Photos of You (ARC)

by Tammy Robinson

  He sighs and stands still to give it a proper look. “A spaceship. Like an alien one. Why, what does it look like to you?”

  “A heart.”

  “Seriously?” He tilts his head and looks at it quizzically.

  “Not like a drawing of a heart. A real one. How it looks inside of us.”

  “You have a great imagination.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now do you mind if I finish doing my job?”

  “Be my guest.”

  And while he photographs me, I watch as the cloud, just like time, moves gently on by.

  Notes from Ava

  (Women’s Weekly, October 23)

  Open the door. Step outside. Get in your car and drive away from the city. The concrete jungle.

  Smell a forest. Hug a tree. Feed a bird. Pick mushrooms. Dance in the rain. Build a snowman. Dive into a big pile of colorful autumn leaves. Swim naked in the ocean; swim anywhere you can, anytime you get the chance. If you can’t swim, learn. Walk barefoot through a paddock of wildflowers. Forage for fruit. Swing on a rope swing. Climb a mountain. Kayak across a lake. Make a snow angel. Ride a bike along a country lane. Sail a yacht across the Pacific. Grow your own vegetables. Build a sandcastle. Study the night sky, and then sleep under the stars. Climb a tree. Cook over a campfire.

  Watch the sun rise.

  And then watch it set.

  Breathe in the splendor that is nature and never, ever take it for granted. Enjoy every moment of it, for those of us who no longer can.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By the time James is satisfied he has the perfect picture, the sky has started to change color, and that dream-like time between day and nightfall is upon us—when the sky goes hazy with the satisfaction of another day well done. Breathtaking in its stealth, the moment day becomes dusk is a hard moment to catch. I know because I’ve tried. It steals over you like sleep; one moment it’s not there, and the next it is all around you.

  Even before I was sick, if you’d asked me for my favorite part of the day I’d have said this, sundown. It’s when the world really seems to come alive, and anything, even magic, seems possible.

  “We’d better head back,” James says, bent over while he packs his camera and gear into his bag.

  “I suppose so.”

  He flicks me a puzzled look. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic. I thought you’d be worried about all the fun you’re missing out on.”

  “No, that doesn’t bother me.” I lift my dress hem up and twirl around in a lazy circle. “I love this time of day, don’t you?”

  He zips up his bag and straightens up, watching me with an unreadable expression. “Sunset?”

  I nod and murmur in agreement.

  “It’s something special, for sure.”

  “You must have seen some amazing ones on your travels.”

  “I have.”

  I smile at him wistfully. “I’m jealous.”

  He smiles back sadly but doesn’t answer.

  I walk to the fence, grip the top wire, and lean over to look at the river. The surface of the water reflects the color of the sky. “It’s just so peaceful out here.”

  “The countryside generally is.” I didn’t hear him move but he has walked to stand beside me.

  I wish fervently that I could pause this moment. Everything. The colors, the smells, and the sounds. I want to freeze it in time and enjoy it for longer because I know that all too soon it will be over. The sun will go, the sky will darken, the birds will fall silent. I will be back in my room, tucked up in my bed, and this will be nothing but a memory. The problem is, memories don’t do moments justice. They are weak versions in our heads, a poor playback. Moments play out in technicolor; memories are insipid in comparison. Nevertheless, I tilt my head to the sky and close my eyes, trying to capture this moment in my head, so I can bring it back when I am most in need of it. But then I think…

  …I don’t want to waste time trying to remember it. I am here. This is now.

  I am living it.

  I open my eyes.

  “Turn around,” I tell James.

  “Sorry?”

  “Turn around and close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Please?” I ask imploringly.

  He frowns, but nods. “OK. But as long as you’re not up to anything that’s going to get me in trouble.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  When he turns his back to me I twist my arms behind my back and unzip the dress carefully, shivering as I lower it down my body and the cool breeze seizes the opportunity to caress my skin. Goosebumps spring up and I give a delighted laugh.

  This is what I’m talking about.

  Wearing only my knickers and a strapless bra, I drape the dress over a nearby log, keeping a cautious eye on James the whole time.

  “No peeking,” I remind him, when he turns his head ever so slightly.

  “I’m trying not to, but I’m a curious guy by nature.” I hear him shuffle in the grass. “Telling me not to look at something is like telling someone not to push a big red button,” he complains.

  I scuttle back to the fence and, as elegantly as I can, climb over, grateful that no one is around to watch.

  “Let me guess,” I huff as I swing my leg over and drop triumphantly to the other side. “You’d push the big red button.”

  “Every time,” he confirms.

  “Well, you’ll just have to be patient a little longer.”

  “Why? What are you doing?”

  I study the bank for the easiest route down into the water. It’s only a meter or two, but it’s steep; luckily there are reeds and long grass growing on the banks that I can use as handholds. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to stick a pitchfork in your back.”

  “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”

  “Really? I think I’ve seen too many scary movies. It’s the first thing I’d worry about if someone I barely knew told me to turn around while we were alone in a field.”

