The First Last Kiss

by Ali Harris

  ‘Are you ready?’ I say, and he looks up and nods, taking a deep inhale from his oxygen cylinder – something he needs around the clock now. The excitement is evident in his eyes. His wheelchair has been adorned in yellow Southend United coloured streamers and balloons by Charlie and Carl. It’s the perfect colour for my Ry, sunny and bright. He said it matched his new, jaundiced skin tone and round head (the steroids have caused something called ‘cush-ionoid’, which is an altered, rounded face shape). I always said looking at him makes me feel like the sun is perpetually out. Now he says that he looks just like it.

  ‘Let’s go then,’ I say, and I start wheeling him towards the entrance of the marquee, which is harder than it looks in pink 4-inch heels and my film premiere Bacofoil dress. Ryan insisted that the dress code should be ‘Essex Excess’ and judging by the amount of leopard print, hot pink, feathers and white I can see – people have utterly embraced the theme – by wearing their everyday clothes.

  As we approach the entrance, Ryan looks up at me cheekily.

  ‘It’s rare you’ve ever had to roll me in to a party, eh Moll?’ he says.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘The amount of champagne I’m planning on drinking I’ll be expecting you to roll me out,’ I reply. ‘So make sure you save some room on that wheelchair for me.’ And I kiss him on the head.

  I go to push him in but Ryan puts his hands on the wheels to stop them and looks up at me. ‘Thanks for doing all this, babe.’

  ‘Your mum did most of it, Ry,’ I reply modestly, ‘you know she loves a project to get her teeth into. This birthday party is going to be bigger and blingier than our wedding!’

  ‘I didn’t mean the party,’ he says quietly. And then he grins up at me and I’m hit by a wave of love for my brave husband. ‘Come on then, what are we waiting for?’ he says. I swallow, smile and start pushing him inside.

  The crowd hushes as we appear in the doorway. As I expected, the town and its mother, daughter, father and brother have turned out for Ryan. There seems to be at least 300 people cramped into this beautiful marquee, like exotic butterflies in an enclosure. Ryan slides a hand over his shoulder and I take it and squeeze it just as he raises the other and waves.

  ‘Get on with it, bro,’ Carl heckles, ‘you ain’t the Queen!’

  The crowd reacts by cheering, three big ‘hip hip hoorays!’ that are fuelled by the moment and emotion and which seem to carry my husband into his party as if he’s on a crest of a wave.

  I smile as Jackie comes over and I let her wheel him off and show him what she’s done. He glances back and smiles at me to let me know that he’s still with me really. The marquee is filled with beautiful, bright-pink flowers (in her eyes there is no other colour). The big family photos from their house have been printed and hung all around, the tables on the edge of the dance floor have a picture of Ryan from every year of his life from the day he was born. There are hundreds of helium balloons in the shape of the number 30 bouncing around the place. Kids are running around, caterers are laying out a buffet banquet fit for a king, and the bar is bustling as the barmen try to pour champagne faster than people can drink it – and discovering this is physically not possible. We’re in Essex after all.

  I smile and nod as I take it all in. Jackie has done an incredible job. I have already told myself that this is her day, her moment to show off her son and she deserves to enjoy it, so I am going to step back.

  I smile as my mum and dad come over and stand either side of me, clutching their glasses of champagne as they gaze out at the party. I love that they have tried to follow Ryan’s dress code. Mum is wearing her pink cardi from the wedding. I can’t help but wonder if she has replaced the sequinned words ‘Mother of the bride’ to ‘Mother of the widow-to-be’, but then check myself and also mentally curse Ryan for my inability to stop making inappropriate death jokes. The cardigan is buttoned up over a (racy for her) fuschia knee-length dress. She is even wearing a pair of little white heels. Dad is wearing a zipped-up anorak with a pair of jeans (I have never seen him in denim. Ever) and some white trainers, like so many of the local lads do. He’s even combed his comb-over forward so it covers his brow. But he still looks more like a trainspotter than an Essex boy, bless him.

  ‘Mum, Dad, you look great. Properly Essex!’ I say with a smile.

