“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t happen to still have copies of that photo, do you?”

His eyebrows arch over the camera.

“For my friend Amanda,” I add hastily. “They would make a good Christmas present.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says, clearly amused.

“Thanks. And any, you know, outtakes as well. Just chuck them in. For Amanda.”

“Sure. For Amanda.”

“It’s true,” I laugh.

“I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t. OK.” He checks his camera to make sure he has the perfect shot. “I want to get one of you lying in those wildflowers over there. You don’t have allergies, do you?”

“Only to paclitaxel. And that’s more of a hypersensitivity.”

“Paclitaxel?”

“Chemotherapy drug.”

“Oh. Right.” He clears his throat and swallows noisily.

Immediately, I’m regretful. I’ve made him uncomfortable by bringing cancer into the conversation. And it was all my own fault, this time. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Bringing down the mood.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s me who should be sorry. I just don’t know what to say, and it’s frustrating, because I should.” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed with himself.

“It’s OK.”

“It’s not.”

“It is, honestly. I’m used to it and I don’t blame people for avoiding the topic as much as I used to.”

His eyes study me and I shift nervously under the intensity I see in them.

“How do you do that?” he asks quietly.

“How do I do what?”

“Stay positive. Keep smiling. Joke around.”

“What’s the alternative? Being bitter won’t change anything. All that would do is make the time I have left miserable, and I don’t want that.”

“I don’t know if I could do it.”

“Sure you could. But I hope you never have to. Don’t get me wrong, I have my bad days. Days where I cry or throw stuff at walls and lash out at my loved ones because my rage at the unfairness of it is so fierce inside of me that I want to hurt someone just the way I am hurting. But I try not to do that, because it’s no one’s fault.”

“How do you even begin to accept it?”

“I don’t know. You just have to. I’ve soul-searched for a reason why this is happening to me. And I’ve drawn a blank. Because I did nothing wrong. It’s not luck of the draw, or the cards that I’ve been dealt. It’s just shit. But it is what it is, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

I’ve worked myself up while I’ve been speaking, and even though I don’t want them to, hot tears well up in my eyes and threaten to burst over. I blink furiously to dispel them and James takes two quick steps to stand in front of me. He is awkward, for the briefest of moments, as he hesitates.

“Um, should I…do you want me to…?”

Then his instincts take over and he reaches out to pull me into an embrace. It takes him by surprise just as much as it does me.