  “Well, it’s not like you had a pitchfork hidden in a pocket on that dress, is it?”

  “Good point.” I grab a fistful of grass and slide down on my bottom as far as I can, tantalizingly close to the water.

  “OK,” James says firmly. “You’ve had your fun. You’ve got three seconds and then I’m turning around. One…”

  “No,” I squeal.

  “Two…”

  I take a breath, let go of the grass, and slide the rest of the way, landing with a small splash. The water is deeper than I thought and I go under, but I surface again in seconds, alternating between swearing like a sailor because of the cold and laughing with delight.

  “Three,” James calls. I can no longer see him but I hear him exclaim in bewilderment. “Ava? Where are you?”

  “Down here.”

  “Where?”

  “In the water.”

  I hear him swear and then the twang of the wires as he scales the fence. His face peers down at me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “I know what it looks like, but why?”

  “Why not?” I do a little dolphin dive, careful not to flash too much above the surface of the water. When I emerge he is watching me, bemused.

  “Why don’t you come in? The water’s fabulous.”

  “Liar. It looks freezing.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I had you mistaken for a big brave man.”

  “Hey, I’m brave. I’ve been in war zones and disaster areas, I’ll have you know.”

  “But a little old river is just too much, eh?” I roll my eyes and start swimming away from him, toward the bend where the river widens.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Exploring.”

  “On your own?”

  I flip back around and tilt my head, treading water. “Unless you feel like coming with me.”

  He is torn, I can tell by his facial expression. Finally, with a shake of his head
, he lifts his T-shirt off. “I must be crazy,” he mumbles.

  “If this is crazy then lock me up and throw away the key.”

  “I might have to next time—your mother’s going to kill me.” He puts his hands on the band of his shorts and then gives me a pointed look. “Turn around.”

  Thirty seconds later I hear a splash and then a few expletives.

  “Bracing, isn’t it?” I say mildly.

  “Bracing? It’s bloody arctic.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll soon get used to it.”

  “Before my—manly parts—freeze off or after?”

  I laugh at the forlorn expression on his face. “Come on.” Then I turn and paddle languidly upriver, trusting that he’s following.

  “Aren’t you worried about eels?” he calls.

  “Not really. They’re like sharks. More scared of us than we are of them. Or is that spiders?”

  “I swear something just touched my toe.”

  “It’s OK. Toes aren’t important in your career.”

  He snorts. “I’m quite attached to them all the same.”

  I turn over on to my back and sweep my arms and legs in wide circles, enjoying the sensation of the water as my body moves easily through it. “Come on. Aren’t you enjoying this?” I ask. “Not even one little bit?”

  He does a few brisk strokes and comes up beside me. This close I can see water droplets on his beautiful tanned skin. His eyes, in the fading light, are luminous and vibrant. He is, hands down, the best-looking man I have ever had the pleasure of being half naked in the company of.

  “Maybe a little bit,” he admits.

  “When was the last time you went swimming?”

  He has to think about it, which tells me that it’s been too long.

  “I can’t remember,” he says finally. “A couple of years, maybe? Yes, three years. It was in the sea off Mexico.”

  “Work?”

  “No. Holiday.”

  He doesn’t elaborate so I take a guess that it was with his now ex-girlfriend.

  “What was it like?”

  “The same as any sea, really. Wet. Full of fish. Waves.”

  “Mexico, you idiot.”

  “Hey, that’s Master Idiot to you.” He frowns teasingly. “Mexico was nice. Very hot most of the time, and colorful. Friendly people. Delicious food. Cold beer.”

  “Like in the movies, then.”

  “Yes. And no. You don’t see the poverty in the movies. Just like anywhere in the world, there’s a lot of people struggling just to afford the basic necessities of life.”

  We have reached the bend in the river and I was right—it deepens to where I can’t touch the bottom. A large willow tree grows on the bank, its long branches trailing in the water. Against the brilliant orange glow in the sky it makes for a stunning sight. The air is perfumed with the smell of honeysuckle that grows wild on the hill on the other side of the river. The only sounds are the rustle of the willow leaves, and our breathing.

  “OK,” James says softly. “I admit it. This is nice.”

  “So you’re glad you joined me.”

  “Yes. I’m glad I joined you.”

  “And I’m not crazy.”

  He shrugs. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

  I splash water toward him and he laughs and dodges it.

  “You have the most amazing smile,” he says. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “That’s a shame. You should have been told every day.” He gives me a penetrating look and I swallow nervously. No one’s ever looked at me the way he is currently looking at me, and I feel out of my depth in more ways than one.

  “Everyone will be wondering where we are,” I say, heading toward the sandy bank that, unlike where we entered the river, slopes gently back up to the paddock.

  “Yes. You’re probably right.”

  He sounds disappointed, which is how I feel.

  “My dress is somewhere that way.” I point.

  “So it is.”

  “Be a gentleman and go and get it?”

  “No. I’m not leaving you here alone. But I will promise not to look on the walk back.”

