Page 21 of The Promise of Tomorrow
‘We’ve not shaken our stuff and done the Good Times Dance since September, I reckon, when that change to more sustainable packaging paid off,’ said Rory. ‘And it’s good times, for sure. I actually survived that drive to work this morning.’
‘What do you mean?’ she replied, catching her breath.
‘We might have been on the motorway, but eighty-five miles an hour?’
‘Everyone does that.’ Elena had cruised along, overtaking car after car, when normally she’d have stuck in the inside lane and to the speed limit. She’d insisted she’d drive every day this week, keen to press ahead with her carefree attitude. She made up an excuse that something had felt wrong with the car’s suspensionand she’d wanted to test it. God, how good it felt to drive without worrying about every potential hazard, not feeling she had to take the longer, safer route, on quieter roads.
‘I don’t speed,’ he said.
‘Says the man who put his foot to the floor during his rally car experience in the spring.’
‘That was under controlled conditions. There were no other cars I might have hit.’ He cocked his head. ‘You’re really going for it, aren’t you? Throwing caution to the wind as you approach thirty.’
‘A firework almost exploding in your chest gives you enormous perspective,’ she muttered and pretended to type on her keyboard as Rory headed off to fetch their coffees. He was right. Speeding hadn’t been cool. It didn’t matter about endangering her own life, but it did about Rory’s and other drivers’. She quickly googled a rally drive experience website and added it to her mental list of daredevil activities.
Halfway through the afternoon, when it was time for another caffeine hit, Derek ordered in donuts from a favourite bakery around the corner – a Bingley Biscuits tradition when there was a work event to celebrate, a nod to the company’s roots and how far it had come. The jam donut had been one of the company’s most popular items, before they’d gone into mass production and focused on biscuits. Back in the fifties and sixties, they used to be iced in blue or red and sold outdoors at Maine Road and Old Trafford. Normally Elena would stick to a humble glazed ring, and she certainly wouldn’t eat any Christmas fare until the week before. But today she snapped up one loaded with cinnamon cream, covered in dark chocolate and freeze-dried cranberries. Rory grinned as she took a bite and cream spurted down her chin. When it was finished, she reached for another, with blondechocolate and a mini gingerbread man on top, filled with ginger and pear jam. Elena never worried about calories, least of all now when she might only have three weeks and two days left on this planet. She brought up the online calculator, channelling Rory. In other words, twenty-three days; five hundred and fifty-two hours; thirty-three thousand, one hundred and twenty minutes.
How her goal had changed, from simply surviving her remaining weeks, simply going through the motions in order to be safe, to sucking them dry of every single drop of life. There were so many things she’d missed out on, like… like hot air ballooning, edge-of-your-seat wild nights out, like eating oysters, like travel, like… love. Love, the thing she wanted to experience most – yet the hardest to tick off any list because you couldn’t just book or pay for it.
‘Let’s go to this great bar I know near here and celebrate properly,’ said Elena as she pulled up on her drive after work.
‘I’m in,’ said Rory. ‘First I need a shower. Leave in twenty minutes?’
Whilst he raced upstairs, Elena knocked back a glass of water and headed into the lounge. She took the roof off the glass tank and put in her hand, coaxing Snap to climb on. The two of them sat on the sofa.
‘Shedding my skin is fun,’ whispered Elena, holding up her hand, admiring Snap’s flexibility. ‘What does it feel like for you? Liberating, to start anew? Because that’s what I’m experiencing. I’ve got nothing to lose by shedding my fears and inhibitions.’ She eyed the tank again. ‘In case… the worst happens, on the twenty-first of December, before then I’m going to get you and Brandy a bigger living space. I’m sure Rory will agree. Your universe should have sides longer than thirty centimetres.’ Gently, Elena placed Snap back in the tank, said hello to Brandy, and then sprayed the bramble leaves with water and put on the lid.
Rory appeared in a black leather trench coat, wearing drainpipe jeans with boots, and a Manga sweatshirt –The Matrixwith a Japanese twist. They set off, without Elena going back to check the front door was locked, and waved to Tahoor as they passed his house. After a brisk walk they entered a bar called Boujee and took a bottle of Merlot to a table. Elena poured out two glasses, nestling back in the velvet armchair, admiring the room’s twinkling fairy lights. A Christmas tree was already up in the corner, tastefully ornate with colour-coordinated baubles. Normally she’d have cringed at decorating so early, but somehow, this year, she felt the need to appreciate it. Rory sat opposite her, candles between them flickering in the dim light, R&B music playing in the background.
‘Cheers! Here’s to not being broken!’ She knocked the drink back in one. Rory did the same. The first bottle soon emptied, accompanied by chat about the bungee jump this Saturday. Rory took her through the safety procedures and Elena tried to look interested. She ordered a second bottle.
‘How does your dad feel about you doing extreme sports?’ she asked, slurring her words slightly, not caring that it never suited her to drink on an empty stomach.
‘I never tell him in advance.’
‘Wise. Mum and Dad messaged me last night, asking if I was still doing it, said they were excited for me – but the lack of usual emojis spoke volumes.’ She raised her glass to her lips. ‘Has he ever wanted to do one of the sports with you?’
Rory shook his head.
‘How about your mum?’
He ran a finger around the rim of his glass. ‘She can’t. She isn’t with us any more.’
‘She’s moved away from Stockport?’
‘No, I mean…’
Elena put down her wine, unable to swallow for a moment. Had a big family fallout happened? ‘Ignore me. Being nosy.’
‘She doesn’t live in Stockport. She’s buried there,’ he blurted out.
Elena sat very still. ‘Oh, Rory, I’m so very sorry, I always thought…’
‘My fault. It’s easier to let people assume the best.’
‘Did it happen long ago?’
‘Long enough,’ he said before clearing his throat and grabbing the menu. ‘Right. Let’s order. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
