before i die Jenny Downham

twenty-three

Cal comes trotting up from the bottom of the dark garden, his hand outstretched. Next, he says.
Mum opens the box of fireworks on her lap. She looks as if shes choosing a chocolate, delicately picking one out, then reading the label before passing it over.
Enchanted Garden, she tells him.
He rushes back to Dad with it. The tops of his wellies slap against each other as he runs. Moonlight filters through the apple tree and splashes the grass.
Mum and me have brought chairs from the kitchen and were sitting together by the back door. Its cold. Our breath like smoke. Now winter is here, the earth smells wet, as if life is hunkering down, things crouching low, preserving energy.
Mum says, Do you know how truly horrible it is when you go off and dont tell anyone where you are?
Since shes the great disappearing expert of all time, I laugh at that. She looks surprised, obviously doesnt get the irony. Dad says you slept for two days solid when you got back.
I was tired.
He was terrified.
Were you?
We both were.
Enchanted Garden! Dad announces.
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Theres a sudden crackle, and flowers made of light bloom into the air, expand, then sink and fade across the grass.
Ahhh, Mum says. That was lovely.
That was boring, Cal cries as he comes galloping back to us.
Mum opens the box again. How about a rocket? Would a rocket be any better?
A rocket would be excellent! Cal runs round the garden to celebrate before handing it over to Dad. Together they push the stick into the ground. I think of the bird, of Cals rabbit. Of all the creatures that have died in our garden, their skeletons jostling together under the earth.
Why the seaside? Mum asks.
I just fancied it.
Why Dads car?
I shrug. Driving was on my list.
You know, she says, you cant go around doing just what you like. You have to think about the people who love you.
Who?
The people who love you.
Loud one, Dad says. Hands over ears, ladies.
The rocket launches with a single boom, so loud its energy expands inside me. Sound waves break in my blood. My brain feels tidal.
Mums never said she loves me. Not ever. I dont think she ever will. It would be too obvious now, too full of pity. It would embarrass both of us. Sometimes I wonder at the quiet things that must have passed between us
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before I was born, when I was curled small and dark inside her. But I dont wonder very often.
She shifts uncomfortably on her chair. Tessa, are you planning on killing anyone? She sounds casual, but I think she might mean it.
Of course not!
Good. She looks genuinely relieved. So whats next on your list then?
m surprised. You really want to know? I really do.
OK. Fames next.
She shakes her head in dismay, but Cal, who has turned up for the next firework, thinks its hilarious. See how many drinking straws you can stuff in your mouth, he says. The world records two hundred and fifty- eight.
ll think about that, I tell him.
Or you could get tattooed all over your body like a leopard. Or we could push you up the motorway in your bed.
Mum regards him thoughtfully. Twenty-one-shot Cascade, she says.
We count them. They shoot up with a soft phut, burst into clusters of stars, then drift slowly down. I wonder if the grass will be stained sulphur- yellow, vermilion, aquamarine by morning.
A comet next, to appease Cals desire for action. Dad lights it and it whizzes up above the roof, trailing a tail of glitter.
Mum bought smoke bombs. They cost £3.50 each and Cals seriously impressed. He shouts the price to Dad.
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More money than sense, Dad yells back.
Mum shoves two fingers up at him and he laughs so warmly that she shivers.
I got two for the price of one, she tells me. Thats one advantage of you being ill and us having firework night in December.
The bombs spray the garden with green smoke. Loads of it. Its as if goblins are about to arrive. Cal and Dad come running from the bottom of the garden, laughing and spluttering.
Thats a ridiculous amount of smoke! Dad cries. Its like being in Beirut!
Mum smiles, passes him a Catherine wheel. Do this one next. Its my favourite.
He gets a hammer, and she stands up and holds the fence post still while he bangs the nail in. Theyre laughing together.
Dont hit my fingers, she says, and she nudges him with her elbow.
I will if you do that!
Cal sits in Mums seat and rips open a packet of sparklers. I bet Im famous before you, he tells me.
I bet youre not.
m going to be the youngest person ever to join the Magic Circle.
Dont you have to be invited?
They will invite me! Ive got talent. What can you do? You cant even sing.
Hey! Dad says. Whats this?
