Photos of You (ARC)

by Tammy Robinson

“Yes.”

  “You asked me if I’d ever been in love. And I told you I had, once. Remember?”

  I nod, unsure where he is going with this.

  “I was wrong. That was nothing compared to what I feel for you, Ava. It’s all-consuming, how much I want you. How much I need you.” He lifts me up and holds me tightly, our faces pressed together. “You are my everything, my world. Hell, I would lasso the moon for you. I want to give you everything you deserve, anything you want. Everything you need.”

  “You already have. You. I don’t need anything else.”

  “I love you, Ava Green. I will love you endlessly and always.”

  “Oh, James, I love you too.”

  He lowers me back down to my feet gently and then he drops down to one knee on the flower-strewn sand, fishing in his coat pocket. I realize instantly what is happening, of course, and clap my hands over my mouth.

  “Ava Green,” he says solemnly, pulling out a little black box and holding it aloft, “will you do me the most profound honor of being my wife, and making me the luckiest man in the world?”

  I fight my instincts to scream the answer. “Are you sure about this?” I ask in a low voice. “You know how rough it’s going to get. I can’t promise you it will be easy.”

  “I’ve never been surer about anything in my life. I don’t want easy. I want you. And I will be there for you every step of the way, through both the good and the bad. You’re not getting rid of me again.”

  “I never wanted to get rid of you in the first place.”

  “So is that a yes?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  His smile slips off his face and he looks at me, worried. “Why not?”

  “Well, I mean, I haven’t seen the ring yet.”

  He closes his eyes for a moment as his smile grows again. Then laughter bubbles out of him. “Jesus, Ava, you had me really worried there.”

  “I’m sorry.” I half smile, half cry, though they are happy tears. “I’m kidding, of course. I don’t care what the ring looks like; it’s a definite yes. Yes, yes yes!”

  He whoops loudly as the crowd erupts into cheers and I remember for the first time that we have an audience. I laugh through joyful tears as he climbs to his feet and picks me up to spin me around. When I protest, laughingly, that I am getting dizzy, he puts me down and slides on the ring, a beautiful emerald the color of the lake at the bottom of the waterfall. Then my father claps him on the shoulder and James turns to talk to him. Kate taps me on the shoulder and I turn around.

  “I’ve just been informed that the mayor happens to be an ordained minister,” she says quietly. “Shall I fetch her?”

  “Yes.” I smile at her. “And quickly. I don’t want to waste another second not being this man’s wife.”

  Hearing the word, James turns, groaning, and pulls me into his arms again. “Those are the most beautiful words I have ever heard you say.”

  I kiss his chin. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Only the cute ones.” He winks.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  At 4.49 p.m. on my “wedding” day, I officially become James’s wife. It is the happiest moment of my life, and the most emotional by far. Afterwards, we don’t let each other go, not for a second. Well, apart from bathroom breaks. After the ceremony on the beach, we head to the surf club hall, which has been decorated beautifully enough to mollify even my mother. There we dine on the freshest bounty the sea has to offer as we celebrate our new chapter with the people who helped write the book of my life.

  Surrounded by love, we dance on the balcony under the stars, until we are too sleepy to shuffle another step. Then we are chauffeured to a motel, where we tumble into a mountainous bed and gently consummate our marriage.

  It feels like a dream, and yet it is the most genuine thing I have ever done.

  We honeymoon on Stewart Island, where we make love in a glass igloo under the blazing glory of Aurora Australis, the Southern Lights. I cry at their beauty, and marvel at the magnificence that is this planet upon which we live.

  We fool ourselves, James and I, wrapped in our little bubble of love, that I am well, and that James has sole claim on my body, not the cancer that ravages the inside. But we can only pretend for so long, and two months after the wedding, two glorious, wonderful months in which we only strengthen our love, I develop pneumonia and quickly begin to go downhill. Almost overnight, it seems, my body betrays my will and I begin what I know is the start of The End.

  True to his word, James is at my side through it all. The last-ditch medical procedures that fail to buy time, and the conversations that no one ever wants to have, but must. I am admitted to hospital while the doctors attempt to bring my pain under control. It is in the hospital that I become aware that eventually I will be on so much medication I will lose awareness, and assumedly my death will thereafter briefly follow.

  The idea of hospice is mentioned, and shot down by me. I don’t want to die in a strange room. When it becomes clear that I am in the end stages and there is nothing more to be done, I ask to go home. A hospital bed is set up in Kate’s lounge, near the window. James sleeps either in the chair beside me, holding my hand, or on the couch. My parents move into our old room. When it is fine I ask for the french doors to be opened. I want to die with the smell of the sea in my memory.

  Time passes. I don’t know if it’s days or hours or weeks anymore. A palliative care team visits daily. The morphine helps, for a while, but the pain is constant and gnawing, unlike anything I could have ever imagined. I am not ready, and I am scared. I don’t pretend to be brave to spare anyone’s feelings. I cry when I need to, which is often.

  Blink.

  In my dreams, James and I live forever, in a tree house beside a waterfall. We have five beautiful babies, with their father’s eyes and their mother’s tenacity.

