Still looking at me dubiously, she sits, tucking the notebook underneath her thigh that is furthest away from me. I study her face, marveling at how familiar it is. I could close my eyes and conjure up a thousand magical memories of this girl based on one expression alone. She has been there for me through everything. I can only hope that I have given her the same support.
“You know you’re my oldest friend,” I say.
She bursts into tears.
“Wow, that escalated quickly,” I say, blinking. “Oh, Kate, you big, soppy thing. Come here.” I pull her in for a cuddle.
“I’m sorry.” She sniffs.
“Stop saying that.”
“But I am. You’re being so brave. And here I am being a total sook and making you comfort me when it should be the other way around.”
“You can’t help how you feel.”
“I feel like shit.”
I pat her back. “That’s good, let it all out.”
“It’s just not fair, you know?” she mumbles into my shoulder. “Why you?”
“No idea.”
“How am I supposed to spend the rest of my life without you?”
“Again, I have no idea. But you will. You’ll get through this and you’ll be OK. I promise.”
“But you don’t like making promises you can’t keep.”
“Exactly. This one is easy. You will be OK, Kate. In fact, you’ll be more than OK. You’ll have a wonderful life, an amazing life. You’ll be happy, and have a family, and do all the things you’ve ever wanted to do. You know how I know?”
She sniffs and shakes her head, still buried in my shoulder.
“I hope you’re not wiping snot on me.”
That makes her laugh. A kind of gulp laugh, and she sits back up and looks at me, her face puffy and tear-stained.
“I know you’ll be fine, Kate, because of this.” I cross my hands on my chest and give her a sad smile. “Because of me. If you ever get stuck in a rut, or in a situation that makes you unhappy, promise me that you’ll think about me. And you’ll remind yourself that some of us didn’t get to make choices, but you will, and you must. If something isn’t working in your life, change it. I know it sounds too simple, and words are easy to say. But you have to promise me, Kate. Live your best life. For me.”
She swallows hard and nods.
“Say it.”
“I promise.”
“You’ll live your best life.”
“I will.”
“Good.” I lean back, satisfied. “Because if you don’t, I’ll come back and haunt your arse.”
She snorts with laughter. “Yeah, that sounds like something you’d do.”
“You better believe it.”
She reaches over and picks up my hand, smiling sideways at me. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Talking me back off the ledge.”
“What are friends for.”
“I love you.”
“Mumble mumble mumble.” I cough into my hand.
She cups her ear. “Sorry? I didn’t catch that.”
“Oh, come on. You know I don’t go in for big declarations of affection.”
“I think you can make an exception just this once.”
“Is that the time?” I pretend to look at a watch I’m not wearing.
She pounces, pinning me down and tickling me gently in the ribs. “Say it.”
“Stop.” I giggle breathlessly. Kate used this method to coerce me into doing her will when we were small girls, and although it’s been quite some time since she employed it, unfortunately for me, its effectiveness hasn’t waned.
“I’m not stopping until you say it,” she insists.
“This is cruel,” I gasp.
She draws back, alarmed. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No,” I say, and then realize too late the opportunity I have missed.
“Good.” She tickles again, poking me in my sides as I contort and wheeze until finally I cave.
“Fine, fine. I love you too,” I yell.
She ceases tickling and climbs off me, her face smug. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Speak for yourself,” I grumble, trying to catch back my breath. “You have an evil streak, you know.”
“I’ve missed this.” She smiles wistfully.
“Tickling me?”
“No, egg. This, us. Playing around. Just the two of us. Although it’s great when Amanda is here too, of course,” she adds hurriedly.
“I know what you mean. I’ve missed it too. I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve been so preoccupied with James lately.”
She looks down. “It’s OK. I understand.”
“I hope so. It doesn’t mean I love you guys any less. You’re still the best friends a girl could ever ask for.”
“I was a little jealous of him at first,” she admits. “Which sounds completely selfish.”
“It’s not selfish. You can’t help how you feel.”
“I just…I missed it being just us, you know?” She sighs deeply. “But it all comes down to the fact that all I want is for you to be happy. That’s the most important thing. And anyone can see that he makes you that way.”
“He does. And so do you.”
“Besides, I’ve had you almost my whole life,” she goes on. “And although it’s hard to share when I know our time left together is limited, share I must.” She sniffs nobly.
“You never were any good at sharing,” I tease.
“Hey,” she protests. “OK, maybe not, but you still love me.”
I give her a defiant look.
She holds up her hands and waggles her fingers threateningly. “Don’t you…?”
“I do, I do,” I say quickly before she starts tickling me again.
Her expression turns serious. “Oh, God, Ava. How am I supposed to say goodbye to you?”
I take a breath and breathe it out slowly, failing to dispel the pain her words cause. “You don’t. No goodbyes. I’ll be seeing you again. Someday, somewhere.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I have to. Otherwise it hurts too much.”
