I scowl at her. ‘We’re just friends,’ I say, moving my head, ‘honestly, I—’
I go to twist my head round to face her, but suddenly lose my balance and topple into a huge heap.
‘You idiot,’ Amy giggles.
‘It’s not funny,’ I grumble, laughing myself. ‘That really hurt. Hey,’ I say, suddenly able to look at Amy properly, ‘you’re doing it!’
Amy curves her back, perfectly sculpted into the pose as if she was drawn from a book. She shakes her head so her chestnut hair tumbles towards the floor, her pink cheeks flaring.
She flashes me a grin. ‘So I am.’
*
I eye my fat ankle, stuffed into my boot and frown. I really hope this is just a swelling and I don’t have a permanently fat ankle. That would be unfortunate to say the least.
I look up slowly as Sally appears next to my desk.
‘What are you doing?’ she says sternly.
I jump slightly in alarm. ‘Balancing the spreadsheet,’ I say carefully.
Why is she asking me that? I’m doing exactly what she asked me to do. Is this a test? Am I supposed to be doing something else? Sally’s face doesn’t move.
‘Next Wednesday,’ she says tightly, ‘what are you doing next Wednesday? In the evening.’
I blink up at her, bemused.
‘Err . . .’ I say, ‘nothing really. I mean I—’
‘Good,’ Sally nods and marches back to her desk. ‘We shall go running together. You need to be careful with that ankle, and I’ll help you.’
I gape at her as she drops into her chair and begins tapping at her keyboard.
Oh great. I walked straight into that one.
‘That’s okay,’ I say quickly. ‘I think, actually, I—’
My words are lost as the office door thuds under the rap of Jack’s knuckles. I glance up and he flashes a grin at me.
‘Hey,’ he says, ‘you got a minute?’
I glare at Jack and then cock my head meaningfully in Sally’s direction. He can’t just saunter in here in the middle of a working day, when Sally is sat right there!
Thankfully, Sally doesn’t look up from her computer.
‘It’s to discuss spreadsheets,’ Jack adds, smirking over at Sally.
‘You’re going to get me into trouble,’ I hiss, shutting the office door behind me.
‘What for?’ Jack says, affronted. ‘People do talk to each other at work. We’re only colleagues. I want to ask you about the company’s net profit.’
I raise my eyebrows at him and lean against the office door.
Oh please, like I have any idea what that is. I don’t even know what net profit means. Is it the amount of money Bianca spends on nets?
Why would Bianca want any nets?
‘What do you want?’ I ask, a smile tugging at my face.
Jack’s eyes spark. ‘I’ve got an idea . . .’
‘Oh?’
‘About Amy,’ he finishes. ‘About how to make her feel better.’
The smirk is abruptly washed off my face. About Amy? He’s been thinking about Amy?
‘What do you mean?’ I manage, confused.
Jack grabs my arm and pulls me into a seat, propped in the corridor. He drops into the chair next to me and leans forward.
‘You know your list,’ he says, ‘Amy’s list. The one she made for you?’
I nod.
‘Why don’t we make one of the tasks on there for charity?’ He looks up at me. ‘We could raise loads of money for MS. She could get involved. It might make her feel better, give her something to focus on, and it’ll also be for a good cause.’
I stare back at him, my body inflating like a hot-air balloon.
‘I thought maybe,’ he says, ‘we could do a sponsored 10k or something.’
We. He thought we.
‘Amy loves running,’ I say.
‘Exactly!’ Jack says excitedly. ‘What do you think?’
I glance down at my hands, a warm glow filling my chest. I smile.
‘I think that’s a really good idea,’ I say. ‘I think she’ll love it.’
Jack grins and runs his hands through his hair.
‘Great,’ he says, ‘we could do it around December time, so we have plenty of time to plan it. As the last thing for you to complete on the list. You know, to celebrate.’
I look back at him. He’s really thought about this. He really wants to help.
‘I’ll help you plan it,’ he says, getting to his feet. ‘We need to raise a load of money.’
I stand too and, before I can stop myself, my arms wrap themselves around his neck and I squeeze him into a hug.
