‘I’m supposed to tell you how I feel. Well, I feel excited, and a little nervous. I’m not sure I really believe it’s happening yet. We’re finally going. First Thailand, then Cambodia, Vietnam, then onto Australia before we finish up in America. It’s a shorter trip than we first planned in our second year at uni, but I’m just so excited that we’re finally doing it. I can’t thank everyone enough who has helped me get here. I guess the countdown begins now: welcome to day one; eighty-nine to go.’
Lizzie stopped herself. She’d meant it to sound peppy, but the words that left her mouth rang of remorse. What else should she say?
Lizzie stared into the camera screen, her mind blank.
Then she smiled. ‘I’m OK, Mum. Truly I am, so no tears. That goes for you too, Dad. I’m with two amazing girls who I love so much, and with the exception of the tumour in my brainstem, I’m healthy. I feel great, in fact, and I can’t wait for this plane to land.’
Lizzie sensed a movement next to her, and closed the camera before dropping it back into her bag.
‘Are you really all right?’ Samantha sat up and stretched her arms up above her head. Tears glistened in her eyes.
‘Of course I am. We’re finally fulfilling our dream.’
‘Liz,’ Samantha said, shifting in her seat so that her body faced Lizzie, ‘it’s just me now. There are no cameras on. Jaddi is still out for the count. You can talk to me, Liz, about your tumour, I mean. You haven’t spoken about it; do you know that? Every time I bring it up, we always seem to end up talking about how I feel, or you change the subject.’
Lizzie closed her eyes as a sadness engulfed her. It was as much a sadness for Samantha’s pain as her own. ‘I know,’ Lizzie said, trying to find the words, ‘but when I think about what will happen at the end of this trip, I feel like I’m being crushed. It’s like Jaddi said, we have to live in the here and now. Make every moment together count. In fact, maybe I should wake up sleeping beauty over there.’ Lizzie grinned, wishing it wasn’t just part of the truth she was sharing with Samantha … wishing the plane would hurry up and land so they could start the here and now.
Samantha narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re doing it again, changing the subject on me. You don’t have to pretend,’ she said, her voice a whisper.
‘I’m not pretending.’ The tingling across her left foot intensified momentarily before ceasing, as if her foot had simply disconnected itself from her ankle.
Samantha continued to stare into Lizzie’s eyes, like a teacher waiting for the truth. What did that word even mean? Truth. A flashback of the dressing room hit Lizzie’s thoughts. The suffocating walls, Samantha’s face crumbling before her. How close had Lizzie come to telling her the truth then? Too close. Samantha’s world was black and white, right and wrong, good and bad. Samantha never saw the grey areas, to her they didn’t exist, but Lizzie’s life now existed only in the grey areas.
How different would things have been if Samantha had been home the night Lizzie had returned from the hospital, standing behind the rickety ironing board watching back-to-back reruns of Sex in the City, ironing her own clothes and any Lizzie and Jaddi added to the pile, instead of staying with David? Would they still be sitting on this aeroplane? Lizzie doubted it.
‘My left foot is numb.’ Lizzie shrugged, that much was true at least.
‘What?’ Samantha’s eyes dropped to Lizzie’s footwell. ‘Do you want to get up and move around? How long has it been numb for?’
‘A few minutes. I had pins and needles for a while and now I can’t feel anything.’ Lizzie glanced towards Jaddi and lowered her voice. ‘I don’t think I can walk on it. What if I don’t get any feeling back? I’ll have ruined the trip for all of us.’
Saying the words aloud caused a panic to grip Lizzie. They hadn’t even landed in a foreign country yet, she hadn’t so much as tasted the freedom she’d craved her entire life, and already she could see it ending before it had even begun. The freedom from the waiting, from the treatment, from all the times her parents and her doctors had shaken their heads, creased their foreheads as if it was them in pain, and not her, and said no.
