“I’m sorry, but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Ah, well, it was worth a try.”

“He’s a fictional cartoon character who walks around scratching his nuts and saying ‘Doh!’ all the time. I mean, he’s funny, sure. But inspirational?”

“Hey, you’re not saying anything I haven’t already said to myself. I plead youth and too much alcohol.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice it when we were swimming.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles sheepishly, “that was on purpose. As I said, it’s up on my back, top of my right shoulder. I kind of kept that side away from you as much as possible and, anyway, you were so enchanted with the sunset you weren’t really looking at me.”

“Huh.” I muse.

“What?”

“Well, it just goes to show, doesn’t it?”

“Show what?”

“That you just never can tell about some people. You seem like this professional, straight-up, serious kind of guy. And now I find out you’re partial to the devil’s brew and a bit of ink. You’re like Popeye.”

“I don’t like spinach.”

“OK, apart from that. Look, there’s a satellite.” I point to the eastern side of the sky, where a light is slowly making its way overhead.

“So it is. Do you really think alcohol is the devil’s brew?”

“No. I’m fond of the odd tipple myself. More so before the diagnosis.”

I wince. There it is.

“What about you?” he asks.

“What about me?”

“Any shameful secrets you’d care to share?”

“No.”

“No, you have none, or no, you don’t want to share?”

“The first option. I’m pretty tame. No wild youth to speak of.”

“You’re still young,” he teases, and then he realizes what he has said. “Shit. I’m sorry, Ava, that was thoughtless.”

“It’s OK, honestly.”

“I think you’re pretty admirable, you know. What you’re doing. And brave.”

I feel warmth at his words. So he didn’t describe me as “hot.” This was better. I’d take it.

Chapter Twenty-Four

After a busy few weeks and three more articles run, the number of likes on the page Amanda set up almost doubles, and I receive so many messages of support and offers of help that I decide, sadly, that I can no longer reply to them all. I want to, but there are so many it would take up valuable time that I just can’t afford. Instead, Amanda does a communal post to tell everyone that I appreciate their messages and their thoughts.

A date has been set, and a venue chosen.

After much deliberation and facing truths I found hard to face, I picked a date in mid-January. Apart from some pain, manageable still, I feel OK. But I have no idea how long that will last, and I don’t want to be wheeled down the aisle in a wheelchair, or, worse, be unable to participate at all. January gives us two months to plan everything. Plus, it will be the height of summer. My favorite season, and more chance of a fine day.