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Mum sighs. Both our children want to be famous.
Do they?
Fames next on Tessas list.
I can tell from Dads face that he wasnt expecting this. He turns to me, the hammer limp at his side. Fame?
Yeah.
How?
I havent decided.
I thought youd finished with the list.
No.
I thought after the car, after all thats happened . . . No, Dad, its not finished.
I used to believe that Dad could do anything, save me from anything. But he cant, hes just a man. Mum puts her arm around him and he leans in to her.
I stare at them. My mother. My father. His face is in shadow, the edges of her hair are tipped with light. I keep really still. Cal, next to me, keeps really still too.
Wow! he whispers.
It hurts more than I could ever have imagined.
In the kitchen, I swill my mouth out with water at the sink and spit it out. My spit looks slimy, is pulled so slowly towards the plug-hole that I have to chase it down with more water from the tap. The sink is cold against my skin.
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I turn off the light and watch my family through the window. They stand together on the lawn, sorting through the last of the fireworks. Dad holds each one up and shines the torch at it. They choose one, shut the box, and all three of them walk away down the garden.
Perhaps Im dead. Perhaps this is all it will be. The living will carry on in their world – touching, walking. And Ill continue in this empty world, tapping soundlessly on the glass between us.
I go out of the front door, shut it behind me and sit on the step. The undergrowth rustles, as if some night creature is trying to hide itself from me, but I dont freak out, dont even move. As my eyes adjust, I can see the fence and the bushes that line it. I can see the street beyond the gate quite clearly, lamplight splashing across the pavement, slanting across other peoples cars, reflected back from other peoples blank windows.
I can smell onions. Kebabs. If my life was different, Id be out with Zoey. Wed have chips. Wed be standing on some street corner, licking salty fingers, waiting for action. But instead, Im here. Dead on the doorstep.
I hear Adam before I see him, the guttural roar of his bike. As he gets closer, the noise vibrates the air, so that the trees seem to dance. He stops outside his gate, switches off the engine and turns off the lights. Silence and darkness descend again as he unclips his helmet, threads it through the handlebars and pushes the bike up the drive.
I mostly believe in chaos. If wishes came true, my bones wouldnt ache as if all the space inside them is used up. There wouldnt be a mist in front of my eyes that I cant brush away.
But watching Adam walk up the path feels like a choice. The universe might be random, but I can make something different happen.
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I step over the low wall that separates our front gardens. Hes locking the bike to the gate at the side of his house. He doesnt see me. I walk up behind him. I feel very powerful and certain.
Adam?
He turns round, startled. Shit! I thought you were a ghost! Theres a cold-washed smell to him, as if hes an animal come out of the night. I take a step closer.
What are you doing? he says. We said wed be friends.
He looks confused. Yeah.
I dont want to be.
Theres space between us, and in that space theres darkness. I take another step, so close that we share a breath. The same one. In and out.
Tessa, he says. I know its a warning, but I dont care. Whats the worst thing that can happen?
Itll hurt, he says.
It already hurts.
He nods very slowly. And its like theres a hole in time, as if everything stops and this one minute, where we look at each other so close, is spread out between us. As he leans towards me, I feel a strange warmth filtering through me. I forget that my brain is full of every sad face at every window Ive ever passed. As he leans closer, I feel only the warmth of his breath on my skin. We kiss very gently. Hardly at all, like were not sure. Our lips are the only place where we touch.
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We stand back and look at each other. What words are there for the look that passes from me to him and back again? Around us all the night things gather and stare. The lost things found again.
Shit, Tess!
Its all right, I tell him. I wont break.
And to prove it, I push him back against the wall of his house and keep him there. And this time its not about tenderness. My tongue is in his mouth, searching, meeting his. His arms wrap me warm. His hand is on the back of my neck. I melt there. My hand slides down his back. I press myself closer, but its not close enough. I want to climb inside him. Live in him. Be him. Its all tongue and longing. I lick him, take small bites on the edges of his lips.
I never realized I was this hungry.
He pulls away. Shit, he says. Shit! And he runs his hand through his hair; it gleams wet, animal dark. The streetlights blaze in his eyes. Whats happening to us?
I want you, I tell him.
My hearts thumping. I feel absolutely alive.
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