Before I Die aka Now is Good

‘Anyone want a sandwich?’

Zoey shakes her head. ‘I’m all right with these Maltesers thanks.’

I like the way her mouth puckers as she sucks them.

Keep-death-away spells.

Ask your best friend to read out the juicy bits from her magazine – the fashion, the gossip. Encourage her to sit close enough for you to touch her tummy, the amazing expanse of it. And when she has to go home, take a deep breath and tell her you love her. Because it’s true. And when she leans over and whispers it back, hold onto her tight, because these are not words you would normally share.

Make your brother sit with you when he gets back from school and go through every detail of his day, every lesson, every conversation, even what he had for dinner, until he’s so bored he begs to be allowed to run off and play football with his friends in the park.

Watch your mum kick off her shoes and massage her feet because her new job in the bookshop means she has to stand up all day and be polite to strangers. Laugh when she gives your dad a book because she gets a discount and can afford to be generous.

Watch your dad kiss her cheek. Notice them smile. Know that whatever happens, they are your parents.

Listen to your neighbour pruning her roses as shadows lengthen across the lawn. She’s humming some old song and you’re under a blanket with your boyfriend. Tell him you’re proud of him, because he made that garden grow and encouraged his mother to care about it.

Study the moon. It’s close and has a pink flare around it. Your boyfriend tells you it’s an optical illusion, that it only seems big because of its angle to the earth.

Measure yourself against it.

And, at night, when you’re carried back upstairs and another day is over, refuse to let your boyfriend sleep in the camp bed. Tell him you want to be held and don’t be afraid that he might not want to, because if he says he will, then he loves you and that’s all that matters. Wrap your legs with his. Listen to him sleep, his gentle breathing.

And when you hear a sound, like the flapping of a kite getting closer, like the sails of a windmill slowly turning, say, ‘Not yet, not yet.’

Keep breathing. Just keep doing it. It’s easy. In and out.

Forty

The light begins to come back. The absolute dark fades at the edges. My mouth’s dry. The grit of last night’s medication lines my throat.

‘Hey,’ Adam says.

He’s got a hard-on, apologizes for it with a shy smile, then opens the curtains and stands at the window looking out. Beyond him, the dull pink clouds of morning.

‘You’re going to be here for years without me,’ I tell him.

He says, ‘Shall I make us some breakfast?’

Like a butler, he brings me things. A lemon ice lolly. A hot-water bottle. Slices of orange cut onto a plate. Another blanket. He puts cinnamon sticks to boil on the oven downstairs, because I want to smell Christmas.

How did this happen so quickly? How did it really come true?

please get into bed and climb on top of me with your warmth and wrap me with your arms and make it stop

‘Mum’s putting up a trellis,’ he says. ‘First it was a herb garden, then roses, now she wants honeysuckle. I might go out and give her a hand when your dad comes to sit with you. Would that be OK?’

‘Sure.’

‘You don’t fancy sitting outside again today?’

‘No.’

I can’t be bothered to move. The sun grinds into my brain and everything aches.

this mad psycho tells everyone to get into a field and says I’m going to pick one of you just one of you out of all of you to die and everyone’s looking around thinking it’s so unlikely to be me because there’s thousands of us so statistically it’s completely unlikely and the psycho walks up and down looking at everyone and when he gets near me he hesitates and he smiles and then he points right at me and says you’re the one and the shock that it’s me and yet of course it’s me why wouldn’t it be I knew all along

Cal crashes in. ‘Can I go out?’

Dad sighs. ‘Where?’

‘Just out.’

‘You need to be a bit more specific.’

‘I’ll let you know when I get there.’

‘Not good enough.’

‘Everyone else is allowed randomly out.’

‘I’m not interested in everyone else.’

Wonderful rage as Cal stomps to the door. The bits of garden in his hair, the filth of his fingernails. His body able to yank the door open and slam it behind him.

‘You’re all such bloody bastards!’ he yells as he races down the stairs.

Instructions for Cal

Don’t die young. Don’t get meningitis, or Aids or anything else ever. Be healthy. Don’t fight in any war, or join a cult, or get religion, or lose your heart to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Don’t think you have to be good because you’re the only one left. Be as bad as you like.

I reach for Dad’s hand. His fingers look raw, as if they’ve been through a grater.

‘What have you done?’

He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t even notice.’

Further instructions for Dad – Let Cal be enough for you.

I love you. I love you. I send this message through my fingers and into his, up his arm and into his heart. Hear me. I love you. And I’m sorry to leave you.

I wake up hours later. How did that happen?

Cal’s here again, sitting next to me on the bed propped up with pillows. ‘Sorry I shouted.’

‘Did Dad tell you to say that?’

He nods. The curtains are open and somehow the darkness is back.

‘Are you scared?’ Cal says this very softly, as if it’s something he’s thinking, but didn’t mean to say.

‘I’m scared of falling asleep.’

‘That you won’t wake up?’

‘Yes.’

His eyes shine. ‘But you know it won’t be tonight, don’t you? I mean, you’ll be able to tell, won’t you?’

‘It won’t be tonight.’

He rests his head on my shoulder. ‘I really, really hate this,’ he says.