Page 46 of The Love of Our Lives
‘Oh?’
‘I was wondering if you would be the photographer at our wedding?’
‘What?’ I say, my heart rate rising. ‘I thought you had one . . . and I haven’t even done a course yet. What do I know about being an events photographer?’
‘E,’ Fran says sternly, ‘if you put half as much effort into photography as you did with your job and your university degreeandyour school exams, then you are going to be an amazing photographer. I trust you, all right? Now say yes so we can all be as happy as you.’
I take a moment to think it through – on the one hand, it will be really awkward and difficult seeing more people from Emily’s old life. But on the other, I can’t deny that Fran is a part of this life and the two of us have become unwittingly close. I can’t just ignore her or the very lovely offer of doing something I’m slowly growing to love.
‘All right,’ I say eventually. ‘I’d love to.’
After saying my goodbyes to Fran, I head off to do some last-minute shopping. I’ve already got Adam a new woollen sweater and a book I found about Munro bagging, but I want one more little thing. I’ve still got some time this afternoon until Sven and Charlie come over for our Christmas Eve celebrations. Sven’s doing the cooking, of course, despite Adam and me insisting in the pub last week that we could give it a go. Sven had just looked at us like we’d said something crazy.No, he’d said in this horrified way, which made us burst out laughing. It didn’t feel totally fair – I happen to love the slightly sketchy food Adam makes me, particularly his over-poached eggs, though maybe that’s something to do with who the chef is. We spent a while this morning getting the place all cleaned, setting up the table with a tropical Christmas tablecloth Adam’s mum managed to send over from Christmas Island last year. The glasses were amishmash, the patterned dishes too, but once we’d finished, I couldn’t help thinking how perfect it looked – how excited I was to spend Christmas Eve, and even the day itself, with Adam. Lilly was hitting up number 501 on her bucket list – Christmas in Hawaii – and when Adam asked me if I’d be going down to London to see my parents, I’d found myself saying they were abroad over the season too.
Despite a slightly curious look in his eye, he didn’t push it again.
I’m desperately sad not to see my own family, particularly at this time of year, especially given how close they physically are in Edinburgh. I think of the boys waking up crazy early, everyone exchanging presents sleepy-eyed before going out for a Christmas walk together; watching rubbish movies on the sofa with Jess later in the day. But at the same time, it was always such a limited experience for me. At least here I get to experience the full thing without dragging other people down too.
Strolling down the busy road a second later, I realise everyone else has had the same idea. But after a little wander around in one of the department stores, I find what I’m looking for – a pair of bright-orange socks for Adam, to match that ridiculous orange headband he gave me.
I’m just heading back along Princes Street when I notice the German markets again – the bright lights of the Ferris wheel, and the twinkling ones from the stalls. I’ve been to them already with Adam, after we went to a tree farm the other week. We listened to more bad Christmas tunes full volume and drank lattes from the Purple Pineapple. The farm was even snowy when we got there, the countryside gently covered with a powdering of white, and as I stepped out the van into the freezing air, I breathed in that intense scent of pine, that perfect winter day smell, as a memory from my old life fell straight into my mind – Cat, Jess and I going with Mum and Dad to a tree farm just like this (perhaps even the exact same one?) before thediagnosis: drinking hot chocolate from Mum’s red, shiny flask and playing tag among the trees, laughing hysterically as Mum and Dad watched happily on. There were some great days too.
Walking by all the trees available that day with Adam, the tall, regal ones and the plump bushy ones, I found myself wandering over to a more fragile tree. Its branches were a bit patchy in places and it didn’t look like it would last as long as the others, but I still stopped in front of it.
‘Is this the one?’ Adam said, taking my hand.
‘I think it might be,’ I said and then without thinking, added, ‘do you mind that it’s a bit rubbish?’
Adam looked at me. ‘Define rubbish?’
I shrugged, something tightening in my stomach. ‘I dunno, a bit frail, with a shorter shelf life.’
‘I think,’ Adam said, ‘that it’s not the lifespan of the tree that counts but the life it leads while it’s here. It’s about the spirit, not the sturdiness.’ And with that, he threw my flimsy tree easily over his shoulder and loaded it up on to the van.
Later that afternoon, in the quickly dimming light, we strung the tree up with fairy lights and a few old baubles of Adam’s. But after agreeing there really wasn’t nearly enough, we set off into town to the markets.
Hot sugar and cinnamon permeated the air as soon as we stepped in, and we went from stall to stall, buying mulled wines and exclaiming over all the decorations. We bought a load, including one that Adam found – a small Christmas butterfly in all the colours of the rainbow.
‘This made me think of you,’ he said, and as we wandered away off up the road, I couldn’t help thinking that this day was something that would just have never happened in my old life. Christmas was something to be got through after Cat – like Mum was scared of enjoying it all too much without her there. Cat really loved Christmas. She would always blast ‘Rockin’ Aroundthe Christmas Tree’ on Christmas Eve, spinning Jess and me around until we all got dizzy and fell down.
It’s incredible how great things can just disappear like that.
But looking at the colourful lights of the German market around me now, and thinking about the lovely evening ahead with my new friends, I’m reminded that there is still a lot of joy to be had in the world somehow.
Wandering back up the road eventually, the light is dim as I approach the building. Something looks different though, and my heart starts to thump.
There’s a new sign above what was the card shop, and theTo Letsign has been taken down. I squint as I start walking quickly towards it, unable to take my eyes away.
Moving closer, the words sharpen – focus.
Dee’s Bakery.
My heart is racing as I stare at the sign, my thoughts all tangled like flashing Christmas lights, and I don’t know what to think. Because surely, lots of people live above a bakery. Surely, it’s an incredibly common shop to live above, and it doesn’t have anything to do with my heart donor, Stella.
The woman who dies seven months from now.
All the same, I immediately turn and rush back into the building, my stomach twisting and nausea rising as I go.
Back in the flat twenty minutes later, I’ve turned out every bit of paper again, searched through every drawer, looking for anything at all with the name Stella on it. Because that was definitely my heart donor’s name, not Emily.