Jack flushes slightly as I let him go.
‘Let’s go out for dinner tonight,’ he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket, ‘to discuss it all.’
I pull a face and he raises his eyebrows.
‘Not a date,’ he says, rolling his eyes, ‘don’t panic. I’ll meet you downstairs at five. I’ll make it worth your while.’
With that, he walks back down the corridor and I’m left standing, floundering.
Well, if that doesn’t sound like a sexual offer then I don’t know what does.
*
‘Just here,’ Jack says, sliding into a chair, ‘that’s perfect,’ he looks up at the waiter, ‘thank you.’
I sink into my seat and glance around anxiously at the deep-red walls. I try not to brush against the couples sat on either side of us, our shoulders almost touching.
‘If you’re going to have a vindaloo,’ Jack says, hooking his jacket on the back of his chair, ‘you really need to have it here. Amy was right to send you to Brick Lane, they really are the best curries.’
I smile weakly as my eyes fall on the menu.
Okay, this is not how it was supposed to happen. If I’d realised Jack meant this when he suggested dinner, I never would have agreed. I can’t eat my first ever vindaloo in front of Jack. I never eat curry. I have no idea what will happen when I do. How will my body react?
If I accidentally fart in front of a man I barely know I will leave the country.
I tune in as I realise Jack is still talking.
‘This place in particular is really great,’ he says. ‘I used to come here all the time.’
I cock my head. ‘Do you not live in London any more?’ I ask.
Jack shakes his head. ‘Nah,’ he says, ‘haven’t for years. Love it, though.’
‘Why did you move?’
Jack looks behind my head. ‘I had to,’ he says absent-mindedly. ‘Hi,’ he says as the waiter appears, ‘can we have two vindaloos, please?’
I lurch forward in horror as I hear him order.
Already? We’ve only just arrived!
Oh no. I am not ready for this.
‘And a beer.’ He leans in towards me. ‘I’m going to have a beer, do you want one?’
No! I want water. A bucket of ice water and a fire extinguisher.
‘No,’ I turn to the waiter, ‘thank you, just water. Thank you.’
The waiter nods and walks back towards the kitchen.
Why does everything on Amy’s list make me feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack? Was this the whole idea? To increase my heart rate and endanger my blood pressure?
Nothing about Amy’s illness would stop her eating a curry either. She must have added this on especially for me. Why?
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said,’ I say to Jack. ‘Amy works at a school, as a PE teacher. She leads a running club with some of the kids. Maybe they could be involved.’
Jack grins, the spark in his eyes flashing. ‘Great idea!’ he says. ‘We could have a sponsored run, and maybe, like, a bake sale. Hey,’ he looks up at me, ‘maybe your Victoria sponge could be the centrepiece.’
He grins mockingly, and I scowl.
‘Did you read all of my list,’ I say, ‘or just my diary? You know that is a huge invasion of my privacy. You’re lucky I’m even speaking to you.’
The waiter places our drinks down and Jack scoops up his beer.
‘I told you,’ he says, ‘I didn’t read your diary. And to be fair,’ he adds, ‘I didn’t mean to read your list. It fell out of your notebook when I picked it up.’ He shrugs apologetically. ‘Curiosity got the better of me.’ He sips his beer. ‘I didn’t realise what it was at first,’ he continues. ‘I just assumed it was a bucket list. I thought it was a nice idea.’
I curl my fingers around my glass as realisation seeps into me.
‘Is that why you were at the skate park?’ I say. ‘And why you came to the Salsa class?’
Jack shrugs. ‘I thought it looked like a good to do list.’
I open my mouth to reply when a bright bowl of something orange slides in front of me, steaming viciously.
Oh my God.
Jack grins at his bowl. ‘Looks great!’ He looks up at the waiter. ‘Thank you.’
I mindlessly mouth something at the waiter as he ducks behind us. My eyes focus on the curry ominously.
What is going to happen when I eat this? What will happen to me? Will I be okay? Or will I die?
I stab a piece of chicken with my fork and carefully slot it into my mouth.
