The To Do List

Two

Zoey doesn't even knock, just comes in and plonks herself down on

the end of the bed. She looks at me strangely, as if she hadn't expected to

find me here.

"What're you doing?" she says.

"Why?"

"Don't you go downstairs any more?"

"Did my dad phone you up?"

"Are you in pain?"

"No."

She gives me a suspicious look, then stands up and takes off her coat.

She's wearing a very short red dress. It matches the handbag she's

dumped on my floor.

"Are you going out?" I ask her. "Have you got a date?"

She shrugs, goes over to the window and looks down at the garden.

She circles a finger on the glass, then she says, "Maybe you should try and

believe in God."

"Should I?"

"Yeah, maybe we all should. The whole human race."

"I don't think so. I think he might be dead."

She turns round to look at me. Her face is pale, like winter. Behind her

shoulder, an airplane winks its way across the sky.

She says, "What's that you've written on the wall?"

I don't know why I let her read it. I guess I want something to

happen. It's in black ink. With Zoey looking, all the words writhe like

spiders. She reads it over and over. I hate it how sorry she can be for me.

She speaks very softly. "It's not exactly Disneyland, is it?"

"Did I say it was?"

"I thought that was the idea."

"Not mine."

"I think your dad's expecting you to ask for a pony, not a boyfriend."

It's amazing, the sound of us laughing. Even though it hurts, I love it.

Laughing with Zoey is absolutely one of my favourite things, because I

know we've both got the same stupid pictures in our heads. She only has to

say, "Maybe a stud farm might be the answer," and we're both in hysterics.

Zoey says, "Are you crying?"

I'm not sure. I think I am. I sound like those women on the telly when

their entire family gets wiped out. I sound like an animal gnawing its own

foot off. Everything just floods in all at once – like how my fingers are just

bones and my skin is practically see-through. Inside my left lung I can feel

cells multiplying, stacking up, like ash slowly filling a vase. Soon I wonbt be

able to breathe.

"It's OK if you're afraid," Zoey says.

"It's not."

"Of course it is. Whatever you feel is fine."

"Imagine it, Zoey – being terrified all the time."