  Cancer is no longer, a cure has been found. No one suffers. At least, not from this.

  I hear them. The voices. Muffled, tearful, weary. I hate what I have put them through. Continue to do. Is it my fault? That I am still here? Am I hanging on when I should be letting go? Have I failed at the very thing that comes to us all?

  Blink.

  I dream of him. With the water on his skin and the sunset in his eyes. The timing was all wrong. And yet, the timing was perfect. I wonder where he is, and what he is doing. Then I remember. He is here, at my side, where he promised he’d always be. I can’t bear for him to touch me anymore. My skin is so thin it hurts. My bones so brittle they could break. I miss him with a longing that never ends.

  Blink.

  I tiptoe among the stars, along the Milky Way. Hitch a ride on a comet, dance with the man in the moon.

  I am star dust; blow on me too hard and I will disintegrate.

  Blink.

  Epilogue

  (Written by James—printed in the Women’s Weekly)

  When I was asked to write a few words, not long after Ava’s death, I initially said no. The pain was too raw, my grief unrelenting. It still is, and shows no sign of waning. But then I remembered how much comfort Ava drew during her final months from you, the readers of this magazine. She cherished each and every letter, and was grateful to be included in your thoughts and prayers. So I do this for you, and for her.

  After our wedding, Ava and I, we thought we still had time up our sleeve. That turned out to be wishful thinking. The cancer was too aggressive, and had spread too far. She became seriously ill very quickly and was admitted to hospital. When it was clear that there was no longer anything that could be done for her, we brought her home, at her request.

  One night she asked for a sip of water, and in the brief moment that I turned around to pick up the glass and straw, she slipped into an unconsciousness from which she would never awaken. Her family, closest friends, and I spent the next eight hours at her bedside, reminding her of how much she is, and always will be, deeply loved. We told her it was OK for her to let go, to seek an end to her pain a
nd suffering, and that it wasn’t goodbye, because we would see her again some day.

  Ava died just after 5 a.m. on a Saturday in March. As the sun rose over the sea she took her last breath. The end, when it came, was peaceful. For that I will always be grateful.

  We buried her in a pine casket in the cemetery that occupies a sharp corner on the road leading out of town. She rests on the tip of a hill, overlooking the ocean, where she is buffeted by wind and salt spray, which I can’t help thinking she would have liked. Ava drew comfort from feeling alive, and nature is a good provider of that. I visit it often, although to my dismay I don’t sense her presence there. She is gone, dancing among the stars somewhere, pain free and forever young. Her grave is merely a place to rest flowers and my weary head, and I have fallen asleep there more times than I care to admit.

  Time moves on. I’ll be honest, and admit I’m struggling, desperately. I was blessed with the love of the most amazing woman, and I am grateful. But I am also selfish. It wasn’t long enough. Not by a long shot. I remember a few weeks before she died, I told Ava I had no idea how I would go on living without her.

  You’ll find a way to manage, she said. People still live after losing a limb.

  She was more than just a limb, though. She was my whole heart.

  I will try my hardest to live my best life, because I promised her I would, and because she taught me not to make promises you can’t keep. But she can hang on to my heart, until the day we are reunited again.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not be in your hands if it weren’t for the tireless belief of my wonderful agent, Vicki Marsdon, who keeps insisting that I have talent, and who is relentless with her encouragement. Thanks to Emma and Anna at Piatkus, who believed in this story based purely upon the strength of a few paragraphs. You saw the potential, and I’m hugely grateful for that. Thanks also to the wonderful teams at Hachette New Zealand and Hachette Australia for your amazing support and efforts, especially Sacha, who is very clever and very kind.

  Amanda Shapleski, Andrea Sheffield, Jo Edwards, Michelle Barbridge, Richard Lloyd-James, Cara Randall-Hunt, Tara Lyons, Kelly Thompson, Micaela Bretton, Yvette Hurst, Gail Shaw, Robyn Jan Geiger, Gilda Galluzzo Seager, Emily Ciravolo, Emma Green, Rebecca Raisin, Fiona Wilson, Shelly Feetham, Mark Paxton, Tracy Bain, Casey-Lee Vautier, Rachael Albert, Bonnie Whittaker, Janelle Harris, Michelle Vernal, Donna Moran and Donna Young—you guys are all special to me and your support doesn’t go unnoticed.

  My family, especially Tony Ryan, Patrice Ryan, Rob Ryan, Kerrie Ryan, Ange Ward, Jacqui Morrissey, Catelyn McCarty, and Jack Morrissey. I love you all so very much. My welcoming new family, Christine and Ian Robinson, Rachel and Mark Barker, Wayne and Nikki Robinson.

  My very, very dear friends who feel like family, Kevin, Lorraine and Rachel Tipene. We’ll come and see you in France one day, I promise!

  And, lastly, my hard-working, tremendously supportive husband, Karl, and our precious cherubs, Holly, Willow, and Leo. You make every day chaotic and loud, but also fun and wonderful. I love that every time I drag you into a book store and point at the shelf you still say “Mummy’s book!” with as much enthusiasm as the first time. Long may that continue.