  ‘Nonsense, Molly,’ Mum retorts. ‘We look like the Queen and Prince Philip going to a The Only Way Is Essex-themed party thrown by Prince Harry!’

  I laugh then, and they slip their arms around me. I feel like they’re flanking me to give me strength. My mum kisses my shoulder, a light peck but it is enough. My dad rocks on his heels a little and stares up at the draped roof as if it is a piece of beautiful architecture. It feels nice, my little family unit. I realize that we fit, the three of us. Despite my attempts to be different, to see more, do more, I am more their daughter now than I’ve ever been. And I am proud of it.

  We stand there in our easy silence, watching the party from the outer edge, as we Carters do. Ryan keeps looking for me, making a connection to me with a wink or a wave or a smile, and I keep my radar on full alert to know where he is at any given time, who he’s talking to and what he’s doing. I smile fleetingly as I remember the early days of our relationship when I was so insecure that I used to do that in order to check for predatory girls who might be after my boyfriend. Now I long for those days. I’d put up with Angelina Jolie flirting with him rather than have the hand that we’ve been dealt.

  Lydia bounds over with Beau, who is dressed in a white suit and has shades and a spiky hairdo. He looks like a mini version of Carl on his wedding day. It’s so cute. Lyd kisses Mum and Dad, who squeeze her tightly, and then they slip off to get a drink from the bar and have a sit down. Lyd rests her hand over her pregnant tummy and exhales. ‘Bloody ’ell, my feet are killing me,’ she moans.

  Then she omits a little cry as she puts her pink manicured hand over her mouth. ‘Oh Molly, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’ Her eyes fill with tears and she flaps her hand in front of her face as Beau runs circles around me shouting, ‘Neeeyow’. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, as the tears stream down her face, ‘it’s the bleedin’ hormones.’

  ‘It’s OK, Lyd,’ I glance over at Ryan who is holding court in the middle of the dance floor. ‘Honestly, it’s OK.’

  ‘You’re incredible, Molly,’ she says tearfully. ‘I wish I was half the woman you are. I don’t know how I’d deal with what you’ve had to . . . ’ I see her look over at Carl, who has his arm flung around his brother and is in the middle of doing some double-act joke, just like they always have done. I know she is imagining Carl in Ryan’s wheelchair. Just as all the wives and girlfriends are doing here. ‘I just don’t think I could cope.’

  ‘Yes you could, Lyd,’ I reply with a smile. ‘Us Coopers are made of strong stuff you know.’

  She looks up at me and nods, smiling through a veil of tears. ‘You know Carl and I are always here for you, don’t you? Whenever . . . you know . . . you need us, we will always be there, OK?’ She grasps my hand and squeezes it. ‘I see you as my sister, Molly, and I always will.’

  I don’t have the words to tell her that I have always wanted a sister, so I just nod.

  She gently redirects Beau so he zooms off in a different direction and we both stand in companionable silence as we watch our husbands from afar. I remember how as a teenager, and even as his girlfriend, I was so in awe of Ryan’s confidence and ability to talk to anyone, to command attention without seeming to do anything at all. He’s gliding around the room in his wheelchair now, taking time to talk to every single person, making them feel like they are the only person in the room he wants to be with before he waves someone over to join them, then moves seamlessly on to a different group. I know he’s determined to talk to everyone and it makes my heart hurt to think why. It also makes me feel like I’ve lost him already. I’m so used to it being just him and me.

  ‘Molly,’ Lyd whispers, and she nods towards the en
trance of the marquee. ‘I think there’s someone here to see you, babes.’

  I look over and see a vision in sunset orange standing uncertainly, looking like the awkward teen that I seemed to know better than I knew myself all those years ago. Her eyes flit uncertainly around the room, at the people who are now dancing, at Ryan’s parents who are doing a great job of putting on ‘The Cooper Show’ by the bar, and then at Lydia and me.

  We stand there for a moment, just staring at each other. And it feels like there is so much distance between us; no, not distance, time. I know that we are both rewinding back, back to our school days, to that first time she slipped into the seat next to me and we became BFFs, to the years spent practically living at each other’s houses, our nights spent lying awake dreaming of what our future held for us. That blinkered determination of youth that nothing, no one, not anyone, no man, friend or job would ever, ever come between us. Then I glance across the room and I see Ryan looking at me. He smiles and nods and I know then that he asked her to come today. I know that he has done this for me.

