The First Last Kiss

by Ali Harris

  The ’Til Death Do Us Part Kiss

  For a girl who never thought she believed in marriage, once I came around to the idea I wondered what the hell had held me back for so long. All this time I’d been afraid of the permanence of the institution, the finality, the absolution.

  One person for the rest of your life.

  Now I know that this isn’t always possible.

  I look at the wedding photo again, take a sip of my tea and then continue typing, the words flooding out of my fingers.

  Because after finally finding my ‘happy ever after’ I have recently found out that my gorgeous, athletic, funny, kind, caring, fitness-and football-fanatic husband, has terminal cancer. He’s nearly 30 and I’m 28. We’ve known each other since we were teenagers; we had our first kiss when I was 15 and he was 17 in a bar called The Grand (it was disastrous); we had our second (incredible) kiss in our early twenties, after bumping into each other on holiday in Ibiza (I think he stalked me, he still denies this!). We moved in together when all our friends were having one-night stands, but then split up temporarily, only to realize that we belonged together. We got engaged in New York, in Central Park, by the Imagine Memorial in Strawberry Fields on 23rd November 2005 (my 26th birthday). It was an utterly magical moment. Then we got married, in Ibiza on 22nd April 2006, and it was completely out of this world. I feel like I have loved him for forever, and because of that, I foolishly thought we still had forever.

  Since his diagnosis I’ve been consumed by the need to make every single moment count, to try and make what is left of Ryan’s life worthwhile. I’ve even written a to-do list, a way of making sure Ryan has done everything he’s ever dreamed of. My colleagues have kindly helped me to arrange some incredible experiences for Ryan, which we’ve been slowly working our way through, but I’ve just found a list that he has written for me. Not a To Do List, but a To Be List. He’s pointed out that there is nothing that he would do differently, that his life has been full because of the choices he has made, the incredible friends he has, his amazing family who he has always been enviably close to, his teaching job which he loves. His students are like his own kids; he nurtures them, gives them unequivocal time, patience and understanding when no one else has. He’s never desired more than he has. He’s always been happy, sometimes annoyingly so (have you ever tried arguing with someone who is smiling? It’s infuriating!) And that all he wants from now on is to be with those he loves. To be, not do.

  His mum, Jackie, always jokes that he was born smiling. Now he jokes that he will die smiling too. You’ve got to laugh, I guess. And we do, but sometimes I find it really hard.

  I have spent hours wishing that I could find a way to hold on to Ryan forever, and right now, it feels like this blog is it. For the past few months you’ve shared my view of life and love through a camera lens; on my trip to New York, my walks to work, all the places Ryan and I have been. Since he was diagnosed I’ve been putting up some photos of Ryan and me.

  I guess it’s because I want other people to share the greatest love I have ever, will ever, know. I wish I could have captured every single kiss that Ryan and I have shared and post them here so you could see how much I have had by having Ryan, and who I have become by being with him. I wish that all of you would go and kiss your loved ones right now and savour it – and savour every one that follows it. Because when you know that those kisses are finite, that each one you share is bringing you closer to goodbye, you’ll wonder why you wasted so many. So please, for me, take Ryan’s life advice, stop doing and start being. Be kind to each other, be grateful for each other, be true to each other. Don’t throw away your kisses, not a single one. The future isn’t promised to any of us, so kiss till you can’t kiss any more, on the street, in front of everyone! Kiss as if each one were the last. And then save them to your memory so you can cherish them forever. Just like I’m doing.

  Molly xx

  The Uncontrollable Kiss

  Have you ever given yourself to a kiss so completely, so indisputably, that you felt like you surrendered some of yourself and replaced it with a part of them? It happened when I came back from Ibiza. With that kiss, Ryan triggered my metamorphosis into a butterfly. Socially, physically and psychologically. He’d breathed new life into me, caressed my soul with his lips. And I couldn’t go back into my cocoon. Not now, not with him, not ever.

  <

  ‘God, that felt like the longest Monday ever,’ Jo sighs as a group of us huddle into the lift just after 6 p.m. ‘I hate press week. No matter how organized we are, it always ends up being totally stressful. I need a drink. Anyone going to join me?’

