As the weeks passed I made a routine of watching myself in the bathroom mirror as I brushed my hair. Dozens of brown spirals floated to the floor and made a pile at my feet. I had asked my hairdresser to cut it short and she agreed to give me a sleek bob. I couldn’t bear the thought of the disappearance of my long locks and imagined that if it was short it’d be easier to witness the shedding of my beloved hair. I was wrong. After a few weeks had passed I asked Russ to brush it for me over the sink; he would dispose of the fallen hairs so that I was unaware of how much I had lost.
When my eyelashes and eyebrows gave up the ghost it affected me more than I’d anticipated. I felt less feminine, less attractive. It was almost as if I’d been stripped of my identity and before long I stopped doing the things I enjoyed.
Alice helped me pick a wig at the hospital and I remember how relieved I was to feel human again. Russ would intermittently bring me small packages containing false eyelashes and brow pencils as well as face masks and nail polish, and Alice and I would enjoy many evenings of pampering while he and Adam found solace in the pub.
As the months flew by I saw myself making my last memories with my daughter and holding on to them tightly. After a month of chemo it was time to find out whether it had worked. On a cold, blustery morning I learned it had not. The cancer had now spread and become aggressively invasive. I was going to die and it would be sooner than any of us had anticipated.
I look away as I see myself break the news to Alice. It is something I can’t live through twice.
As the weeks flew by I began to feel as though I was on a freight train with only one stop ahead. I felt myself grow weak and helpless, but only allowed others to do things for me when my last ounce of strength had evaporated.
Against my will, I found myself in a hospital bed surrounded by friends and family. My breathing began to rasp and I struggled to open my eyes.
One by one, they said their goodbyes. I knew the end was near but I wasn’t afraid. I could see Charlie’s face. I had been seeing him frequently in my dreams, reassuring me that everything would be OK.
Russ sat on the bed and held my hand for what seemed like an eternity. Fighting back tears, he leaned close to my ear and whispered his final message to me.
“I love you, Lucy, I always have. This doesn’t change anything. You’ll always be with me.”
I close my eyes tightly, not wanting to witness the upsetting scene again. It’s almost as though I’m watching a movie, except this is not a fantasy or a clever, fictional plot. It’s my own tragic story.
I feel uncomfortable as I watch my shrivelled lips try to whisper something back.
“I will see you on the other side,” I manage. “This isn’t goodbye.”
He nods and I can see that he’s struggling to control his emotions. He never has been one to show his feelings in public.
“I’ll take care of Alice. She’s safe with me.”
As he kisses my forehead I feel my soul rise above me and silently slip away. The image of my past life disappears and I am left gazing at the surreal landscape in front of me.
“I’m sorry, madam, but I think you may be in the wrong place.”
The voice comes from behind me and contains a hint of amusement. I smile as I recognise the light-hearted tone.
“Well… I do believe you’re right,” I joke as I turn around. “Who let me in?”
Charlie takes my face in his hands and I marvel at how young he looks.
“It was a good life.” He smiles down at me.
“It was,” I agree.
I stand back so that I can see him more clearly. He is dressed simply in a T-shirt and jeans. His grin is wide and his eyes shine with joy.
“You look so young, I must seem old to you.”
“You look exactly the same,” he whispers before taking my hand and leading me towards an unknown destination.
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The Life and Second Life of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 2) Page 26