All of a sudden Lizzie could hear her own nine-yearold self, sitting at the kitchen table with her homework splayed out in front of her, and asking the question she’d already known the answer too, but asking it anyway. ‘Tracey Sanders has invited me to her birthday party,’ she’d said, her eyes focused on the page of her book as if an invitation to a party was an everyday occurrence for her, as if the girls and boys in her class hadn’t stared at the tufts of hair growing back on her head and whispered too loudly, Lizzie Appleton is contagious, despite the special assembly the entire school had had about her condition. So they’d known, they’d all known. But Tracey Sanders’s mum had told Tracey that she’d had to invite the whole class, and that had meant Lizzie too.
‘Oh, that was nice of her,’ her mum had replied, turning a page in the magazine she’d been reading.
‘Can I go?’ Lizzie had looked up then, their eyes meeting. Lizzie hadn’t been able to help it. Hope had taken hold of her insides, propelling her forwards. She could be normal, she’d thought. She could show them all how normal she could be.
‘Umm, I’m not sure, honey. Maybe. It depends when it is. You know, we’re back in London the week after next for the follow-up with Dr Habibi.’
A smile had spread across Lizzie’s face. Glee. That was the word for it. Her mum had said exactly what Lizzie had expected her to say. The week after next, yes, they were busy, they were in London for another scan, but this weekend, the weekend of Tracey Sanders’s party, they were free. ‘That’s OK,’ Lizzie had replied, the hope bursting inside of her like the fizz of sherbet in flying saucers. ‘Tracey’s party is on Saturday.’
‘But that’s only two days away.’ Her mum had frowned, closing the magazine and pushing it to one side.
‘I forgot.’ Lizzie had shrugged, wishing her cheeks didn’t feel so hot. ‘So can I go? It’s at half past ten. We’re free, I checked the calendar.’ Lizzie had leaned forward. Please say yes, please, please, please, she’d thought, but didn’t say, because begging would make it harder for her mum, and whilst she had desperately, desperately wanted to go to Tracey Sanders’s tenth birthday party, she hadn’t wanted to upset her mum. ‘It’s at the leisure centre. It’s a swimming-pool party.’ There, she’d said it. The final piece of information had sat on the table between them.
Her mum’s face had said it all. The frown contorting, the smile disappearing. She’d started shaking her head before the words had left her mouth, pulverising Lizzie’s hope and causing a pain to harden in her throat. Lizzie had tried to swallow, tried to hold back the tears, but they were already falling onto her cheeks.
‘Oh, honey, you know you can’t go swimming.’ Her mum had stood up, shuffling around the table until she’d enveloped Lizzie in a hug that had smelt of kitchen soap and flour. ‘Dr Habibi said no swimming, remember, honey? It’s your immune system; it’s just not up for swimming pools. All those germs in the water.’
‘But it’s chlorinated.’ She’d sniffed, burying her head inside the fold of her mum’s jumper. ‘I’ll keep my mouth shut.’
‘They’ll get in anyway. Dr Habibi explained that to us. I’m sorry, honey. How about I call Tracey’s mum and see if you can come after the swimming bit? They’ll probably be going to McDonald’s. You can go for that.’
‘Pizza Hut,’ Lizzie had murmured, wishing she hadn’t mentioned the party at all. Wishing she could take it back so she wouldn’t have to go to the restaurant and see all of her classmates with their wet hair and shining faces. Them and her. Not normal at all, but different, very different.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to have my head shaved too?’
Fresh tears brimmed in Lizzie’s eyes, but she’d smiled. ‘The only thing worse than being a bald girl is having a mum who’s bald too.’ Lizzie had tightened her hold on her mum. ‘Pizza Hut will be fun,’ she’d lied.
&
nbsp; ‘Lizzie?’ Samantha’s voice broke through her thoughts. ‘Should I call one of the air hostesses?’ Samantha reached her hand up to the low ceiling and the row of square buttons. ‘They might have something that you can take.’
‘No, don’t.’ Lizzie grabbed Samantha’s hand, pulling it down. ‘Just give it a few minutes and see if it passes.’ Lizzie wiggled her toes again. Only her right foot responded. ‘Let’s change the subject. Maybe it’s like watching the toaster. It will take longer if we fixate on it. Tell me, what do you make of the cameraman?’