  I glance at my watch – all I really want to do is get settled into my new flat, pour a glass of wine and unpack some boxes.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ badgers Jo, as the lift doors open into the yawning reception of Brooks Inc, Viva’s publishing company. ‘I want to hear more about this holiday romance . . . ’

  I ignore her. I really don’t want to talk about Ryan any more. I’m pretty sure I won’t hear from him again. Once a player . . .

  The revolving doors spit us out one by one and into Long Acre, the main thoroughfare into Covent Garden that’s absolutely heaving on this balmy July evening. We stand chatting for a couple of minutes, trying to work out which bar to go to, finally settling on The Langley, which is just round the corner.

  ‘MOLLY!’ I hear a distant shout and turn around quickly, unsure where it came from and if it was directed at me. The early evening sunshine bounces off the glass of the store windows, blinding me temporarily, and we are suddenly swallowed up by hordes of people who are swarming out of the tube station. All I can see is a mass of heads.

  ‘Did you just hear that or am I going mad?’ I ask Jo.

  ‘I heard it,’ she affirms.

  ‘MOLLY!’ I swivel around again and this time I see the biggest bouquet of flowers crossing the road, causing the crowds to part and cars to magically screech to a halt. Even black cabs. The person who appears to have a bouquet of flowers in place of a head is dodging across the road and shouting like it’s a matter of life of death.

  ‘Sorry, excuse me . . . I’ve just got to . . . MOLLY!’

  I hear the girls gasp and my jaw drops open as Ryan appears before me, grinning widely and panting. Little beads of perspiration have formed on his tanned brow, his arms, totally exposed in a blue T-shirt with a red hooded puffa warmer over the top are pumped with exertion, and his blue eyes are shimmering like the sea we swam in together in Ibiza.

  ‘Ryan? What on earth are you doing here? You’re meant to still be in Ibiza!’ I say, holding my hand over my eyes to shade them from the still-bright sun. I can’t believe he’s standing here before me like a mirage, bathed in the soft yellow late-evening light. He looks almost angelic with this aura of light around him.

  He looks at the group of magazine girls gathered around me, who are all visibly swooning, and he holds out the flowers to me.

  ‘I just couldn’t get through another day without seeing you,’ he says. ‘I cut my holiday short and caught the next flight home, shortly after you.’

  I stare at him in shock, studying his face for signs of this being a joke. I look around to see if I can see Alex, or Carl, or any of the other lads with him.

  I fold my arms – mainly to cover up the fact that it feels like my heart is pounding out of my chest.

  ‘Are you being serious, Cooper?’ I say, raising my eyebrow at him, just like Casey taught me.

  ‘I’m deadly serious,’ his beautiful mouth is set in a determined line. I look at him for a moment, then down at the ground, unable to take this in. I see his hand reach for mine and I acquiesce to his touch. I feel like a magnetic force is drawing us together. I’m beginning to think it has been for years.

  ‘I have been in love with you since the moment I first saw you, Molly Carter,’ Ryan says. ‘Now can we stop pretending that this isn’t meant to be?’

  He steps towards me and de
spite the crowds, despite the fact that I am standing in front of my new workplace with my new colleagues, and despite the fact I don’t do PDAs, I throw myself uncontrollably into his arms, unable to resist him a moment longer. I gaze deeply into his eyes as our lips meet again and I see his unguarded expression, the love and vulnerability in place of the fake machismo. And just as that has vanished, so does my last thread of doubt about him. Ryan Cooper is my destiny. I know that more than I’ve known anything in my life. As our arms entwine around each other and we continue to kiss, I hear the sound of my colleagues cheering and I break away from him, embarrassed suddenly. But he pulls me back close to him and then we begin to laugh, our bodies shuddering together, foreheads touching bashfully as we realize that Jo has been taking pictures of us.

  She shrugs, lifting up her camera. ‘Soz, it just felt like a classic Kodak moment!’

  ‘One more for luck?’ Ryan smiles as he leans in.

