before i die Jenny Downham

twenty-five

Where are we going?
Dad takes one hand off the steering wheel to pat me on the knee. All in good time.
Is it going to be embarrassing?
I hope not.
Are we going to meet someone famous?
He looks alarmed for a moment. Is that what you meant? Not really.
We drive through town and he wont tell me. We drive past the housing estates and onto the ring road, and my guesses get completely random. I like making him laugh. He doesnt do it much.
Moon landing?
No.
Talent competition? With your singing voice?
I phone Zoey and see if she wants to have a guess, but shes still freaking out about the operation. I have to take a responsible adult with me. Who the hell am I going to ask?
ll come.
They mean a proper adult. You know, like a parent. They cant make you tell your parents.
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I hate this, she says. I thought theyd give me a pill and it would just fall out. Why do I need an operation? Its only the size of a dot.
Shes wrong about that. Last night I got out the Readers Digest Book of Family Medicine and looked up pregnancy. I wanted to know how big babies are in week sixteen. I discovered theyre the length of a dandelion. I couldnt stop reading. I looked up beestings and hives. Lovely mundane, family illnesses – eczema, tonsillitis, croup.
You still there? she says.
Yeah.
Well, Im going now. Acid liquid is coming up my throat and into my mouth.
Its indigestion. She needs to massage her colon and drink some milk. It will pass. Whatever she decides to do about the baby, all Zoeys symptoms will pass. I dont tell her this though. Instead, I press the red button on my phone and concentrate on the road ahead.
Shes a very silly girl, Dad says. The longer she leaves it, the worse it will be. Terminating a pregnancy isnt like taking out the rubbish.
She knows that, Dad. Anyway, its nothing to do with you – shes not your daughter.
No, he agrees. Shes not.
I write Adam a text. I write, WHERE THE HELL ARE U? Then I delete it.
Six nights ago his mum stood on the doorstep and cried. She said the fireworks were terrifying. She asked why hed left her when the world was ending.
Give me your mobile number, he told me. ll call you.
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We swapped numbers. It was erotic. I thought it was a promise.
Fame, Dad says. Now, what do we mean by fame, eh?
I mean Shakespeare. That silhouette of him with his perky beard, quill in hand, was on the front of all the copies of his plays at school. He invented tons of new words and everyone knows who he is after hundreds of years. He lived before cars and planes, guns and bombs and pollution. Before pens. Queen Elizabeth I was on the throne when he was writing. She was famous too, not just for being Henry VIIIs daughter, but for potatoes and the Armada and tobacco and for being so clever.
Then theres Marilyn. Elvis. Even modern icons like Madonna will be remembered. Take That are touring again and sold out in milliseconds. Their eyes are etched with age and Robbie isnt even singing, but still people want a piece of them. Fame like that is what I mean. Id like the whole world to stop what its doing and personally come and say goodbye to me when I die. What else is there?
What do you mean by fame, Dad?
After a minutes thought he says, Leaving something of yourself behind, I guess.
I think of Zoey and her baby. Growing. Growing.
OK, Dad says. Here we are.
m not sure where here is. It looks like a library, one of those square, functional buildings with lots of windows and its own car park with allocated spaces for the director. We pull into a disabled bay.
The woman who answers the intercom wants to know who weve come to see. Dad tries to whisper, but she cant hear, so he has to say it again, louder. Richard Green, he says, and he gives me a sideways glance.
Richard Green?
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He nods, pleased with himself. One of the accountants I used to work with knows him.
And thats relevant because . . . ?
He wants to interview you.
I stall on the step. An interview? On the radio? But everyonell hear me!
Isnt that the idea?
What am I supposed to be interviewed about?
And thats when he blushes. Thats when maybe he realizes that this is the worst idea hes ever had, because the only thing that makes me extraordinary is my sickness. If it wasnt for that, Id be in school or bunking. Maybe Id be at Zoeys, fetching her Rennies from the bathroom cabinet. Maybe Id be lying in Adams arms.
The receptionist pretends everythings all right. She asks for our names and gives us both a sticker. We obediently attach these to our coats as she tells us that the producer will be with us soon.
Have a seat, she says, gesturing to a row of armchairs on the other side of the foyer.
You dont have to speak, Dad says as we sit down. ll go in by myself if you want, and you can stay out here.
And what would you talk about?
He shrugs. Paucity of teen cancer units, lack of funding for alternative medicine, your dietary needs not being subsidized by the NHS. I could talk for bloody hours. Its my specialist subject.
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