Before I Die aka Now is Good

Eleven

‘Is it true?’ Cal asks as we walk to the bus stop. ‘Do you like being ill?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Is that why you jumped in the water?’

I stop and look at him, at his clear blue eyes. They’re flecked with grey like mine. There are photos of him and me at the same age and there isn’t a single difference between us.

‘I jumped because I’ve made a list of things to do. Today I have to say yes to everything.’

He thinks about this, takes a few seconds to work out the implications, then grins broad and wide. ‘So whatever I ask you to do, you have to say yes?’

‘Got it in one.’

We get the first bus that comes. We sit upstairs at the back.

‘OK,’ Cal whispers. ‘Stick your tongue out at that man.’

He’s delighted when I do.

‘Now make a V sign at that woman on the pavement, then blow kisses at those boys.’

‘It’d be more fun if you did it with me.’

We pull faces, wave at everyone, say bogey, bum and willy at the tops of our voices. By the time we ring the bell to get off the bus, we’re alone on the top deck. Everyone hates us, but we don’t care.

‘Where are we going?’ Cal asks.

‘Shopping.’

‘Have you got your credit card? Will you buy me stuff?’

‘Yes.’

First we buy a radio-controlled HoverCopter. It’s capable of midair launch and can fly up to ten metres high. Cal chucks the packaging in the bin outside the shop and makes it fly ahead of us in the street. We walk behind it, dazzled by its multi-coloured lights, all the way to the lingerie shop.

I make Cal sit on a seat inside with all the men waiting for their wives. There’s something so lovely about removing my dress, not for an examination, but for a soft-voiced woman who measures me for a lacy and very expensive bra.

‘Lilac,’ I tell her when she asks about colour. ‘And I want the matching knickers as well.’ After I pay, she presents them to me in a classy bag with silver handles.

I buy Cal a talking moneybox robot next. Then jeans for me. I get the same slim-legged pre-washed pair Zoey has.

Cal gets a PlayStation game. I get a dress. It’s emerald and black silk and is the most expensive thing I’ve ever bought. I blink at myself in the mirror, leave my wet dress behind in the changing room and rejoin Cal.

‘Cool,’ he says when he sees me. ‘Is there any money left for a digital watch?’

I get him an alarm clock as well, one that will project the time three-dimensionally onto his bedroom ceiling.

Boots next. Zipped leather with little heels. And a holdall from the same shop to put all our things in.

After a visit to the magic shop we have to buy a suitcase with wheels to put the holdall in. Cal enjoys steering it, but it crosses my mind that if we buy more stuff, we’ll have to buy a car to carry the suitcase. A truck for the car. A ship for the truck. We’ll buy a harbour, an ocean, a continent.

The headache begins in McDonald’s. It’s like someone suddenly scalps me with a spoon and digs about inside my brain. I feel dizzy and sick as the world presses in. I take some paracetamol, but know it’ll only take the edge off.

Cal says, ‘You OK?’

‘Yes.’

He knows I’m lying. He’s full of food and as satisfied as a king, but his eyes are scared. ‘I want to go home.’

I have to say yes. We both pretend it’s not because of me.

I stand on the pavement and watch him hail a cab, holding onto the wall to keep myself steady. I will not end this day with a transfusion. I will not have their obscene needles in me today.

In the taxi, Cal’s hand is small and friendly and fits neatly into mine. I try to savour the moment. He doesn’t often volunteer to hold my hand.

‘Will we get into trouble?’ he says.

‘What can they do?’

He laughs. ‘So can we have this kind of day again?’

‘Sure.’

‘Can we go ice-skating next time?’

‘All right.’

He babbles on about white-water rafting, says he fancies horse riding, wouldn’t mind having a go at bungee jumping. I look out of the window, my head pounding. Light bounces off walls and faces and comes in at me bright and close. It feels like a hundred fires burning.