Notes from Ava
(Women’s Weekly, January 28)
Don’t leave saying something until it is too late. You were taught words for a reason. Use them. Unless you’re angry. Then you shouldn’t say anything. Words said in anger can never be taken back, so don’t tear someone else down just because you’re having a shitty day. Stop. Breathe. Think first. Walk away if you have to.
Tell your loved ones you love them. Every single time you see them or leave them, tell them. Especially your children. Sprinkle the word on them like glitter. It will never lose its effectiveness, trust me, and it will make them feel as special and wanted as they are.
If you love someone, tell them. Because if you don’t, one day it will be too late. Not might be, WILL be. We are all only a tiny cog in this great big universe for a while. Once your time is up, it’s up. It’s not a rehearsal. You don’t get to try again. There are no second chances, no reruns. Just one chance, to make it a life you want to live. It doesn’t matter if you aspire to greatness, or if you’re content to live a life that others might consider average. As long as you’re happy, that’s a life well lived.
Clichés are clichés for a reason.
Do the things you want to do.
Don’t do anything you don’t want to.
Eat the things you want to eat.
Be with the person who makes you the best version of yourself.
Live truthfully, as best as you can.
DO stop and smell the roses, and the coffee, and the scent of freshly cut grass. They really are the moments that make us smile.
Look in the mirror every morning and tell yourself “I’ve got this.” Because you do.
Live your best life. It’s the only one you’ll get.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Something is not quite right with James. Nothing obvious, but s
omething nevertheless. I can feel it. He is distant, distracted, but when I ask him if he is OK he brushes me off, saying he is fine, it is nothing. But even though he is as attentive and loving as ever, I can’t shake the murky feeling that he is slipping away from me. The closer we get to the wedding the tenser he becomes.
The number of letters and packages arriving has doubled; it appears reader excitement for the wedding has reached fever pitch. When I was in hospital the magazine ran an article that basically implied I was plugged into machines and barely clinging on to life. Sensationalism at its best. I understand it sells copies, which is ultimately the magazine’s intention, but it doesn’t sit well with me. People up and down the country actually held candlelight vigils; Amanda shows me the photos that were uploaded on to the Facebook page. I am touched by their love, and terrified by it at the same time. These people care so much for me, someone they’ve never met. I worry that I don’t merit it.
A week before the wedding, Nadia herself comes to the house to find out how I am feeling and how the wedding prep is going. I am sullen and mutter monosyllabic, noncommittal answers in protest against her perceived lack of morals. If she notices she gives no sign of it. Mercifully, Kate and Mum are willing to discuss wedding details till the cows come home, so I leave Nadia in their capable hands and escape to the beach.
I head for the waterline and then turn south to walk alongside it. The tide is on the turn, making its way slowly back up the sand. Like the disease inside of me, its gain is indiscernible to the naked eye, but unrelenting.
It all feels like it has gotten out of hand. I am not the only person in this country dying of cancer. Far from it. According to statistics, over six hundred other people will die this year of breast cancer alone. I am just a number. A name on a list, a bar on a graph, a slice in a pie. I don’t know why people are interested in me especially, but they are. And as much as I want to tell Nadia it’s enough now, if reading about me makes just one woman do a self-exam on her breasts, or push her doctor for more tests, a second opinion, a proper diagnosis, then it will be worth it.
I haven’t walked far before exhaustion hits, so then I sit and wrap my arms around my knees, staring out to sea. It is getting harder and harder for me to breathe with the effort of any exertion. My lungs feel as if they are stuffed full of cotton wool and only a small amount of oxygen is filtering through, leaving me weak, pale, and breathless.
I am scared.
I have been to the brink and back a few times since my initial diagnosis. Or I thought I had. To be told that you are dying, while you sit there still healthy enough to carry out the basic duties of life and even experience adventure on top, is incomprehensible. It’s impossible to believe that death is so close, just around the corner, rapidly approaching on the wrong side of the road with headlights on full. You, dead in its sights.
And now that I am close enough to sense the end, I am still no closer to any answers. If I thought death might bring clarity, I was wrong. It only brings more confusion.
“Ava.”
I turn at my name being called. It is my father. He walks along the beach until he is at my side and then he sits down heavily beside me with an “oof “ sound as his weight hits the ground.
“You should try and lose some belly weight, Dad,” I say idly. “It’s not good for your heart.”
“Don’t you start worrying about my heart. Nothing wrong with it.”
“You’re working it too hard. Lose some weight. Go for a run once in a while.”
He snorts. “Run? Have you ever known me to run?”
“Only after an ice-cream truck,” I tease, to show that I come from a place of love. “Promise me. Now. Here. That you’ll take better care of your health.”
“What’s brought this on?”
“Nothing. Everything. I’m not going to be around to look after you and Mum in your old age. You’ve only got each other. She’s going to need you.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in until our heads are together. “Don’t worry about us.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.” He sighs. “Listen, your mother sent me to get you. Nadia has gone. She wants you to come back and have a final dress fitting.”
