No one answered him for a moment, not understanding.
–Do what, Eddie?†Finea asked, watching him carefully.
–Only if the rest of you wanted to, of course… and I’m not saying it’d be easy, we’d be sinking our own money into it… and it might not even work, but I think…â€
Zak interrupted him, knowing he would talk like that for hours if left to it.
–Eddie, what do you think you’ve figured out?â€
–How to bring Phoenix back.â€
Stunned silence filled the room. Eddie’s expression was suddenly nervous, uncertain.
–I understand if no one wants to, I just think I know how, and I thought… you should know…†He trailed off into silence. After about half a minute, Zak spoke.
–I’ll join up,†he said. There was a pause, and then Finea took a step forward.
–And me,†she said.
Webster glanced at Adam, and then Sam.
–Count us in too.â€
–Amy?†Zak asked, looking at her. She nodded, slowly.
–Yep. Definitely.â€
They all turned back to Eddie and watched the first real smile he had had in two months spread slowly across his face. His grin was contagious and Zak felt happy for the first time in a long while.
–So, what’s the plan?†he asked, clapping his hands together.
~
Joe was in the process of unlocking the door to the flat he shared with Henry when he heard the sound of two people walking along the corridor. He turned. Eddie and Zak came and stood beside him.
–Hey you two,†he said, opening the door. –Come in. Ed, it’s nice to see you out and about.â€
Eddie nodded and glanced at Zak before speaking.
–Actually, Joe, we came to ask you for some help,†he said carefully. Joe looked at the two of them with raised eyebrows.
–Oh, really?†he said. –Well, if I can I’ll be glad to. I know things have been difficult.†He also knew this was an understatement, but neither of the other two corrected him. He threw his coat over the back of an armchair and went over to the kitchen area.
–Tea, coffee?†he asked.
–Tea for me,†Zak said. –Thanks, Joe.â€
–No problem,†Joe replied. –Eddie?â€
–Water?â€
–Sure.â€
When they had settled down on the sofa with their drinks, Joe observed the other two carefully.
–So,†he began, –what can I help you with?â€
Zak and Eddie glanced at each other again.
–We’re restarting Phoenix.â€