Photos of You (ARC)

by Tammy Robinson

  I nod. “OK.”

  Standing up, I take a deep breath, then I walk to the front door and open it. When I see him, I know what to do.

  “Hey.” He smiles. “You ready?”

  I step outside, aware that Kate and Amanda are lurking inside, within earshot but out of sight.

  I stop in front of him. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work.”

  He frowns. “Sorry?”

  I smile. “I forgot my case. I can’t go anywhere without that now, can I?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  We are all dying. Every day, a little bit more.

  When I was younger I watched a movie with Kate and Amanda, about a group of six teenage friends who, while giddy under the influence of beer and marijuana and caught up in the delirium that is living life as a teenager, went to see a fortune-teller in a spooky booth at a fairground at midnight. She saw them each individually, and gave them all the chance to decide if they wanted to know the date they would die. They all, apart from one girl, chose to find out.

  The next day, unsure if it was all just a bad dream and determined to find the old witch and give her a piece of their minds, they went back. But (cue ghostly, unnerving music) the fair was GONE.

  So they carried on living their lives with this fear hanging over their heads. Was she legit? Did she really have some kind of crystal ball that showed her the future? Or was she simply an opportunist out to make a quick buck and who got off on scaring the living daylights out of kids? A few years later, unable to cope with the insanity and determined to prove her wrong, one of the boys committed suicide. The fact he did this on a date that was not the date the fortune-teller gave him should have gone some way toward calming the minds of the others. But no, alas, as we found out, they never told each other what date they were given. (Cue mild hysteria.) I can’t remember much of the rest of it. It was pretty rubbish cinematography and the actors D-grade enough that I never saw any of them in anything else.

  Afterwards, in the dark as we lay in our sleeping bags on the lounge floor, we talked about what we’d do in the same situation. Kate and I were adamant we wouldn’t find out, that we’d want to remain oblivious. Amanda was the opposite. She’d want to know, she insisted, so she could make sure she did everything she wanted to do before her time was up. She wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, she said. Drunk, in love, and owing a fortune.

  Her words made me wonder whether, given the knowledge they were given, the kids in the film lived life differently from how they would have done if they’d remained blissfully unaware. Whether it influenced the choices they made, and altered their paths.

  I torment myself sometimes with thoughts of what my life might now be like had I not been given the initial diagnosis. Would I be married? A mother? A high-flying executive? Maybe I’d have been bitten by the travel bug, and would have been right this minute sipping the froth off a cold beer in an Irish pub somewhere in the middle of nowhere, my filthy, well-used backpack at my feet and joie de vivre in my heart because really, this was the life.

  But what really torments me is that really, deep, deep down in my heart, I know that in all probability not much would have changed. I’d probably still have been in the same flat, working the same job, watching the same TV shows, and drinking far more soft drink than health departments currently recommend.

  I don’t know the date I will die, or what time of the day it will happen. I don’t know the location, or the exact means (I’m hoping I will be on so much medication I won’t be aware of the end when it comes, because to think otherwise terrifies me).

  But this I do know.

  I know it will most likely be some time in the next year, more if I’m lucky and the doctor was having an off day with his estimations. I know it won’t be in fifty, or sixty, years’ time, like it should have been.

  And I know that I don’t want to just sit around and wait to die, but that is exactly what I have been doing. I don’t know why James has come into my life now, or whether he gets that same fluttery feeling in his stomach that I do when I think about him. But I don’t want to question it. I don’t want to overthink it, or dwell on “what could have been.” I just want to feel it, and never stop feeling it until the moment I cease breathing. And then, well, then I can only hope that it goes on, somewhere, somehow.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  What’s that?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “A helicopter.”

  “Ten points to you.” James slams the boot of his truck shut and grins at me.

  We have been on the road for more than an hour, during which James has stubbornly resisted all of my attempts to find out more about our destination.

  “Ha ha.” I pull a dry face. “Funny. But seriously, what’s it doing there?”