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  About the Author

  After years spent working her way around the world, Tammy Robinson settled back in New Zealand, where she married her husband, Karl, and had three children. After her husband followed his dream of being a farmer and moved them all to the rural countryside, Tammy decided it was time to get serious about her own dreams of being a writer. She has since written eight novels and is working on her ninth, when the kids let her.

  Photos of You

  Reading Group Guide

  Questions for Readers

  Photos of You has a highly emotional central premise. Do you think the author does this subject justice through her characters and her writing?

  Can you talk about the role of Ava’s friends in the story and the support they give her?

  What do you think of the idea of a wedding without a groom? Do you think it’s appropriate, given Ava’s unique situation?

  Bucket lists have become a popular concept in recent years. Do you think they can inform your life in a positive way?

  How realistic do you find the notion of a national magazine offering to help Ava plan and document her wedding?

  Can you discuss the relationship that Ava has with her family in the story?

  Do you think James is a suitable hero for Ava?

  Was the ending satisfying to you? Would you have wanted Ava’s story to end in any other way?

  Q&A with author

  Tammy Robinson

  Photos of You has such a strong central premise. How did you come up with the idea for the story?

  The idea actually came from an online news article that my agent sent me. It was about a beautiful young Japanese woman with a terminal illness who decided to have a big fashion photography shoot wearing a dozen or so wedding dresses. She wanted the whole pampering experience of having her hair and makeup done by professionals and feeling like a princess bride for a day, as she knew she’d never have a wedding day for herself. It got me thinking about the different things we would all wish for when faced with our own mortality. My father volunteers for the Make A Wish foundation here in New Zealand, and it’s hugely important to him to really talk to the children and find out what it is they’d love to do or have. Sometimes when he arrives at a house he’s already been briefed that they would like a bedroom makeover, or a trip to the amusement parks on the Gold Coast in Australia. But when he actually sits and talks to the child, what they would really love is something they worry might be too outrageous or unachievable, like being a mermaid for a day, or be immortalized in graffiti artwork on a building. I wanted to write about a young woman who knows what she wants and goes after it, no matter how bizarre it might seem to everyone else.

  Do you identify with any of the characters and, why?

  I recently had a health scare with my two-year-old son. We found a lump on his shoulder that turned out to be a soft-tissue tumor. An anxious few weeks passed while he underwent a variety of tests, some invasive and under general anesthetic. It was the most helpless I have ever felt, being unable to control either events or the outcome. I couldn’t swap places with him no matter how much I wanted to, and I couldn’t promise him that everything was going to be OK. As his mother, I feel it is my job to keep him safe and protected, and to have that ability taken away from me was just horrendous. Thankfully, to our relief and gratitude, the tumor is benign and will be removed soon. So, to answer your question, I can identify with Ava’s mother. She adores her child and would do anything to change what is happening or take it away, but she can’t. So instead she is throwing herself into giving Ava everything she wants for however long she has left.

  What did you enjoy most about writing this story?

  I love writing about love, whether it’s between a parent and a child, best friends, or lovers. I feel like the love between Ava and her friends and family was just extraordinary, and it was an absolute joy to write.

  Were there any challenges along the way?

  It was obviously very important to get the cancer side of the story right. Both the factual side of it and the emotional side. I did a fair bit of research into both, but also had to put myself into Ava’s shoes and think about how I would feel and react. It really makes you think hard about how you’re currently living your life and forces you to face a few home truths. I have also lost a few friends and family members to this awful disease, so it brought back some sad memories.

  What, to you, are the most important elements of a love story?

  For me, the best love stories must be both believable and realistic. I’m a fan of love in all its guises. Love can be gentle and undemanding.
Love can also be passionate and angst ridden, sacrificial, tense and emotional. Love is imperfect and perfect at the same time. Love is a lifetime of moments; memories that make us smile and memories that make us cry. A great love story makes us fall in love with love.

  Did you always know how the story was going to end?

  It’s clear from the start that Ava will pass away and the story isn’t going to end happily in that regard. Sadly, there’s no miracle cure, although I wish there was and hopefully one day soon there will be. I always knew that Ava and James had to end up together. As hard as it was for James to lose her, he gave her so much happiness at the end. As mentioned in the book, clichés are clichés for a reason, and James will heal with time, although he’ll obviously never forget her.

  What is the message you’d like readers to take away from Photos of You?

  I want people to finish and understand that Photos of You is not a story about death; it’s a story about life, and a reminder to live your best one. I don’t believe we can truly live every day as if it were our last; it’s not feasible with our work and family commitments. Sometimes it is all we can do just to get through the days and weeks. It’s more about living authentically. If you don’t enjoy your job or aren’t happy in your relationship, either do something to fix it or change it. Don’t waste years doing something that makes you unhappy. None of us know how long we have left to live, and it really can change so quickly. My mother passed away very suddenly aged fifty-eight, and the abruptness of her being here one moment and then completely gone the next still takes my breath away. I often wonder what she would have done differently if she had known that she only had fifty-eight years to accomplish everything she wanted to accomplish. If you want to do something, do it. Don’t wait.