‘He seems OK,’ Samantha said. ‘Nice-looking in a rugged, unwashed sort of way. He’s not said much, but that’s not a bad thing. I’d be more worried if he was all chatty and pally with us, like most men are when they catch sight of Jaddi – as if being friends with us will help their chances. At least if he’s quiet we might be able to forget about the camera, and it won’t get in the way of our time together.’
‘I don’t know,’ Lizzie said, lowering her voice. ‘Quiet is one thing, rude is another. Did you see the way he demanded we all wear our microphones twenty-four seven? He’s travelling the world and getting paid, did he really need to be so rude to us?’
Just then a beep sounded from the row of seats in front of them. Lizzie glanced up as Ben’s face appeared. ‘Babysitting you three is not my idea of travelling the world.’
‘Have you been filming the whole time?’ Lizzie asked, a flush creeping over her cheeks.
‘It’s my job to capture your life, remember?’ Ben replied.
Passengers around them began to stir. A reading light switched on from somewhere behind her.
‘What is your problem exactly?’ Lizzie whispered.
Ben rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t have a problem. I have a job to do. I’m not your friend or your travel buddy. This is not one of those reality soaps where you get to do another take and cut whenever it suits you. I might ask the odd question when I’m filming if I think the viewers need more explanation, but that’s it. I’m quiet, or rude, or whatever you want to call it, because I’m here to capture your story, not be part of it. And what I just heard was the most real thing that’s come out of your mouth so far.’
‘Tell it like it is, why don’t you,’ Lizzie muttered, as her face burnt crimson.
A row of lights along the cabin ceiling flickered on.
The overhead Tannoy crackled above Lizzie’s head. ‘Ladies and gentleman, we will shortly be serving a light meal,’ a man’s voice sing-songed. ‘We do ask that you move your seats up to the sitting position and have your tray tables down ready. Thank you. You may also wish to set your watches to Bangkok local time, which is ten fifteen am.’
Ben shifted back in his seat and disappeared from view. Lizzie lurched forward, another retort teetered on her lips, but Samantha shook her head in a ‘just leave it’ gesture and the quip disappeared. Lizzie blew out a puff of air and slumped back in her seat.
‘I’m not sure making an enemy out of him will make it any easier,’ Samantha whispered, her voice so quiet Lizzie only just heard it.
‘Everything he says rubs me up the wrong way.’ Lizzie bent her head closer to Samantha.
‘Are you sure it’s him and not what he represents? The documentary?’ Samantha replied with her usual dose of common sense.
‘Probably.’ Lizzie shrugged. ‘I know Jaddi thinks we’ll forget about the camera, but I don’t see how.’
‘Hey, we’ll have a good time,’ Samantha said with quiver in her voice that sliced into Lizzie’s heart.
Lizzie opened her mouth to reply but stopped. A cold seeped over her left foot as if she’d submerged it in a bucket of ice water. She wiggled her toes again. This time both feet responded.
‘I’ve got the feeling in my foot back.’ She smiled.
‘Phew, that’s a relief,’ Samantha said. ‘Now we won’t have to leave you behind at the hostel all day whilst we go exploring.’ She grinned.
Jaddi stirred in her seat. ‘What did I miss?’ she said without opening her eyes.
‘Nothing,’ Lizzie said before Samantha could reply.
CHAPTER 6
Samantha
A deep yawn spread through Samantha as she watched her blue backpack trundle along the conveyer belt towards her. The large chrome-framed clock on the wall read three-thirty. If it weren’t for the harsh brightness of the afternoon sun streaming through the glass ceiling above her, she could easily have believed that it was the early hours of the morning, which to her body at least, she supposed it was.
A few metres away Jaddi and Lizzie fell into a cascade of giggles. Their voices, high with excitement, carried through the baggage-claim area. Samantha turned her head to watch them, and just for a moment two strangers stood where her friends should be. It was an alien feeling, one that sent an unease winding through her. Why was she the only one that felt it – the foreboding? It wasn’t as if she’d expected Lizzie to lie down on her death bed and wait for the tumour to get her, but this – the documentary, the cameraman – it didn’t feel right, and it wasn’t just her loathing of cameras, but something else, just out of reach in her mind, a rotting that she could almost smell, almost taste, but couldn’t see. If only they’d been able to afford the trip without the help from Channel 6, Samantha thought, then it might have been different.