Stay calm, Georgie. Everything is going to be okay. People eat curries all the time. Lots of people eat curry, and they don’t die. Everybody in India eats curry, and they’re all fine. You can do this. It’s just a curry.
‘So,’ Jack says, already finishing his first mouthful of curry, ‘when shall we start planning? It’s almost October, so we’ve got, like, a couple of months.’
I force down the curry nervously. Okay, so far so good. That actually tasted quite nice.
‘Let me talk to Amy,’ I say, ‘and see what dates work for her. See what she thinks.’
Jack nods and spoons another portion into his mouth.
‘It’s really nice,’ I say, my eyes flicking up at Jack, ‘for you to help me with this.’
Jack shrugs, his eyes fixed on his plate. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I know what it’s like to have a sister who needs you.’
I smile, forking another piece of chicken. ‘Yeah. It’s nice for you to help Bianca with her crazy wedding.’
Jack’s face twitches at the word ‘crazy’.
‘She deserves it,’ he says. ‘She really deserves the perfect day.’
I scoop up another forkful and feel myself relax.
Wow, I am actually enjoying this. I am having a curry, on Brick Lane, with a guy (three things I have never done before), and I am enjoying myself! I never thought I—
I pause as a tickle of heat pinches my throat. My eyes widen in alarm.
Oh no. Oh no. What’s happening? What was that?
I swallow my mouthful slowly as I feel a rumble of heat, stirring in the pit of my stomach.
Okay. What is that? What is that?
Oh my God. I think this is really spicy.
I open and close my mouth frantically, as all the moisture that once sat in my mouth evaporates.
It is! It is really spicy! Oh my God. Oh my God.
I pull my eyes away from Jack and try to distract myself as I feel the heat race up my body like a forest fire. As it reaches my throat, hot daggers of spice stab at my insides and I feel scorching heat rip through me like fire. All the blood inside me rushes to my head and I glare at my bowl of curry helplessly, feeling as if I’ve been incinerated internally.
Oh my. That’s really . . . I need to . . .
My hand springs forward and I grab my glass of water and chug it down in one gulp. The fire inside my throat calms for a second, and then spreads through my chest, more furious than before.
I need more water! Why did he give me such a tiny glass? What is the point in that? Who wants such ridiculously small glasses?
Arghhhhhhh!
Jack peers at me. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine,’ I blurt, swivelling my body round and searching desperately for the waiter.
Another wave of unbearable heat swarms over my body. Oh my God, how is this so spicy? I need liquid. I feel like someone has set me on fire!
‘Are you sure?’ Jack says.
I whip my head back round to meet Jack, and then, before I can think of anything else, I grab hold of his beer and gulp it down, desperate for it to douse the fire storming up my throat. I slam the empty beer bottle down and lock eyes with Jack, panting.
‘That’s really,’ I pant, ‘it’s really . . . spicy.’
Jack gapes at me, his mouth hanging open, and I stare back at him.
Suddenly he throws his head back and laughs, a real laugh pumping from the depths of his stomach. A laugh I have never heard before.
‘It’s not funny,’ I manage, although I feel a chain reaction of giggles bubbling up too. ‘Stop laughing.’
Jack holds his stomach as the corners of his eyes crease and his smile widens.
‘I’m sorry,’ I add, ‘I’ll buy you another beer.’
‘Stop,’ Jack gasps, waving his arm across his chest. ‘Stop.’
A full laugh shoots out from my chest now, as I lean forward and hold my head in my hands. My chest aches as laughter tickles every part of me and forces its way out of my mouth in loud, vibrant bursts. My laugh seems to make Jack laugh even harder and the couple next to us shoot us a disapproving stare.
‘Sorry,’ I grab the waiter as he walks past, ‘can we have another beer, please?’
Jack holds up two of his fingers. ‘Two,’ he manages, between laughs, ‘make it two. I don’t trust you any more. You’re getting your own.’
*
‘Amy?’ I crash through the house, my shopping bags banging behind me. ‘Amy?’ I shout again, ‘are you awake?’
I kick the door shut behind me. There is no answer. It’s almost eight, she shouldn’t be in bed already.
‘Amy?’ I call again.