  “I think the other car park was full.”

  “James…” My voice is low, warning.

  “OK, OK. Ava.” He steps forward and gestures with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He nods.

  “We’re getting on that thing?” I point to it.

  “Yes.”

  I gaze at it, wide-eyed. I’ve never been up this close to a helicopter before, and it’s huge. “Bloody hell,” I say.

  James, who had started to walk toward the machine, freezes and turns, his face worried.

  “What? What does that mean? Is that a good ‘bloody hell’? Or a ‘There’s no way in hell you’re getting me on that thing’ kind of ‘bloody hell’?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Have you ever been on one before?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, there’s always a first time for everything,” he says hopefully. “Right?”

  I look at the blade things above the helicopter. They are moving up and down slightly in the breeze and look ever so flimsy. How do they hold this thing up in the air? A man wearing aviator sunglasses like Tom Cruise in Top Gun is walking around the helicopter with a clipboard, checking things and making notes. Unlike Tom Cruise, he is as bald as a boiled egg, and is wearing a T-shirt stretched thinly over a paunch that says TRUST ME! I’M A FLYBOY! James walks back to stand in front of me.

  “Seriously, though, Ava. If you don’t want to do this, that’s OK. I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do. Say the word and we can go somewhere else, somewhere that doesn’t involve flying. It’s not for everyone, after all, and if you’re scared that’s perfectly understandable.”

  His words give me the push I need. “No,” I say. “I’m not scared. OK, maybe a little. But I want to do it.”

  His face relaxes again. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Ready for an adventure?”

  “I was born ready.”

  He smiles. “OK. I’m just going into the office to sort out the paperwork. I’ll be back soon.”

  I nearly chicken out when he’s in the office talking to the woman behind the counter. The thought of being high in the air inside the metal contraption sitting before me is terrifying, to say the least. But I trust him. And his use of the word “adventure” has sparked my imagination. I have no idea where we’re going, and whether I enjoy the ride there remains to be seen, but I’m determined to make the most of this opportunity that I have been offered.

  James comes back outside, beaming. “We’re all good to go.”

  “Really? You’re sure they don’t need like a passport, or something? Because I didn’t bring mine.” I pull a face. “Aw, we can’t go, what a shame.”

  “We’re not leaving the country, Ava. You don’t need a passport.”

  “Oh.”

  He smiles reassuringly. “Last chance to change your mind.”

  I take a deep breath and hold it for six seconds, then exhale, feeling calmer. Not as calm as a whiskey would have made me feel, but I was pretty sure helicopters didn’t serve in-flight drinks, so it would have to do. “No. Let’s do thi
s.”

  He takes my hand and leads me over to where the pilot is holding open the door.

  “Hey, Toby,” James greets him warmly.

  “James,” Toby crows. “Good to see you again, man. How’ve you been?”

  “Oh, you know, can’t complain.” They do some kind of guy handshake where they bump fists a few times, wiggle fingers, and end with butting shoulders. I try to stifle my laughter but fail.

  “What?” James asks defensively.

  “Nothing.”

  He turns back to Toby. “How’s life treating you?”

  “Yeah, good, thanks. Wife’s about to have our second child in a few weeks. Another girl to twist Daddy around her little finger.”

  James laughs and I watch him fondly. I’m beginning to realize he is friendly like this with everyone, that he is genuinely interested in people and really listens when they talk. It makes me feel warm inside.

  “OK.” Toby consults his clipboard. “Wind’s picking up over the ranges so we need to get this show on the road. You guys get in and buckle up while I load your bags.”

  My nerves pick up again as I step up into the helicopter, running my eyes around appraisingly.

  “Take the window seat,” James says. “I don’t want you to miss the view.”

  We are in a row of four seats behind the pilot’s seat. I take the seat James is pointing to and he helps me fasten the seat belts and tighten them until he is satisfied. Toby closes the door and checks it’s securely locked into place, then climbs into his own seat and puts his headphones on. He gestures over his shoulder and James picks up headsets hanging in front of us.