  And for the first time in my life, I really do feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

  The Long Distance Kiss

  It was Blanche DuBois (well, Tennessee Williams actually) who said, ‘I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.’ I realize now that I don’t think I’ve ever really let myself depend on anyone other than Ryan. But I need to now. I need my friends and my family, but I also need this. You. All of you. I draw strength and support from the messages on this blog every single day. I’ve been overwhelmed by them all. And I want you to know, that no matter the distance these kind wishes and prayers have travelled over, they have all been accepted with heartfelt, untold thanks. They mean more than you could ever know.

  FF>> 05/05/2007>

  My work phone rings, an urgent, persistent drilling sound that disturbs any creative thought I have left in my brain. I can’t think straight at the best of times, let alone when I am interrupted every five minutes and am battling with Mika’s perpetually perky album, Life in Cartoon Motion, pumping out on the stereo in stark contrast to my own dark inner monologue.

  How is Ryan? Should I call him? Has he taken his meds? What shall I make him for tea tonight? I’m in the middle of trying to quickly think of a tag line for next week’s issue, a part of my job I hate, so whilst this call could be seen as a welcome distraction it is also stopping me from doing practical stuff, like looking at rental properties for Ryan and me in Leigh-on-Sea.

  Because I know it is nearly that time.

  ‘Yes?’ I snap, picking up the phone and answering in a non-approved Viva style and not caring in the slightest. I am immune to rules or criticism these days. It is really odd. I can’t seem to do any wrong, no matter how hard I try.

  ‘Moll-eeee,’ trills Jackie down the phone. ‘How’s my gorgeous daughter-in-law?’

  I think of my brave, sweet, patient husband, and how much he adores his mum, and I try to channel some of his goodness and force myself not to just answer ‘Busy’ and put the phone down.

  Be nice, be nice, I chant in my head. And then: This is as hard for her as it is for you, remember.

  ‘I’m good, I’m really good, thanks!’ I cheep in a weird, high-pitched Alvin Chipmunk voice that I always find myself adopting when I’m conversing with her these days. I can’t tell her what I’m really feeling; that I’m scared, petrified of every single day, of what it might bring for Ryan. That I am waiting for Death’s scythe to strike, watching for every sign, any new symptom. I wish I had the luxury of her denial, but she got served both our portions.

  ‘So Molly, darlin’, I’m calling because I’ve just read in the newspaper that apparently red wine can beat cancer! Can you believe it? That’s as good an incentive as any for Ry to enjoy a drink, isn’t it? Heee hee heee!’

  ‘Haaaa!’ I squeak automatically in response.

  Jackie’s voice disturbs my thoughts – again. ‘I thought you should perhaps stop off and get some for Ryan on the way home, darlin’! It’s probably the most enjoyable medicine he’ll ever have! Dave says he knew it was the cure all along, that’s why he drinks it so much. Heee heeeeeee!’

  So if the cancer doesn’t kill him, liver failure probably will.

  Be nice, Molly.

  Nor do I point out that the antioxidants in red wine are thought to prevent cancer, not beat it. Or remind her that Ryan hates red wine and always has. Or that he can’t actually drink too much with all his medication. I want to say all this but I don’t. I want her to have to deal with everything I am learning on a daily basis. I want Ryan to tell his mum to face up to the fact he’s dying. I want him to see that I need some help. I don’t want to pretend that everything’s alright. I want to go home. I want my mum and dad. Or Ryan’s. I want them to take responsibility, stop singing la la la with their hands over their ears.

  Because la la la, I just can’t get cancer out of my head la la la.

  Go away Kylie!

  Is this the legacy you’re leaving me Ryan? A lifetime of shit pop music in my head?

  ‘Molly? Are you still there, darlin’?’

  ‘Yes Jackie, I’m still here.’