  “I guess it’s nothing a bikini wouldn’t show, anyway.” I stand up and hear him give a sharp intake of breath. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and hope desperately that it’s not because of my scars and the fact I am too thin. Then I realize I have bigger things to worry about. The swim has depleted my energy, and once back on land my legs start to wobble, my muscles weak from everything I have been through. He is beside me in an instant, his arms steadying.

  “Are you OK?” he asks, concerned.

  I nod. “Just tired. I’m sorry.”

  “I shouldn’t have let you swim.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped me,” I say defiantly. “And I don’t regret it at all. It was wonderful.”

  “Do you always get your own way?”

  “Usually.”

  “Well, so do I.” And before I realize what he is doing he has scooped up my legs with his right arm, and I am in his arms. My arms involuntarily curl around his neck, my hands entwining.

  “Hey,” I protest.

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you taking this bridal shoot thing a bit far?”

  “Just be quiet and relax, will you?” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  So I do as he says, and rest my head against his shoulder, closing my eyes wearily as he strides across the field in search of our clothes. I have never been held in a man’s arms like this before.

  This is a memory that will never fade. I am sure of it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Three days later I get an email from James with a few of the photos attached.

  Thought you’d like a preview. The photos came up great, but with you as a subject that’s hardly surprising. Enjoy x

  I click on the first attachment and when it opens I slouch back into my chair, speechless. Is that really me?

  The photos are just like the ones I’d always admired in the bridal magazines, except instead of some wafer-thin model pouting sultrily into the lens, it’s me. In one, I’m under the shade of the big willow tree, my back slightly to the camera, my face looking over my shoulder and off into the distance. The dress is lightly blowing in the breeze, my hair doing the same.

  In another, I am lying among the wildflowers, my face bathed in sunlight, eyes closed, a knowing little smile on my face. My hair is fanned out around me, one arm slung casually above my head.

  I can hardly believe it’s me. I look the most beautiful I have ever looked.

  I immediately forward the email to everyone on my contact list, of course, and for the rest of the afternoon enjoy the ping of replies as my friends and family admire the photos. My mother replies to say she’s going to get one blown up and put on canvas, which is a bit over the top but does make me feel good. I can’t stop looking at them. It is me, but the best version of me I have ever seen. The thought that even once I am gone these images will still be here is a good one.

  I never even considered writing a bucket list after the first diagnosis, because I was going to beat it. That was all I would allow myself to think. Positive. Writing a bucket list would be like admitting there was a chance otherwise, and I refused to do that. Even when I was at my sickest, the treatment wreaking havoc on my physical body, taking me to what I imagined was the very brink of death, I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it.

  Now, with the cancer back and the outcome inevitable, I still can’t do it. There are things I wish I’d had the opportunity to do, sure. Given a life untouched by cancer. But as simple as it may be, I want to spend the time I have left with my loved ones. I want to give them memories of me to last their lifetime. I don’t want them to forget me. It’s an irrational fear because I know they won’t, but that’s the thing I fear most. Being forgotten.

 
Chapter Twenty-One

  There was a lady in my first support group who I was particularly drawn to. I’m not sure why. She was in a different phase of life, a few years older than me, married and with young children.

  Maybe it was her attitude, her determination not to take things so seriously. She would roll her eyes at inappropriate times, like when someone was being overly weepy and self-pitying, and I would get the giggles and have to stifle them, usually failing and drawing the silent ire of the support group leader, Irene.

  The lady, Lisa, would say things like, “Christ on a bike, if the cancer doesn’t kill us, these rock-hard muffins will.” Then she’d tap one on the edge of the table for emphasis, and I’d be set off giggling again.

  “Do you think they reuse the same tea bags every week?” she’d whisper to me. “This tastes like weak piss.”

  I found myself sitting next to her each week, attracted into her orbit of no nonsense. Asked about her cancer, she’d reel off the facts in a clinical manner. Both breasts were gone, and good riddance to them, the traitorous pair. Reconstruction? No. Not needed. Her husband adored her with or without tits, and she didn’t need to fill a shirt to feel like a woman. She intended on getting a chest tattoo instead, once the scars healed enough. A big lion’s head to represent the warrior she was, and when she described it to the group I could tell she enjoyed the horrified reaction from some of the more traditionally minded women.

  She was only here because her doctor was worried she wasn’t taking it seriously enough.

  “Why would I give it the satisfaction?” she said, waving a hand in irritation. “Cancer gets too much airtime as it is. I refuse to give it more.”

  She was a breath of fresh air in a room stale with the fear of death.

  Then one week she wasn’t there. Nor the next, nor the one after that. I hoped it meant she was in the clear, that she’d done what she kept saying she was going to do and kicked cancer to the curb, leaving it, and us, behind in her rearview mirror.

  Then one day I walked in and she was back, slouched low in a chair, shoulders hunched, eyes on the floor. I don’t think I hid my shock very well at the sight of her, and when she looked up at me, the no-nonsense determination was gone, replaced by fear and disbelief.