‘You’ll do whatever you want to do,’ I whisper. ‘You don’t need me to tell you what to do.’

His frown lines are back, so I let go of his hands and pull my arms out – wide – like I’m flying.

‘I met you. I kissed you. And I did all of that without leaving my bed. And if I can do that …’

She leans close to me

and I wonder if

she’s going to kiss me again.

‘Imagine what else I can do.’

I swallow.

Our lips dance centimetres apart.

‘I’ve got tomorrow.

One day before I leave.

Just – can we just forget for one day

that I’m leaving

and you’re Ill?

Just for one day,

can’t we just Live?’

I hold the cuffs of his sleeves.

Forgetting sounds magnificent. But I know enough about fog to know what’s left when it’s lifted.

‘You’re leaving,’ I whisper. ‘I’m Ill.’

He goes to turn away from me and I reach out to hold him back, my fingers brushing through his hair.

‘But that doesn’t mean we can’t Live.’

And seeing her

looking at me like that.

I’ve never felt more alive.

82

Alice

‘Just one day?!’ Cecelia says, stuffing her face into a pillow. ‘I don’t know if that’s romantic or just awful.’

I sigh, burying my face in my hands. I tried to rest as much as I could last night, but Rowan’s visit is churning inside me, dredging up waves of elation, pain and something else that feels somewhere in between. ‘I know, I know.’ I poke her cheek. ‘But you brought it, yes?’

She slides her face to the side and nods. ‘Yeah. But honestly, Alice, if this is some weird sex thing, my mum is gonna flip –’

I flick her. ‘Don’t. Make. It. Weird.’

She scoots off the bed, laughing. ‘Okay, okay. So what do you want me to do?’

Directing her, Mum and Dad from my bed is difficult. I want to march about and check they’re doing everything properly, or break up the arguments I can hear coming from along the landing – but I can’t. I need every last spoon I can get for today.

Still, though, I hear smashing and shouting, and Dad keeps popping his head round the door and yelling things like, ‘Have you seen the plunger?’ and, ‘Don’t worry, that sounded expensive, but nothing in our house really is.’

By midday, my heart is hammering. And Dad comes into my room, drying his hands on a towel and kneeling by my bed.

‘You ready, kiddo?’ I glare at him and he smiles. ‘Not so “kiddo” today, eh? Ladyo?’

‘Shut up,’ I say, grabbing hold of his neck and taking a deep breath. ‘I’m ready, though. I think.’

‘Well, too late now.’