Photos of You (ARC)

by Tammy Robinson

  “You were working and this is all a fuss about nothing. I’m OK.”

  I say it as much for my benefit as his.

  “Of course. I know you are.” His voice lacks the conviction of his words. “But I’m still grateful she called.”

  I nestle my face into his chest and breathe in the familiar smell of him. “Me too. But don’t tell her I said so.”

  “Oh, Ava. I felt so powerless, being so far away and hearing that you were so unwell.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I feel his arms tighten around me. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I was worried it was mine, taking you away for the weekend and wearing you out. Did I push you too hard?”

  “No, no. It’s not your fault. It’s just one of the crummy things that can happen when you have cancer. It could have happened anywhere, at any time.”

  He exhales and I realize that he has been blaming himself.

  “You gave me such a fright,” he says.

  “I gave myself a fright,” I admit. “Don’t tell my mother, but I thought it was it for me. The end. Saw bright lights and everything. Of course, that was just Kate coming in and turning the light on.” I start to cry softly as he rocks me.

  “I’m sorry. I should never have left you. I won’t do it again.”

  I pull back and look up at him. Even though he looks tired and his skin is the funny kind of gray color wrought by a long flight inside a metal tube with recycled air, he still looks amazing. “What do you mean?”

  He arches his eyebrows and tilts his head. “How do you feel about a new flatmate?”

  “Are you serious?”

  He nods. “Completely. I’ve already spoken to Amanda and Kate about it, and they’re happy for me to move in as long as it’s what you want.” He mistakes my lack of response for hesitation, and his next words come out in a rush. “I’m not proposing I move all my furniture in, of course, nothing like that. I’ll keep my place. I just meant I’ll move in for now, you know. And I can sleep in the spare room if it’s too much, too fast. I’d completely understand and won’t be offended, I promise. I don’t want to impose, and I want you to say no if that’s how you feel, no pressure from me. I just thought that maybe, you know, seeing as…”

  I silence him with a kiss, my lips pressed tightly against his. When I pull away he blinks.

  “Is that a…?”

  “Yes.” I laugh through tears. “Of course it’s a yes.”

  A smile slowly dawns across his face. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I can’t think of anything I want more.” I smile. “Well, apart from a cure for cancer, of course.”

  “Of course.” He grimaces. “So, we’re really bunking up together?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “And you’re really sure? I honestly would understand if it’s too soon; we haven’t known each other all that long, really.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Are you?”

  “Of course.”

  “James.” I shuffle over to the side of the bed and he sits on the edge, leaning back against the upright back part. I lay my head on his shoulder and he puts an arm around me. “I need to be sure you’ve really thought about this,” I tell him. “You know that what’s coming—it’s not going to be easy.”

  I hear him swallow. “I know.”

  “You have to be absolutely certain about this. You’re going to see things you won’t want to see, and I’m worried that it’s going to bring back a lot of painful memories for you.”

  He tightens his grip around me. “I’m scared. I’m not going to lie. But I’m not going to let my fear stop me from being with you. I meant everything that I said that day in the car.”

  I exhale, relieved. “OK. Then we’re really doing this.”

  He kisses the top of my head in response.

  This moving in together, it’s happening so quickly, no doubt about it. In a different time and under normal circumstances, if a guy suggested moving in together so soon after we’d started seeing each other I’d have run for the hills, probably. But these aren’t normal circumstances; far from it. And this feels right.

  “There is probably one thing you should know first, though, before you make your final decision,” I say solemnly.

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “I have to sleep on the left side of the bed. And I’ve been known to hog the sheets.”

  He laughs. “I think I can live with that. I snore, by the way.”

  I suck air between my teeth, shaking my head. “I suppose I can live with that. You know with three girls in the house, you’ll need to make sure you always put the toilet seat down.”

  “Duly noted. Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I have a pet lizard. Well, he’s a Komodo dragon, actually. Likes to sit by the bed at night and watch me sleep. Name’s Rocky. Don’t worry, he’s quite harmless. I mean, he’s bitten me once but it only needed three stiches. And it was my fault. I forgot to feed him that night.”

  I pull away to stare at him wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”

  He keeps a straight face for about two seconds, then bursts into laughter. “No. I’m kidding. You should see your face. I wish I had my camera.”

  I smack him lightly on his bicep. “Oh my God, you had me so worried then.”

  “Sorry.”

  He pulls me back in for a kiss, which deepens into something more desperate until I remember where we are and pull away, my breathing shaky. “I just want to get out of here now.”

  “Have they said how long?”

  “Not to me. But I’ve been pretty out of it.”

  “Want me to see if I can rustle up a doctor? Find out what’s going on?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He gets up, but before he can take a step I grab at his jersey and he turns, his face questioning.

