The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually)
Page 38
‘Can we get back to the question?’
‘We can.’ He smiles.
‘I’d get married, have a kid—’
‘Hang on. Woah, slow down. You’d get married, have a kid, then drop dead? Wouldn’t that be kind of tough on them?’
‘You think too much.’
‘Probably.’ He smiles.
‘OK, I’d quit school, travel the world. Skydive. Scuba dive. Seduce Robbie Williams.’
He laughs. ‘You’re definitely not in love.’
‘I’d try every single bar of chocolate I haven’t tried yet.’ I look at him, suddenly curious. ‘What about you? What would you do?’
‘I’m still trying to figure that out.’
Speaking of love. ‘Who’s that girl all over your Facebook page?’
He loses his smile.
Oh, shit. ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’ Why did I open my big mouth?
‘It’s Emma,’ he says. ‘My ex.’
I’m not going to ask what happened.
‘She couldn’t handle my diagnosis,’ he says, looking at me with meaning.
‘What diagnosis?’
‘So they didn’t tell you?’
‘What?’
‘I’ve motor neurone disease.’
‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘Neither did I.’ He smiles. He says nothing then. And just when I think he isn’t going to, he explains. ‘My muscles are wasting away. I’ll be dead in one to five years.’
‘What?’ I ask, so quietly.
‘You thought I was paralysed, didn’t you?’
I can’t speak.
‘I’m not. My leg muscles are too weak to move.’
‘But the rest of you is OK,’ I say desperately. ‘The rest of you is fine.’
‘For now. It creeps up. Takes over. When it gets to your chest muscles, you can’t breathe.’
I put my hand over my mouth.
He gives this big smile.
‘Oh my God,’ I say in relief. ‘I thought you were serious. That is so not funny.’
‘I am serious.’
I squint at him. ‘Then how can you smile? How can you sit there and smile?’
‘Are you angry with me?’
‘No. I’m not angry with you. Of course I’m not angry with you.’ I just feel like punching something. ‘I just don’t know how you’re not screaming your head off.’
‘I’ve been screaming my head off for the past three months – just silently. Now? I prefer talking to you. And, by the way, you’re the one making me smile.’
I’m totally winded. He’s going to die? ‘I don’t believe it,’ I whisper.
‘It takes time to sink in,’ he says. ‘But you get used to the idea. Eventually.’
I’ll never get used to it. ‘There must be a cure, something they can do.’
‘Nope,’ he says cheerfully.
‘Research. There must be research going on …?’
‘Oh there’s research all right. Stem cell research. Early days. And controversial. I’ll be in a jar on my folks’ mantelpiece long before they find a cure.’
‘Stop,’ I say crossly. ‘Don’t joke.’
‘You kind of have to.’
Oh God. I’m going to cry. I open my eyes wide and look left, then right to spread the tears.
‘Hey. Don’t go all Florency on me now.’
I force a smile. A single tear lands on his hand. ‘Sorry,’ I say, not just about the tear.
He winks. ‘S’OK.’
No it’s not, I want to say. It’s terrible.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ he says.
We don’t speak. All the way up to the shop. I’m thinking back. Rearranging everything in my mind. Now that I know the truth. No wonder he was at the window. No wonder he hated me, swanning in there with my two legs, with my life. I thought he had it bad, in the wheelchair. I had no clue. And that girlfriend just cutting and running. What a bitch!
This time, we’re on the right side of the road when I seriously need chocolate.
‘Back in a minute,’ I say. I rush in, get two slabs of Dairy Milk and two packs of Jelly Tots.
‘I hope you paid for those,’ he jokes.
‘Very funny,’ I say. Weird thing is, it’s the first time I’ve been in a shop when I haven’t thought about taking something. Yeah, well I’d things on my mind. I hand him a bar of chocolate and a pack of Jelly Tots.
‘Jelly Tots? Wow. I haven’t had Jelly Tots since I was a kid.’
‘Trick is, don’t chew, just let them melt on your tongue,’ I say, like everything’s normal.
‘Thanks, Nigella.’
As we go back, I remember his question – what would I do if I’d a year to live. I remember his answer – ‘still trying to figure that out’. I can actually feel my heart ache.
We get back to the home.
‘You OK?’ he asks me.
‘Am I OK?’
‘I should have told you sooner. But we were having such a laugh. I didn’t want to ruin it.’
I nod.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘I know.’ I feel tears coming again. ‘I’m gonna go, OK?’
‘OK. See you Monday, I guess.’ He looks like he’s checking. Wondering. Unsure.
‘Course you will.’ But all I can think about is getting away.
EIGHTEEN | HUNKY
Mum calls me for dinner. I don’t come down. After a lot of calling, she comes up.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she says when she sees me. She hasn’t called me sweetheart since I was, like, two. ‘Is it Dad?’
I shake my head.
‘Did something happen at school?’
After a few more questions, I just tell her. She sits on the bed beside me and brushes my hair back, over and over.
‘He’s such a nice guy, Mum. It’s just so unfair.’
She says nothing, just strokes my head.
I look at her. ‘We just don’t have any problems, do we?’