  I don’t dismiss her because I know that she needs to do this, she needs to think that there’s still a chance. And I envy her that positivity, I do. But she hasn’t had to listen to Charlie talk about ‘the future’. She hasn’t been with Ryan when he’s tried to go to the shops to get a pint of milk and we’ve had to come back in an ambulance because he’s had a seizure. I am just Cooper enough to know that his mum deserves to cling on to whatever hope she can. I am just Cooper enough to listen and to do whatever I can to make this easier for her – even if it makes it harder for me. I’ve learned that much from being with Ryan and being part of his family.

  Since his diagnosis I have, on behalf of Jackie, served Ryan endless amounts of:

  1. Curry (Jackie: ‘It enhances the effectiveness of chemo, Molly darlin’! And apparently, it helps stimulate the death of cancer cells!’)

  2. Garlic (‘It says here, Molly, that it enhances the immune function! That’s got to be good, right, darlin’?’)

  3. Leafy greens (‘They’re an antioxidant, you know!’)

  4. Sprouts (‘Ditto, darlin’!’)

  5. And grains (‘It does something or other with the levels of glucose and insulin!’)

  I’ve obeyed, mainly because part of me hopes that she’s right.

  So for this reason I squeak, ‘Thanks Jackie, I’ll try that! Perhaps we’ll have curry, sprouts and a bottle of red tonight!’

  ‘Why don’t you come over for a Chinese, Molly, you and Ryan? We’ll have such fun, darlin’!’ Jackie squeals. ‘It’s always such FUN when all us Coopers get together . . . all the family . . . Come on, Molly darlin’! Why don’t the both of you hop on the train and come down!’

  I want to say that Ryan isn’t capable of hopping anywhere. He can just about walk these days. Charlie is organizing a wheelchair for us, for the days when Ryan is too exhausted to walk – which are getting more frequent. But that doesn’t solve the issue with the stairs. I’ve asked him to talk to Ryan about it again, because he won’t listen to me. He seems to think he’ll feel better tomorrow. Whereas I dread tomorrow. His frailty is the thing that’s been hardest to get used to out of all of this. The hair loss was easy – although I didn’t anticipate him losing his eyelashes, eyebrows and his hair ‘down there’ too. He calls himself Gollum now. ‘So what does that make me?’ I laughed when he first said it. ‘A hobbit?’ Anyway, he started losing it a couple of weeks after starting the chemo, so little bald patches appeared in the mornings, a little layer of hair left on his pillow. Ryan asked me to shave his head Grade 1 all over. I decided to have some fun first so I grabbed my camera and started doing different crazy hairstyles, stripes all over his head, then a grid, then a Mohawk, then a ladder, taking a photo of each one for posterity – and for our enjoyment – until there wasn’t a strand of hair left.

  ‘It’s just like David Beckham, circa 2001,’ I’d pointed out after studying it for a second.

  ‘Here, l
et me just do this as a finishing touch . . . ’ I shaved a little diagonal line across one of his eyebrows and with a flourish held up a hand mirror in front of Ryan. He seemed really happy with it. Then he said thoughtfully:

  ‘Moll, how many hours do you think I have wasted of my life doing my hair?’

  He fell silent for ages and I actually thought he was trying to count up the hours, in the same way that I’ve been trying to count up our kisses. I’ve even tried to work out a formula.

  After furrowing his (shaved) brow for several minutes, he shook his head sadly. ‘I should’ve shaved it off years ago.’ A few days later the lesions started appearing.

  ‘Did you hear me, Molly?’ Jackie’s sharp voice permeates my thoughts. ‘I said, why don’t you come down!’

  ‘We’re coming at the weekend, remember, Jackie?’ I chirp brightly, ‘And guess what! I’m looking at rental properties right now, so maybe we’ll be moving back sooner than you think!’ I mistakenly think this will please her.

  ‘To rent,’ she sniffs. ‘Are you trying to offend me, Molly darlin’?’

  ‘What? No, I just—’

  ‘Why would you rent? Why don’t you and Ry come and stay here, in your old home? It’s his HOME.’

  ‘We would but Ryan doesn’t want . . . ’ I was going to say that Ryan doesn’t want to die in their home, but a) she doesn’t let me finish, and b) I realized halfway through that this is not a Jackie-friendly sentence.