  I take a deep breath, summoning up all the courage I have to say what I need to say. I don’t like feeling vulnerable, but he has been honest with me, and now it’s my turn to be honest with him. “When we were in the car, and you told me you care about me, I didn’t say it back, but I want you to know that I do. So much that it takes my breath away sometimes. And I know that the timing couldn’t have been any worse, or the circumstances any lousier, because I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around and I can’t promise you the future you deserve.” My eyes spill over with tears and he opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “Wait. I have to finish this. I can’t promise you that I’ll be an amazing kind of girlfriend, because I most probably won’t. It’s only going to get worse and I’m only going to get sicker. And I mean really sick. It won’t be glamorous and you’ll most likely be revolted at some point or other. And if you want to call it a day at any point, I’ll understand. I really will. And I won’t hold it against you. You can get out anytime you like, OK? I need you to know that.”

  He bends down and presses his lips firmly against my forehead, and it’s only when I feel his tears on my skin that I realize he is crying too. Then he whispers, so softly it is like the breath of a newborn child.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I go home a little over a week later, once they have brought my symptoms under control and updated my medicine regime. With no fanfare, I slip quietly out through the hospital doors with James on one side and my mother on the other, my dad bringing up the rear under the weight of my bag and a ragtag assortment of floral arrangements sent by well-wishers. While I appreciate their efforts, I wish they wouldn’t send flowers. Watching them brown, shrivel up, and die is a daily reminder I don’t need. My father must sense this because somewhere on the journey home between the hospital, the chemist, and the grocery store, they disappear.

  My parents have spent the last week getting to know James. To their credit, they’ve kept the usual interrogation a new boyfriend might expect to a minimum. This is not a typical relationship. There is only one thing they really need to know when it boils down to it.r />
  Does he make you happy?

  Yes. Deliriously so.

  Welcome to the family, James.

  I am so enthused about James moving in with me that it’s only when I walk into my bedroom and the smell of disinfectant and bleach hits that I remember the details of that night. All the feelings of fear that I felt come rushing back, leaving me curled up on a bed with brand-new sheets and duvet, crying hot tears because I know that I am well and truly screwed. That nothing is fair, and my so-called life is winding down. I am heading rapidly towards the End of My Days. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  James curls his body around mine and we stay like that, for hours, while the others keep a discreet distance somewhere else in the house and pretend they can’t hear my gut-wrenching sobs through the walls. At some point, exhausted, I sleep. When I wake, James is gone, and the space where he was has cooled. I go in search, needing him with a ferocity that is unfair to him. He is my life jacket to cling to, my anchor in a storm. As unreasonable as it is, I don’t want to be without him at my side.

  They are all in the lounge with the french doors open wide. I can feel the heat as soon as I walk into the room. Summer is well and truly upon us. I go to where James is sitting on a La-Z-Boy and drape myself across him, despite the heat. The prospect of death has made me needy.

  “How are you feeling?” Mum asks, getting to her feet. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  “I’m OK.” I shrug, because I don’t have the words to describe how I feel, and even if I did they don’t need to hear them. “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Too bad, you’re drinking it.” She returns with a glass of water and passes it over, giving me a pointed look. “Unless you fancy ending up back in hospital connected to a drip because you’re dehydrated?”

  Meekly, I take the water and force myself to drink it.

  “Good girl.”

  I notice for the first time that the couch is not in its normal position, that it is further out from the wall than it used to be.

  “Why’s the couch moved?” I ask.

  Kate and Amanda exchange a look.

  “Shall we show her?” Kate asks.

  Amanda shrugs. “I don’t see why not. Now is as good a time as any.”

  “Show me what?”

  “While you were in hospital we had a mail delivery.”

  “What kind of mail delivery?”

  Together they push the couch along, revealing a massive pile of packages. Some are wrapped in normal postal bags. Some are in colorful paper. Others are even in Christmas gift paper.

  “Whoa,” I say. “Who are they for?”

  “You.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, they all have your name on the front,” Amanda explains. “Though that’s about it. The guy who delivered it all said they’d been getting mail addressed to “Ava from the Women’s Weekly” for a while. They finally managed to convince the magazine to pass on your address and, well, here it all is.”

  I stare at the small mountain of gifts in wonder. “Who are they all from?”

  “Why don’t you open them and find out,” Dad suggests.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It would be wrong, wouldn’t it?”

  Mum sighs. “Ava, I love you. But sometimes you make about as much sense as a screen door on a submarine.”

  “Gee, thanks, Mum.”

  “Why would it be wrong to open these presents? They’re all for you.”

  “But I don’t know the people they’re from. It’s not my birthday. I haven’t done anything to deserve being sent gifts.”

  “I know it’s hard to understand, but people feel like they know you, through the magazine articles and your column. Apparently, their readership circulation is the highest it’s been in years.”

  “I’m glad someone is profiting from my death.”

  The joke, as such, falls flat. “Sorry. Anyway, what’s the deal with the Christmas paper?”

  “Well, there are only just over three weeks until Christmas,” James answers.

  I stare at him. “There are?” He nods.

  “Wow. That came around quick.”

  “December always passes by in a blur,” Mum says. “It’s the same every year. You think you have all the time in the world to be all festive and make the cake and do all the preparation that needs to be done, but before you know it, the day itself is here.”