She looks at me for a very long time. ‘No, I guess we don’t.’
We fall quiet. For ages, nothing. Just her hand moving over my head.
‘Would you like to do something tonight?’ she asks finally. ‘We could catch a movie. Get a bite to eat.’
I’ve cancelled on Rachel and Alex, not up to going out. But this is something else, this is an offer from my mum, something that never happens. ‘Really?’
‘Really. Here, give me your hand.’
She pulls me up so fast, with such force, that I laugh.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We’ve a lot of catching up to do.’
I look at her, and even though I’m so happy about that, I start to cry again.
We go to the romantic comedy I saw with Alex and Rachel. Mum wants to see it. And I liked it so much I don’t mind watching it again. Why wouldn’t I? The girl gets the guy.
It seems even better a second time, which is kind of weird for a romantic comedy.
‘Whoa, that guy was seriously hunky,’ Mum says, as we’re walking out after.
I laugh. ‘Hunky.’
‘He was, though.’
He’s like half her age.
‘They’re kind of predictable, though, romantic comedies,’ I say, just to see what she says.
‘Come on. You don’t believe that!’
I smile, relieved. ‘No. I guess not.’
We go to the Asian restaurant across the way. It’s one I love. Casual and modern. We get a table on the balcony under the heaters. We look out at the giant fountain.
‘How’re you feeling?’ she asks, reaching for a prawn cracker.
I remember why we’re here. ‘I just can’t believe it.’
She sighs. ‘Life can deal some pretty pissy cards sometimes.’
I look at her. Mum never curses. It makes me want to laugh. She takes a sip of wine. She who never drinks.
‘How are you?’ I ask.
‘I’m good, Sarah.’ She nods a few tim
es. ‘I’m really very good.’ She says it like someone recovering. Which, I guess, she is. ‘It’s good to be out like this, just the two of us. We’ve missed out on this.’
I shrug. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Actually, it does.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I’d like to explain.’
‘You don’t have to.’
She lifts her napkin and fiddles with it. Then puts it down again. Looks up at me. ‘I loved your dad, you know that. But we weren’t good for each other, Sarah. I know that now. A person can lose themselves in a marriage, forget who they are. I didn’t even realise it had happened to me. I had all this anger and didn’t know why.’ She looks at me. ‘But now I’m beginning to remember who I was.’
‘Someone who likes pizza and Coke and dogs and wine and cursing.’
She laughs. She reaches across the table and takes my hand.
‘I love you, Sarah. Always have, even when I was at my worst.’ She pauses and looks so suddenly sad. ‘I’ll never forgive myself for that slap. Never.’
‘Well, I forgive you.’ And I do. You just don’t know what’s going on in people’s lives, even people right under your nose.
Before I go to bed, I go on Facebook, just to say goodnight.
‘Night, night,’ I type on his wall. Just so he knows I haven’t headed for the hills, like his girlfriend.
Suddenly, he chats, ‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
‘You OK?’ he asks.
‘Yup.’
‘What’s your phone number?’
I tell him.
Then he calls.
‘Hey,’ he says again.
‘Hey.’
‘Bit of a shocker.’
‘A bit.’ I smile at the understatement.
‘I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.’
‘Forget it.’
‘The time never seemed right for a dramatic announcement.’
‘I’m so sorry, Shane.’
There’s a long pause. ‘Sarah?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Don’t pity me, OK? You’re the one person who never has. If I lost that …’ He stops.
‘You won’t,’ I say. But he already has. How can I not pity him? He’s going to bloody die.
‘So what are you up to?’ he asks.
‘My mum brought me out for a movie and a meal.’
‘Cool.’
I take a deep breath, and decide to be honest with him. The way he’s been honest with me. ‘It hasn’t always been. Cool, I mean. We’ve been kind of a mess, me and my mum.’ I tell him everything – about Mum, about Dad leaving, about the mess that is our lives. It feels good to let it all out, let it all go.
When I finally stop talking, there’s silence.
Then Shane says something very simple. ‘I guess some people just weren’t meant to be together.’
And at that exact moment, I think of Simon.
Next morning, Mary Gleeson asks how I am. And I can’t answer honestly without telling her about Shane.
She listens very carefully and seems concerned. ‘Is he speaking to someone, a therapist?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Because something like that is a lot to take on for anyone, especially someone so young.’
‘I know.’ I can’t imagine what I’d do.
‘What is his support like?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘His parents. How are they with him?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you know why he’s in the home?’
I’m confused. ‘Isn’t he supposed to be?’
‘Well, he could live at home, if it was adapted for wheelchair access.’
‘I don’t know,’ I say again. And I’m beginning to think there’s a lot about Shane I still don’t know.
She looks at me for a long time. ‘Do you think you can handle this, Sarah?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘If you’re finding it tough, I could recommend an alternative community service.’
‘No.’ God, no. I can’t imagine not seeing him again. ‘I just don’t know what to say to him. How I should act. He doesn’t want me to pity him, but how can I not? So, now I’m stuck. If I go see him, he’ll know how I feel. If I don’t, he’ll think I’ve walked out on him, like his girlfriend did.’