‘Hey, Georgia . . .’ I look up and spot Dad, making his way down the stairs. ‘Amy is in the living room. She doesn’t feel great today.’
My eyes stray to the living room door. She will definitely be able to hear me. Why is she ignoring me?
‘She will,’ I say fiercely. ‘I’ve got good news.’
I power through into the living room and Dad follows. Amy is curled under a blanket on the sofa, her skinny legs poking out at odd angles and her head resting limply on her hands as she stares at the TV. Her usually bright hair is hanging from her scalp and her pale skin is speckled with flecks of green.
‘Hi, Amy,’ I say, dropping the bags to the floor.
Amy pulls her eyes away from the TV, but she doesn’t speak.
‘How was work?’ I persist.
Amy doesn’t answer, her eyes glueing themselves back to the screen. I try to silence the annoyance rippling through my body.
‘Fine,’ I say calmly. I step forward and reach the remote, zapping off the TV. Amy finally raises her dull eyes to meet mine. I smile, the excitement zinging around the pit of my stomach.
‘I need to talk to you,’ I say, grinning. I drop to the floor, cross-legged, and Dad slots down next to Amy on the sofa, hooking his arm around her shoulders. He pulls Amy up from her slouching position and into his chest, and Amy slumps forward like a puppet with no strings.
‘What’s up, Georgia?’ Dad says brightly.
I look into his face gratefully. At least one of them is happy to see me.
‘Where have you been?’ Amy scowls at me from under her cuffs, masking her face. ‘It’s almost eight.’
‘I went out with Jack,’ I say. ‘We had a vindaloo on Brick Lane.’
Dad smiles. ‘Ah!’ He nudges Amy. ‘Another thing ticked off the list! Well done, Georgie.’
I smile. ‘So,’ I say, ‘we’ve had an idea about your list, Ames. We thought that we could make the 10k a charity event, for you.’ I look up at Amy, who is staring back at me, her face unchanging. ‘And, like, raise money for MS.’
I stare at Amy hopefully and she looks back at me blankly. She do
esn’t say anything. Dad looks down at her and then back at me.
‘I think that’s a great idea,’ he says.
I grin, excitement shooting through me.
‘We thought,’ I continue, ‘we could host it with your school. Maybe get the kids involved. We could raise loads of—’
‘What?’ Amy cuts across me, her voice cold.
I falter. ‘Host it at your . . .’ I trail off at Amy’s scowling expression. ‘What?’ I say defensively. ‘What is it?’
Why is she so angry?
Amy pulls herself away from Dad sharply. ‘Why would I want to hold an event at my school celebrating how sick I am? What . . . like, have everyone there watching me? Poor, sick Amy. Isn’t her life so sad?’
I blink at her, winded by her reaction.
‘It’s not,’ I stumble, ‘that isn’t—’
‘I’m fine,’ she snaps. ‘I’m not a charity case. I’m fine.’
‘Amy, I didn’t—’
‘You should go,’ she cuts across me, getting to her feet. ‘I need to go and lie down. I’m sick, remember.’
I stare after her and blink as my eyes prick. I hang my head in my hands and scrunch my hair. This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all.
‘Hey . . .’
I look up at Dad, who has reappeared after following Amy.
‘. . . are you okay?’
I shrug. ‘I just,’ I say thickly, ‘I just want to help her. She won’t let me help her.’
Dad shuts the door behind him and perches back on the sofa.
‘Just give her some time,’ he says gently. ‘Today was a bad day. Don’t give up on it.’ He smiles at me. ‘She’ll come round.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Reasons Not To Go Skydiving:
Terrified of heights. Genuine fear. Should not be mocked or taken lightly.
Unnatural. Humans were not built to drop from the sky and survive. ‘It’s raining men’ is a song, not an observation.
Weight. Is there a weight limit? Me + someone else = falling to the ground quickly.
Clumsy. Will most certainly land wrong and crack open skull and/or face.
Face. Will the wind give me weird Botox?
BREASTS. What will the wind do to them?!
What will happen if I am sick? Where will that go?
What if I am sick and someone catches it on camera and I become national laughing stock?
The List That Changed My Life Page 13