Samantha glanced at Lizzie. Her pale face, lit from the sun, shone with excitement. Samantha pushed the unease away. Lizzie deserved to see the world. If they had to have their every movement captured on film for three months to make that happen, then so be it. Lizzie and Jaddi were her family. They weren’t like her family, as Jaddi had said, however many hours ago it had been that they’d stood in the dressing room at Channel 6 together. They were Samantha’s family. The only family she had.
Did her mother even know she was travelling the world? Would someone on the estate have told her? Would she watch the documentary? Samantha doubted it.
‘Don’t expect your room to be free for holidays or visits or nothing,’ her mum had said to her on the day Samantha had wheeled her one large suitcase out of her bedroom and into the gloom of the living room. 9am in the morning, curtains drawn, the screeching voices from a talk show on the TV, the air stinking of body odour and stale cigarettes. ‘When you’re gone, you’re gone,’ her mum had said, glancing away from the screen long enough to appraise Samantha. ‘I got no money to help you. You’re on your own at university.’ Her mother had swished her head and used her mocking posh voice, but it hadn’t masked the North London lilt or the disdain she clearly had for her daughter’s desire to make something more of her life.
Samantha hadn’t expected money, she hadn’t expected her mum to be proud of her, or sad to see her leave, but the words she’d used had still cut deep. It was the last time they’d spoken. In the summers at uni she’d picked up the part-time jobs off campus that the other students had left to return home, or stayed with Jaddi and helped wash cars for Jaddi’s dad. And Christmases and Easters since she’d spent with Lizzie’s family on the Suffolk coast.
Lizzie and Jaddi were her family in every sense of the word. They told each other everything. Almost everything, Samantha corrected.
As her backpack moved into reach, Samantha scooped it up and hoisted it onto her back. The movement caused a pain to grip the top of her arms and images of David’s ‘game’ clouded her thoughts. Goosebumps raged across her skin, her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes and the smell of his aftershaves filled her senses. She screwed her eyes tight against the images rearing up, before shaking them away. What she needed now was a hot shower and food that hadn’t been processed, shrink-wrapped and shipped thirty thousand feet in the air.
‘All set?’ Jaddi called out to her.
‘Sure.’ Samantha said with a nod, falling into pace behind the others and fixing her gaze on her feet, avoiding Ben and his camera, taking long, backwards strides a metre in front of them.
‘This place is amazing,’ Jaddi said as they st
rolled along a glass atrium lined with dark-green trees in large white pots.
Lizzie laughed. ‘It’s just Bangkok airport.’
‘OK, fine, but how many airports have you been to that have things like that?’ Jaddi said, pointing across the terminal and forcing Samantha to lift her eyes from the floor and stare open-mouthed at a three-headed serpent, glistening with gold and jewels, looming over them. Its long body was coiled around a rock and being pulled in two directions by life-sized colourful men wearing pointy gold hats.
The detail of the men, their expressions, their straining muscles, the look of anguish in the eyes of the serpent, it was as exquisite as it was unexpected.
For one minute the unease cloaking Samantha lifted. She forgot about Ben and the camera, David and his game, Lizzie’s prognosis. Staring at the three heads of the creature, the gold spikes on its head shimmering in the sun’s rays, she could almost hear its harrowing screech.
‘Churning of the milk ocean,’ Samantha said, reading the English translation on the plaque below the serpent.
The three of them stared at the statue as if mesmerised by its presence. Maybe Jaddi was right, Samantha thought. If a statue in an airport could make her forget about Lizzie’s prognosis and the documentary for even a moment, then surely the sights outside the airport would do the same tenfold. Samantha turned to Jaddi and Lizzie, a smile stretching across her face. ‘Shall we go and discover Thailand then?’
‘I just need to …’ Lizzie shook her head as she spun around. ‘I’m going—’ She darted towards the toilet sign.
One Endless Summer Page 4