  “Put this on,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “To help cover the noise of the blades,” he explains. “Also so we can all communicate once we’re in the air.”

  “You’ve done this before once or twice, I take it,” I say, doing as I’m told. Instantly, the world is muffled. Toby gives us the thumbs-up and James gives one back. It’s not long before the helicopter is going, and I’m amazed by how loud it is, even with the headphones. James gives me a questioning look and I smile to show I am OK. He reaches over and picks up my hand off my lap, and as I look down at his long fingers wrapped around my own, I feel a delicious sensation inside.

  I can’t help it; I close my eyes while we lift off. I try to keep them open but the sight of the ground rushing away makes me feel queasy, so I close my eyes and tighten my grip on James’s hand instead. He gives me a reassuring squeeze. It calms me. Besides, surely fate isn’t so ironic as to take a dying girl and kill her prematurely in a helicopter crash.

  Toby pushes a button in front of him and I hear a click in my headphone, followed by his mechanical voice in my ear.

  “You guys OK back there?”

  “Yeah, we’re good, thanks,” James tells him. He looks at me for confirmation. I nod.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Wait and see.”

  “Never heard of it. Is it far?”

  “Not long to go—another twenty-five minutes or so and you’ll see for yourself.” Toby’s voice crackles. “Just relax and enjoy the view.”

  James is so close I can see flecks of brown in his green eyes and the fine lines that crease his skin when he smiles, which he does every time he looks at me. It’s contagious, so I smile back before turning to look out the window. We are low-flying over a forest, a carpet of green that stretches as far as I can see. Undulating hills and ranges shape the land, and if I look really hard, in the distance I can see the blue line that is the ocean.

  “You guys been together long?” Toby asks.

  “Oh, we’re not a couple like that,” I splutter, while James looks amused.

  Toby’s voice is surprised. “Oh. Sorry. I just thought…”

  I turn my head to look out of the window, embarrassed. Is it that transparent? That I like James? Because I do like him. I like him more and more every moment I am with him. He makes me forget everything and just focus on the moment we are in. I decide to follow suit and just enjoy this adventure with him, concentrating on the breath-taking views out of the window and the feel of my hand in his.

  “We’ll be landing in a minute,” Toby says eventually. “Everybody still belted in?”

  “Yes,” James confirms.

  “Good. Might get a little dicey as we go over this last hill,” Toby warns, and he’s barely finished saying the words before the helicopter drops a few feet, taking my stomach with it. Involuntarily, I clutch James’s arm and pull myself close. He puts an arm around me and in spite of my fear I’m struck by how right it feels to be so close to him. It’s like I have been searching for this sense of belonging my entire life, and now I’ve found it. Here, with him. And the cruelty that it has happened now, when I am dying, is almost too much to bear.

  James sees the tear that trickles down my cheek and wipes it away with a thumb, his skin rough and scratchy. Then he taps my shoulder and points out the window.

  I gasp. We have made it over the top of the hill, and below us, nestled among miles and miles of native forest, are a series of tree houses, with a clear area of grass to one side that includes gardens, a pool, and the helicopter landing pad. It is the kind of thing you see in romantic movies.

  “What is this place?” I ask in wonder. “I had no idea this even existed.”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” James answers. “Not many people do.”

  Toby gently lands the helicopter on the helipad and we wait until the blades stop spinning to dismount. A woman is standing a few meters away, in a white shirt with black vest and skirt. Her hair is pulled into a tidy bun and her makeup is artfully applied. She is immaculate, and I feel like a hobo next to her.

  “Mr. Gable,” she says warmly, stepping forward to greet us. “Welcome back, sir. It’s a pleasure to have you staying with us again.”

  Immediately I feel my stomach clench. He’s been here before? Who with? But it’s not my place to be jealous, so I force a smile.