She frowns while she thinks. ‘OK, well,’ she says at last, ‘it seems to me like you’ve only one option if you want to keep seeing him. Treat him like you always have. With absolute honesty. Or it won’t work.’
‘You’re right,’ I say, then it hits me again, the fact that Shane is going to die. I hear my voice go high. ‘You know, I thought I had it tough. Shoplifting? Big deal. Parents splitting up? So what? You know? You get one life. One life. And look what I’m doing with mine. Not talking to my dad – I know I’m angry with him but he’s still my dad, he still loves me. And I know he drives me completely mad – but I do miss him. We could all die tomorrow, you know? Then there’s Simon.’
‘Simon?’
‘My so-called boyfriend. Who I don’t love. I mean, what’s that all about?’ She opens her mouth to speak but I keep going. ‘I know what it’s about. It’s about not wanting to be on my own. Well, what’s so wrong with being on my own? It’s better than being with him. I mean, do I even like him?’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sarah. There was a reason you didn’t want to be on your own. You saw what it was doing to your mum.’
I look at her, surprised. Could that be right? It sounds right. It also sounds subconscious-y. I look at her. And I get it finally. The whole psychology thing.
‘I’m going to talk to my dad. I’m going to try again. At least listen to him. Yeah?’
She nods. ‘Good.’
I stand up. ‘Can we be finished for today? There’s something I gotta do.’
She nods. ‘Sure. I’ll see you next week.’
When I leave Mary Gleeson’s office, I get the DART to Dun Laoghaire. I make my way to Simon’s apartment, knowing what I have to do. But as I near it, I start to feel guilty. He doesn’t know what’s coming.
He buzzes me up. And when he opens the door, I see that, for a change, his father is home.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ I say.
He stares at me. ‘But you hate walking.’
So, maybe he picked up something about me after all. ‘I feel like a walk today.’
‘What’s up?’
‘I want to talk.’
‘Sounds ominous,’ he says, joking. ‘I’ll just go get my shoes.’
Suddenly, I wish he was being more difficult. I stand at the door, taking in, for the last time, the fabulousness of the penthouse.
He reappears. Then claps his hands. ‘OK. Let’s go.’
Going down in the lift, I feel so bad.
‘So! What d’you want to talk about?’ he asks.
Maybe I should wait. No. I have to do it now. If I don’t, I never will.
‘I can’t do this anymore, Simon. This. Us.’
He stares. ‘What are you talking about?’
How do you tell a person you’re breaking up with them without implying they’re not good enough? It’s not you, it’s me? No one believes that. So I go for the truth.
‘Life’s too short, Simon. If I can’t have love, I don’t want this.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? You want me to love you?’
‘No. I want to be in love.’ I shrug.
The lift opens and he walks out. I follow. He turns suddenly, his eyes wide. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’
‘Who?’
‘Shane Owens.’
Oh my God. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. ‘It’s nobody.’
‘Then why?’
‘I don’t love you. You don’t love me.’
‘I like you,’ he tries.
‘Do you, though? Do you even like me?’
‘Of course I do. What’s wrong with you? This was never about love.’
‘So you’re just going to dump me?’
‘Simon. You could have this with anybody.’
‘Newsflash, Sarah. No one likes being dumped.’ He goes quiet. He shoves his hands in his pockets, looks out the glass door of the empty lobby, then, finally, back at me. ‘OK, for the record, can we say I ended it?’
I stare at him. Then think, What the hell? Because life really is too short. ‘Say what you like.’
I walk home. Fast. Weirdly, I want to. With every step I take, I feel more relieved. Next time he flirts with someone, it won’t be an insult to me. Next time he makes some stupid sexist comment on Facebook, it won’t be my problem. I don’t have to do anything, put up with anything, anymore, to hold on to him. Yaay. I feel so free.
When I get home, I go up to my room, change into my pyjamas and put on my Uggs. I want to stay in. Be myself. Not have to say wise and funny things for anyone, especially him. I lie on the bed. And am still. I don’t look at my caliente wall. I don’t go on Facebook. I don’t text Rachel or Alex. Just look up through the Velux window at the blue, blue sky and send a silent thank you to Shane.
Later, Mum calls me for lunch.
‘Aren’t you going out?’ she asks, looking at my PJs.
‘Nope.’
She looks surprised. ‘Good to have a rest every now and again,’ she says.
I sit with her at the table. I’m about to tell her how happy I am that I ended it with Simon, when I remember. She doesn’t know about Simon.
‘How did it go with Mary Gleeson?’ she asks.
‘Good. Yeah. Really good.’
‘It’s five weeks now since you started going. Maybe soon you’ll be able to stop?’
‘No, no. I like going.’
She looks surprised. Then says, ‘It’s good to talk, isn’t it?’
I feel a bit sorry that I can’t talk to her. Tell her everything.
‘Would you mind if I went out tonight?’ she asks.
‘Mum, I would love you to go out.’
Later, I call my dad.
‘Sarah?’ He sounds surprised. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Yeah. I was just wondering if you wanted to do something, like, together, sometime.’
A second. ‘Sure. Absolutely. When?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe next weekend or something? I’m minding a dog for a few days, starting today.’