before i die Jenny Downham

twenty-four

Zoey shouldnve asked me to come. I havent been able to stop counting since we got through the door. Weve been here seven minutes. Her appointments in six minutes. She got pregnant ninety-five days ago.
I try to think of random numbers, but they all seem to add up to something. Eight – the number of discrete windows across the far wall. One – the equally discreet receptionist. Five hundred – the number of pounds its costing Scott to get rid of the baby.
Zoey flicks me a nervous smile across the top of her magazine. I bet you dont get anything like this on the NHS.
You dont. The seats are leather, theres a big square coffee table stacked with glossy magazines, and its so warm that Ive had to take my coat off. I thought itd be full of girls clutching hankies and looking forlorn, but me and Zoey are the only ones here. Shes scraped her hair back into a ponytail and shes wearing her baggy sweat pants again. She looks tired and pale.
Do you want to know which symptoms Ill be most glad to get rid of? She rests her magazine on her lap and counts them off on her fingers. My breasts look like some freaky map, all covered in blue veins. I feel heavy – even my fingers are heavy. I keep throwing up. Ive got a constant headache. And my eyes are sore.
Anything good?
She thinks about this for a moment. I smell different. I smell quite nice.
I lean across the coffee table and breathe her in. She smells of smoke, perfume, chewing gum. And something else.
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Fecund, I tell her.
What?
It means youre fertile.
She shakes her head at me as if Im nuts. Did your boyfriend teach you that?
When I dont reply, she goes back to her magazine. Twenty-two pages of hot new gadgets. How to write a perfect love song. Will space travel ever be accessible?
I saw this film once, I tell her, about a girl who died. When she got to heaven, her sisters still-born baby was already there, and she looked after it until they were all reunited.
Zoey pretends she hasnt heard. She turns the page as if shes read it. That might happen to me, Zoey.
It wont.
Your babys so small I could keep it in my pocket.
Shut up, Tessa!
You were looking at clothes for it the other day.
Zoey slumps back in her chair and closes her eyes. Her mouth goes slack, as if shes been unplugged. Please, she says. Please shut up. You shouldnve come if youre going to disapprove.
Shes right. I knew it last night when I couldnt sleep. Across the landing, the shower was dripping and something – a cockroach? a spider? – scuttled across the bedroom carpet.
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I got up and went downstairs in my dressing gown. I was planning a cup of hot chocolate, maybe some late-night TV. But there, right in the middle of the kitchen, was a mouse stuck to one of Dads cockroach traps. The only bit of it that wasnt glued to the cardboard was one of its back legs, which it used like a paddle to try and get away from me. It was in agony. I knew Id have to kill it, but I couldnt think how to do it without causing it more pain. A carving knife? A pair of scissors? A pencil through the back of the head? I could only think of awful endings.
Finally I got an old ice-cream carton out of the cupboard and filled it up with water. I dunked the mouse in and held it down with a wooden spoon. It looked up at me, amazed, as it struggled to breathe. Three tiny air bubbles escaped, one after the other.
I write Zoeys baby a text: HIDE! Whos that to?
No one.
She leans over the table. Let me see. I delete it, show her the blank screen. Was it to Adam?
No.
She rolls her eyes. You practically have sex in the garden and then you get some kind of perverted kick out of pretending it didnt happen.
Hes not interested.
She frowns. Of course hes interested. His mum came out and caught you, thats all. Hed happily have shagged you otherwise.
It was four days ago, Zoey. If he was interested, hed have contacted me.
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She shrugs. Maybe hes busy.
We sit with that lie for a minute. My bones poke through my skin, Ive got purple blotches under my eyes, and Im definitely beginning to smell weird. Adams probably still washing his mouth out.
Loves bad for you anyway, Zoey says. m living proof of that. She chucks her magazine down on the table and looks at her watch. What the hell am I paying for exactly?
I move seats to be next to her.
Maybe its a joke, she says. Maybe they take your money, let you sweat, and hope you get so embarrassed that you just go home.
I take her hand and hold it between mine. She looks a bit surprised, but doesnt take hers away.
The windows have darkened glass in them so that you cant see the street. When we arrived, it was beginning to snow; people doing their Christmas shopping were all wrapped up against the cold. In here, heat is blasting from the radiators and piped music washes over us. The world out there couldve ended, but in here you wouldnt know it.
Zoey says, When this is over and its just you and me again, well get back to your list. Well do number six. Fame, isnt it? I saw this woman on the telly the other day. Shes got terminal cancer and shes just done a triathlon. You should do that.
Shes got breast cancer. So?
So its different.
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Running and cycling keep her motivated. How different can it be? Shes lived much longer than anyone thought she would, and shes really famous.
I hate running!
Zoey shakes her head at me very solemnly, as if Im being deliberately difficult. What about Big Brother? Theyve never had anyone like you on that before.
It doesnt start until next summer.
So?
So think about it!
And thats when the nurse comes out of a side room and walks towards us. Zoey Walker? Were ready for you now.
Zoey hauls me up. Can my friend come?
m sorry, but its better if she waits outside. Its just a discussion today, but its not the type of discussion thats easy to have in front of a friend.
The nurse sounds very certain of this and Zoey doesnt seem able to resist. She passes me her coat, says, Look after this for me, and goes off with the nurse. The door shuts behind them.
I feel very solid. Not small, but large and beating and alive. Its so tangible, being and not being. Im here. Soon I wont be. Zoeys baby is here. Its pulse tick-ticking. Soon it wont be. And when Zoey comes out of that room, having signed on the dotted line, shell be different. Shell understand what I already know – that death surrounds us all.
And it tastes like metal between your teeth.
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