  This Christmas is different, though, and we all know it. My last Christmas. There is an echoing silence around the room as we all think about the same thing. Amanda, predictably and to everyone’s relief, breaks it.

  She clears her throat. “If you don’t want to open them, I’m happy to.”

  “Amanda,” Kate scolds.

  “What? I’m just saying. It’s a shame for them all to go to waste. People wanted Ava to have these things, whatever they are.”

  I realize she’s right. I have to stop thinking about myself sometimes, and think about the intention behind the actions of others.

  “How about we all open some?” I suggest. “Make an afternoon of it.”

  So we do just that. We sit in a circle around the presents and we open them. Kate methodically insists on recording each present and who it is from, if there is a name. Some are anonymous gifts. There are things for the wedding. Some brand-new, some secondhand, and some handmade, like a delicate lacy veil, clearly antique and lovingly looked after.

  “It’s exquisite,” Mum gasps as she opens it. She lifts up the card and reads aloud.

  Dear Ava,

  My name is Lois Pearl, and this was my wedding veil sixty-five years ago when I married my husband, Jack. It was handmade by my mother and grandmother, and I can still remember how proud I felt wearing it, and how like a princess it made me feel. Jack passed away forty years ago. He never really recovered from injuries he sustained in the Second World War. We had a fine marriage while it lasted, a happy one. Together we raised six children and I am now a proud grandmother to nineteen, and great-grandmother to four. Life hasn’t always been easy, and I’ve done my fair share of complaining over the years. But when I read your story I was reminded how lucky I am, and how grateful I should be. I want to thank you for that, and I want you to have my veil. It shouldn’t sit in a box in a cupboard in the dark, the way it has. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to wear it, I know it’s not exactly modern! Either way, when you’re finished please gift it on.

  All my love, Lois.

  “Oh, isn’t that just beautiful.” Mum sniffs through her tears.

  “It smells like mothballs,” Amanda says.

  We drink wine—even me, although I’m not supposed to.

  “You told me to keep up my fluids,” I say to Mum when she protests.

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it, but go on, then. I suppose a small one won’t hurt.”

  There are books. Fiction ones, self-help books about spirituality and mindfulness, and even a couple of Bibles. Like the flowers, the intention behind them is good. But they are another reminder. I won’t have time to read them. Not all. I know that I probably won’t even read one, if I’m being honest. While I have been an avid reader all my life, now that time is at a premium I’d rather spend it making my own memories than reading about the memories and moments of others.

  I am also gifted an assortment of knick-knacks. The kind you can buy in any good stationery shop. The ones that are designed to spur you on to greater things, or at the very least to remind you to embrace the day with a smile. Fridge magnets, coffee cups, cushions. Candles that smell like tropical islands. Aprons with inspirational quotes.

  There are two wedding dresses, both too big. Four pairs of shoes, a tiara, six necklaces, three bracelets, and fourteen lacy garters. There is even, rather inappropriately, a set of scarlet red lingerie.

  “Are those…” Amanda snatches them from me to look closer and then howls with laughter. “Crotchless knickers,” she b
ellows. “Oh. My. God.”

  I snatch them back. “Shut up.”

  James smirks until my father frowns at him, then he pretends to be suddenly fixated on something outside the window.

  When we have finished, we have a pile of perfectly wonderful gifts, but I don’t need any of them.

  “Donate them.” I say emphatically when Kate tentatively asks where we’re going to keep it all.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. Women’s refuge? If anyone is in need of something nice for Christmas, it’ll be those women.”

  “Oh, that’s a lovely idea.” Mum smiles. “Are you sure, though, that there’s nothing you want to keep?”

  I survey the pile again and pick up the veil. I know I won’t wear it; it doesn’t go with the picture I have in my head of how I want to look on the day. But I don’t want it to go to just anyone. “Just this. I’ll find a new home for this.”

  “That’s it? Are you sure?”

  I nod. “I’m sure. I’m grateful for each and every present. And the thoughts that came with them. But I don’t need any of this. I’d rather it all went to people who will appreciate it.”

  “Ava Green, you have a heart of gold,” Mum says. “You get that from me, you know.”

  Notes from Ava

  (Women’s Weekly, December 18)

  Spend less on possessions. Yes, it’s a message you’ve heard before. Countless times. But before you roll your eyes and turn the page, hear it one more time from me, the dying girl.

  I am facing my last Christmas here on earth. My last Christmas Eve, last Christmas morning. I started thinking about all the Christmases gone by, not that many, admittedly. Not near enough. And do you know what? There is only one gift I remember receiving, and that was a doll when I was about four years old. That’s it. And I don’t even really remember what it looked like, just how it smelled when I removed it from its packaging. I can’t even remember what I got last Christmas. How bad is that?

  We spend time and money investing in the “perfect” gifts for our loved ones, and most of them are discarded or forgotten about by New Year. That “perfect” gift, the one that was going to change their life? Yeah, it’s sitting in a cupboard or drawer somewhere. They’ll find it again, in a few months or a year, and they’ll scratch their head and think, Now where did this come from, again?