“It can wait.”
“You’ll get me in trouble if I go back alone.”
“I’ve lost another two kilos,” I blurt out. I feel him stiffen. “Without trying. I think the end is getting close, Dad.”
“Oh, love.”
I cry, and he holds me while I do, my shoulders heaving with sobs that shake my body with such force that I honestly feel I might break all the bones in my body.
“I’m scared,” I tell him.
“Me too. Terrified. But you’re not facing this alone. I’m here; we’re all here.”
“I know.” I stare out to sea, where a sailing ship is moving slowly across the horizon, its white sails billowing against a brilliant blue sky. I’d give anything, in that moment, to be on that ship, sailing off into destinations unknown. “But at some point it’s going to be just me, isn’t it,” I say softly, through lips wearied by words of death. “Me. Taking that final step into the unknown. Leaving you all behind.”
He tightens his grip on my shoulders but doesn’t answer.
“How will I know when to let go, Dad?”
It’s an unfair question and no answer comes. Just the tide. Unrelenting.
The dress, when we do go back to the house, is as I predicted. Too big. My mother frowns, pins stuck between her teeth, as she surveys the baggy material. I watch her in the mirror and see the exact moment realization dawns. She closes her eyes tightly for a moment, calling all her strength into play, before opening them again and smiling at me brightly.
“Don’t panic, but a minor problem,” she chirps. “I mucked up the measurements last time. Completely my fault. Bear with me while I just pin it properly and then we’ll be all good to go.”
“You’re lying.”
“Ava Green, don’t you dare call me a liar. I am your mother.”
“Sorry. I do appreciate it, though.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you’re welcome.”
“We don’t have to do this if it’s too hard, Mum.”
She stops pinning to look at my reflection in the mirror quizzically. “Do what? Alter the dress? It’s no problem, really. Well, for Sharon Hornsby anyway. You know I’m no great sewer but she’s happy to make the alterations we need. She’ll stay up all night if she needs to.” Because of the pins, her words come out all funny-sounding, but I understand her.
“The wedding, Mum. We don’t have to do any of this if it’s too hard on you and Dad.”
She sighs and sits on the end of the bed, spitting the pins out into her hand. “I’m not going to lie,” she admits. “When you first mentioned the idea I thought it was ridiculous. But then I thought about it some more, and I realized, why shouldn’t you have the day you always wanted. Besides, you’re right, a funeral is a horrible, morbid affair. I’ve never liked them.”
“I don’t think anyone does.”
“Of course not. Don’t interrupt.”
“Sorry.”
“I think the idea of having a day to celebrate your life with your family and friends while you’re still with us is a good one. A great idea, in fact. And your father feels the same way.”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
She tilts her head and sighs. “OK. Where is this coming from? Talk to me. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“It’s James.”
“Where is he? I haven’t seen him today.”
“That’s the point. He said something about catching up with an old friend as he practically ran out of the door this morning and I haven’t heard from him since. He’s barely been around much at all the last week. I don’t know what happened. Everything was going so amazingly and then all of a sudden it was like he just hit the brakes, and I feel like he
wants out but just doesn’t know how to tell me.”
“Oh, darling, I’m sure that’s not the case. He adores you. Everyone can see that.”
“Then why does he keep making excuses to leave the house?”
“They’re not excuses. He does have a life outside of you, remember. A house, a business.” She says it as tactfully as she can without pointing out I am being unreasonably selfish.
“No.” I shake my head. “Something’s wrong. I’m going to try and talk to him tonight.”
“OK. But be gentle. This can’t be easy on him either. You two got together so quickly, he probably had no idea what he was getting himself into.”
“That’s just it, though; he does have an idea.” I shrug sadly. “He’s been through it all before.”
“What are you talking about?”
I tell her about his mother’s death and the effect it had on him.
“Oh.” She places a hand on her chest and looks stricken. “Oh no, that poor man.”
“It was pretty rough on him. So much so that he tried to stop himself developing feelings for me, because he knew what I was facing and couldn’t bear the thought. But he couldn’t help himself. He thought he could handle this, but now maybe he’s realizing he can’t.”
“Oh, love. That’s just terrible. But I can’t say I blame him. This isn’t an easy ask of anyone, watching you suffer.” She chokes on the last word and swallows hard. “You both need to have an honest conversation. See where his head is at.”
“Yeah. I know you and Dad were planning on sticking around for dinner tonight, but do you think you could make yourselves scarce? And take Kate and Amanda with you?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
She stands back up and puts her hands on my hips, spinning me gently until I am facing the mirror again, with her face over my shoulder.
“You are so beautiful. Your father and I are incredibly proud of you. You know that, right?”
I nod.
“Honey, if James does decide this is too hard and he can’t be here for you, try to understand. See it from his point of view.”
“I will.”
“You’ve always got us. We’re not going anywhere.”
Her words echo my father’s, but I don’t torture her with the same reply. “I know.”
Photos of You (ARC) Page 22