  “Thank you, Mary,” he says, then he looks down at me to explain. “I shot photos here for an article about the most exclusive accommodations in the country.”

  My smile relaxes. He was here for work. I look around while he and Mary talk. We are under a canopy of trees, tall ones, that stretch high into the sky, filtering the sunlight. There are wooden steps leading up to what I can only describe as tree houses, built on platforms around the larger trees. There are four smaller ones and two large ones, and the small ones are connected to the larger ones by wooden platforms and bridges.

  “It was a wonderful article,” Mary agrees. “You did the place justice, for which we’re grateful. Anything you need while you’re here, please let us know.” She gestures to a man nearby, who nods and collects our bags off Toby.

  “Thank you,” James says. “Right now, I think we could just do with a rest.”

  I know he means me, that I need a rest, but he is being polite by including himself in the statement and I don’t care because I’m grateful. I am tired. I was so nervous last night I barely slept, and it’s catching up to me. Also, my body hasn’t taken kindly to the vibrations of the helicopter and I’m feeling a little nauseous. Even though this place is begging to be explored, I want nothing more than to curl up on a bed and close my eyes for a while. I need to get some strength back.

  “Of course.” She smiles. “Follow me.”

  She leads us to the only building on the ground, a wooden lodge. Inside, there is a reception area and some rooms behind doors that I assume are offices, and a door that says STAFF ONLY. Mary leads us toward a set of metallic elevator doors.

  “You have an elevator?” I ask. “In the forest?”

  She nods. “Two, actually. We are an exclusive, hidden resort, and although we cater mostly to the famous and wealthy, some of them are of course elderly or have mobility issues. We make it comfortable and accessible for them all.”

  “This place is insane,” I hiss quietly to Jam
es as we wait for the doors to open.

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “What do you think.”

  “Wait until you see what’s at the top.”

  The elevator makes a ding noise, and the doors open. Mary steps to the side and gestures for us to go in first. I am about to step forward when her words connect with my brain.

  “Stop,” I say, sharper than intended. Both James and Mary look at me quizzically. “You said the elevators are for the elderly and the infirm.”

  Mary nods, but the fleeting glance she shoots at James answers my questions. I take his hand and pull him away, out of Mary’s immediate earshot.

  “I know your heart is in the right place, and that you were no doubt thinking of me and my health when you organized this. But please, I don’t want to be treated like an invalid. At least not until I am one. I just want to be normal.”

  His face softens, although his eyes are sad. It’s a look I’ve seen a million times, and it never gets any easier. When I see the sadness in the eyes of someone whose heart is breaking because I am dying, it breaks my heart. And I feel guilty, which is nonsense because none of this is my fault. But still, I hate to be the cause of hurt in anyone, let alone anyone I care deeply about.

  “OK.” He nods. Then he turns to Mary and speaks loudly. “Mary, change of plans. We’re taking the steps.”

  To her credit she says nothing, even though my cynical mind tells me she’s probably worried about insurance or lawsuit issues should I fall and break my neck. She leads us up the widest set of steps, the ones that lead to the larger of the tree houses.

  “This is the restaurant.” She indicates with a hand. “Closed now, but you’ll be seeing it tonight. Your rooms are this way.”

  I notice the guy with our bags has been waiting for us outside the doors of our rooms. They are adjacent to each other, and connected by a platform, but still separate rooms. Just as James promised. He opens the door and I step inside. Immediately my mouth drops open. Larger than it appears from the outside, the room is crafted entirely from different kinds of wood and natural materials. Built around the existing tree trunk, there are two large branches that come up through the floor and disappear out the roof, giving the appearance that the tree has grown around the house and not vice versa. One side is floor-to-ceiling glass doors, which open out on to a deck with a view over the forest and the ranges. The bed in the center of the room is the biggest bed I have ever seen, with four posts on the corners and frothy white mosquito nets, which I assume means I can sleep with the doors open if I like and remain uneaten. The linen is crisp, white, and luxurious.