  And at that point I walk forward. I walk slowly and deliberately towards her and as I get close I can see that she is crying.

  I stand in front of her, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to say, if anything at all. I can’t hug her or say anything to make her feel better. I don’t have the words and I’m not sure there is anything to be said. I see Ryan over by the DJ and just at that moment I know exactly what to do. I hear the opening intro to the song and I kick my heels off, then I slip my arm through hers and we walk towards the dance floor with Casey hopping on one leg as she takes off one of her heels and then the other. And then we walk into the centre and we begin to bounce, jumping up and down with our arms in the air to ‘Electric Dreams’, not taking our eyes off each other as we sing our own lyrics that we wrote a lifetime ago.

  And that’s when the party really begins.

  I am outside, clasping my champagne glass, watching the sunset over the water and enjoying listening to the party within when Carl rushes out.

  ‘There you are, Moll, I need you in here now!’

  ‘What?’ I gasp, flinging my glass to the ground and going to run inside but Carl grabs my arm.

  ‘Don’t worry! Sorry, Ryan’s fine. You just need to come inside – come on. Bring your glass . . . ’

  We walk back into the marquee and I see Ryan standing with a laptop in front of a projector screen, holding a microphone. I glance at Carl and he nods and pushes me forward as Ryan begins to speak.

  ‘I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for coming to this party today. It’s been brilliant – and I really want to thank my amazing mum, the unstoppable Jackie Cooper, for putting on such a brilliant bash. She is one in a million and is the best mum in the world.’ Everyone claps in agreement and Jackie squeals and covers her face with her hands as Dave hugs her.

  ‘Obviously, I’ve loved this party being all about me – I’m an Essex boy so being the centre of attention is something that’s never been a problem.’ A ripple of laughter and Ryan takes a deep breath. ‘But I can’t let you all stumble drunkenly home’ – another swell of mirth – ‘without drawing some attention to my beautiful wife.’

  I bow my head as everyone turns and looks at me. Really looks at me for the first time in a long time. ‘You probably know that Moll and I have been together since we were practically teenagers. And if I’d had my way—’

  ‘And a better kissing technique!’ heckles Carl.

  ‘Yeah, thanks for that, bro,’ Ryan calls back. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, if I’d had my way, she would have been my girl as soon as she’d been legal.’ Another swell of laughter rises in the room. ‘Sorry for being crude, John, Pat!’ Dad nods and puts his hand up as if to say ‘That’s OK, son’ and Mum wags her finger at him, a flush of embarrassment rising up her neck. ‘But I just want everyone to know that this girl, this amazing woman, took my heart and soul with her first kiss. She’s taught me so much about love, life, culture – although she still hasn’t convinced me that The Beatles are better than Take That, John!’ My dad laughs and raises his hand as Ryan takes mine. ‘She’s also taught me a different way to see the world, and showed me what a beautiful place it is. On our first date she told me, “Life isn’t about the destination, it’s about appreciating the journey.” I look at him, astonished. How does he remember this stuff? ‘And I can’t leave here . . . ’ He pauses and looks at me and I know that he doesn’t mean this party. ‘ . . . I can’t leave here without showing her just how much I’ve loved taking the journey with her.’

  He nods at Carl who presses play and an image of the famous sculpture The Kiss and the words ‘What’s in a kiss?’ appears on the screen underneath.

  Then the strains of Take That’s ‘Greatest Day’ comes out of the speakers as a photo of Ryan and me with our first kiss at The Grand fills the screen. The next shot is of Gustav Klimt’s painting, then Lady and the Tramp’s doggie lips meeting over a bowl of spaghetti, which cuts to the photo of Ryan and me from a night out at Ugo’s on The Broadway, jokingly recreating the pose from the film.

  I laugh through my tears as I marvel at how Ryan has put on film a complete, beautiful, big-screen version of what I began with my blog but couldn’t finish. He has included every single photo I collected and mixed our kisses in with other more famous ones, so in one frame we appear alongside Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and in the next we are in split-screen, kissing on the red carpet alongside a picture of Tom Cruise kissing Katie Holmes.

