before i die Jenny Downham

thirty-one

Spring is a powerful spell.
The blue. The clouds high up and puffy. The air warmer than its been for weeks.
The light was different this morning, I tell Zoey. It woke me up.
She shifts her weight in the deck chair. Lucky you. Leg cramp woke me up.
Were sitting under the apple tree. Zoeys brought a blanket from the sofa and wrapped herself up in it, but Im not cold at all. Its one of those mellow days in March that feel as if the earth is tipping forwards. Daisies sprinkle the lawn. Clusters of tulips sprout at the edges of the fence. The garden even smells different – moist and secretive.
You all right? Zoey says. You look a bit weird. m concentrating.
On what?
Signs.
She groans softly, picks up the holiday brochure from my lap and flicks through the pages. ll just torture myself with this then. Tell me when youre done.
ll never be done.
That rip in the clouds where the light falls through.
That brazen bird flying in a straight line right across the sky. There are signs everywhere. Keeping me safe.
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Cals got into it too now, although in a more practical way. He calls them keep-death-away spells.
Hes put garlic above all the doors and at the four corners of my bed. Hes made KEEP OUT boards for the front and back gates.
Last night, when we were watching TV, he tied our legs together with a skipping rope. We looked as if we were entering a three-legged race.
He said, No one will take you if youre tied to me.
They might take you as well!
He shrugged, as if that didnt matter to him. They wont get you in Sicily either; they wont know where you are.
Tomorrow we fly. A whole week in the sun.
I tease Zoey with the brochure, run my finger over the volcanic beach with black sand, the sea edged by mountains, the cafés and piazzas. In some of the photos, Mount Etna squats massively in the background, remote and fiery.
The volcanos active, I tell her. It sparks at night, and when it rains, everything gets covered in ash.
Its not going to rain though, is it? It must be about thirty degrees. She slaps the brochure shut. I cant believe your mum gave her ticket to Adam.
My dad cant believe it either.
Zoey thinks about this for a moment. Wasnt getting them back together on your list?
Number seven.
Thats terrible. She flings the brochure on the grass. I feel sad now.
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Its the hormones.
Sadder than youd ever believe. Yeah, its the hormones.
She gazes hopelessly at the sky, then almost immediately turns back to me with a smile on her face. Did I tell you Im picking the keys up in three weeks?
Talking about the flat always cheers her up. The council has agreed to give her a grant. Shell be able to swap vouchers for paint and wallpaper, she tells me. She gets quite animated describing the mural she plans for her bedroom, the tropical fish tiles she wants in the bathroom.
Its strange, but as she talks, her body begins to waver at the edges. I try and concentrate on her plans for the kitchen, but its as if shes caught in a heat haze.
Are you OK? she says. Youve got that weird look on your face again.
I sit forward and massage my scalp. I focus on the pain behind my eyes and try and make it go away.
Shall I get your dad?
No.
A glass of water?
No. Stay there. Ill be back in a minute. Where are you going?
I cant see Adam, but I can hear him. Hes turning over the soil so his mum can plant flowers while were away. I can hear the push of his boot on the spade, the wet resistance of the earth.
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I go through the gap in the fence. Theres the whisper of growing things – buds opening, delicate fronds of green pushing their way into the air.
Hes got his jumper off, is only wearing a vest top and jeans. He had his hair cut yesterday and the arc of his neck as it joins his shoulder is shockingly beautiful. He grins when he sees me watching, puts the spade down and walks over.
Hey, you!
I lean in to him and wait to feel better. Hes warm. His skin is salty and smells of baked sunlight.
I love you.
Silence. Startling. Did I mean to say that?
He smiles his tilted smile. I love you too, Tess.
I put my hand over his mouth. Dont say it if you dont mean it.
I do mean it. His breath makes my fingers humid. He kisses my palm.
I bury these things in my heart – the feel of him under my fingers, the taste of him on my mouth. Ill need them, like talismans, to survive an impossible journey.
He brushes my cheek with one finger, from my temple to my chin and then across my lips. You OK?
I nod.
He looks down at me, gently puzzled. You seem quiet. Shall I come and find you when Im done? We could go out on the bike if you like, say goodbye to the hill for a week.
I nod again. Yes.
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