  As the video plays out this beautiful, lovingly crafted, clever, funny, embodiment of our entire relationship, Ryan lifts up his lips to me and we kiss, softly, sweetly, and it feels like transferring a piece of each of our souls to the other. He moves his lips away from me and nods at the screen and I look up to see the last shot, a freeze-frame of Ryan Cooper, my Ry, on a beach, on our honeymoon staring straight at my camera and blowing me a kiss.

  I can hear the sobs behind us, quiet, controlled tears of our friends and family who have been in mourning for the past five months and who know that this party is Ryan’s way of saying goodbye.

  ‘This is for you,’ Ryan murmurs to me, and I turn my back on the crowd as I look at him, at my beautiful husband, the love of my life, and then the rest of the room, the people, the town, our past, it all melts away. I sink into his lap, the arms of his wheelchair supporting my weight as I lie across him, so that it is like he is carrying me over the threshold. I wish he could carry me over the threshold to wherever he is going. I am crying, my arms weave around his neck, clinging to him, clinging on to him for dear life. Our dear life.

  ‘I know you collected them all for me, Moll, and I love you more than ever for it, but you know, I already had every kiss. Every single one. Up here.’ He taps his head. ‘I saved them all.’ He pulls me down towards him. ‘And I need you to know that I wouldn’t change a moment of what we’ve shared. Every up, every down, they’ve made us who we are.’ He takes the disk out of the DVD player and hands it to me, but I can’t move my hands from his neck so he places it in my lap.

  ‘Watch it when I’m gone, not just to remember me, but so you always remember how unexpected, how magical, how life-changing love is. Do you promise you’ll do that?’ He stares at me and I nod. He brushes his thumb under my eyes, taking my tears with it and then drags it over my lips. I kiss it and close my eyes. ‘And when love finds you again,’ he says, ‘which I know it will, I don’t want you to watch this any more, OK? I want you to be ready to start a whole new collection of kisses.’ I tuck my head in the crook of his neck and fresh tears trickle down it like a waterfall.

  Out of nowhere, I am aware that Carl has come and he has pushed us into the middle of the dance floor and is slowly pushing us in a circle so it feels like we’re waltzing. I lift my head and look deep into my husband’s, my Ryan’s, deep-sea eyes, drowning in this moment with him. ‘I’ve been happier than I could ever have imagined because
you loved me, Molly,’ he smiles.

  And right there, in front of our friends, our family and the entire town, we have our final and best PDA. I know it’s a kiss that no one – especially me – will ever forget.

  4.35 p.m.

  I drive out of Leigh-on-Sea fully expecting to cry. When I moved back here after Ryan died, five years ago I needed to be where the essence of Ryan still was, to be near his family, his friends, his, no, our beloved hometown. The little neglected house I bought was just like the one we’d dreamed of bringing up a family in, and so I put the same love and care into nurturing it as I would have done our children, spending the first few months tenderly bringing it back to life in a way I couldn’t do with my husband. The cats were my only company – but I was so glad of them. Ryan had bought them as a gift for me when he went into the hospice.

  ‘Do you want me to turn into crazy Cat Lady?’ I’d joked when the little balls of fluff had tumbled out of the box and onto my lap.

  ‘No, Moll,’ he’d smiled, taking my hand. I’d stroked his fingers, trying not to disturb any of the tubes. ‘Harry and Sally are gonna make sure that you never forget that love can be found in the most unexpected places.’

  Right, as always.

  Ryan may never have lived in the little house I’ve just left behind, but for the first couple of years it felt as much his as mine. I couldn’t pack away his stuff (not even the bloody flamingo) so I lined my new nest in the same way he would have done, with lots and lots of memories. I needed them next to me simply because he couldn’t be.

  And when I walked out of my front door I still felt him around me in the familiarity of being in the place where we’d grown up and fallen in love. I liked the fact that practically everyone I passed knew Ryan or at least knew of him. They’d smile at me, or sometimes stop and talk, and for that moment I felt like he was still here, that by being here I was keeping him alive for a little bit longer. In many ways, this little town kept me alive, too.