Page 93 of The Love of Our Lives
‘You coming up?’ Adam says, holding my hand still.
The door to the terrace is open wide to the spring sun, shafts of light dancing on the floor below. From somewhere up above I can hear the notes of Mumford & Sons starting up and I breathe a sigh of happiness, for this moment with him.
And the child inside me.
Because I didn’t even need to take a test to know the truth.
There are some things from this past year that I’ve known deep down, on some instinctive level.
Emily was pregnant too. This happened to her too.
Perhaps she didn’t find out in the hospital with Charlie, but she found out. She knew. Because now that I know it, the signs are as clear as day to me. In the increased appetite, in the sharpened taste; the tiredness.
And any thought I’d had about picking me over her vanished; evaporated entirely, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was going to die. Because this is my clincher.
This is why I was here all along – to keep Emily alive, and then let her keep living.
For her child.
And there in the hospital, I knew exactly what the outcome had to be, because sometimes life is bigger than us and we can’t justthink of ourselves. I will die and Emily will come back to the life I’ve been living in her stead. People might be a little confused about things for a while, the small differences between the two of us, but eventually that will fade; they will forget that anything odd happened, or that I was here at all. And I also know that in the remaining few weeks I have, I will live them absolutely and completely – down to the last second.
Adam’s face when I told him in his kitchen that evening.
Just sheer joy and elation.
He picked me up and twirled me around the room, kissed me passionately in front of the kitchen sink. There was no shiny ring and no promises about the future, just the feeling that we were inextricably bound together in this life, in this moment.
And we needed no more than that.
Because the other thing I’ve learned whilst living as Emily is that nothing is black and white, particularly love. Just because someone stays put or does what you think you need them to, doesn’t always make it the right thing. You have to meet people half way and get out of your comfort zone too. And more than that, nothing is permanent anyway – people change and people leave; people die. But we can’t let that stop us diving in and tasting it all. Making the very most of whatever time there is. And when you do that, the black and white fades to grey, and then technicolour, and then we are surrounded by it. Everywhere.
And even though I don’t know for certain what Emily would have chosen right now, I know in my heart, that all of this with Adam is what I want.
For me.
Then, with that thought in my head, I walk up the stairs finally, up and out into the glorious light.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Day
The morning starts like any other. I open my eyes, see early golden light reaching in under the blind, then I turn to look at Adam who is still asleep in bed beside me. Except today I really look at him, at the slightly lighter strands in his dark hair and the freckles across his nose, at the tan on his face and arms, that more vulnerable paleness across his torso. And I think of how we made love, not only last night as the summer sun finally sank down on my last night of this life, but once again a few hours ago at dawn.
But I didn’t cry, didn’t alert him to the fact that there was anything wrong. Because the truth is, there sort of isn’t, and in this one year, I have experienced more joy than I ever thought possible. The past week has felt like one long celebration of life, first with baby Hope’s party, a perfect day filled with laughter and light. We didn’t tell anyone about the pregnancy yet, of course – it was far too early for that at only a few weeks along, but the following day resulted in another celebration anyway, as we found out about William’s engagement to Ruth. And so we had another picnic in the Meadows with bubbly and good food and good company, and as I looked around the blankets, filled with all our friends, I realised how very perfect life could be.
Just this, right here, in a place I loved, with people I loved – or some of them at least.
Then the day before came, starting with a run at dawn, before the world woke up, and as the sun glinted over the rooftops, I saw a beauty in the pink and gold clouds I’d never seen before.I got a coffee from the Purple Pineapple, the best tasting of my life. Then Adam met me for breakfast and we chatted away about everything and nothing, before going for a hike into the Pentlands. We took cheese sandwiches, crisps and lemonade for lunch, and ate it all in a grassy sun spot under a perfect blue sky. Later in the day, I called Mum just to hear her voice, then Dad, then Jess, and I whispered goodbye to each of them. Because they’ll be in the hospital all day today, watching, waiting, and I’m so desperately sorry for what they’re about to go through, so devastated that I can’t say goodbye properly, but I can’t do anything about it. I’ve made my choice and I know deep inside of myself that it’s the right one – no matter the terrible cost to my own family.
Then in the evening, I asked Adam if we could eat dinner up on the terrace, pizza of course, with every topping we could think of. And as we demolished it with a small glass of chilled wine, I felt oddly content. Oddly full.
Yet not oddly at all.
Because as it turns out, I didn’t really need all the big stuff, in the end – all the museums and the cathedrals, the skyscrapers and the lights, the mountains and the river rapids, as glorious as those things can be. All I really needed, all anyone really needs to live life, is right in front of them – every day is an adventure in itself, every moment an opportunity and a gift. Which is what the photography portfolio I got accepted into art school with was all about, I realised – the everyday, and the beautiful mundane. And that was what pulled it all together: you don’t need a lot of time, you just need this day, this moment. And it’s about living in that moment; even if it might seem small, even it might seem inconsequential.
It’s about taking that dance class because you fancied it, it’s about saying hello to that lonely neighbour and inviting in the stray cat; it’s about trying new flavours and savouring anamazing coffee. It’s about getting out there in the world and figuring out what you actually want from it. It’s about making mistakes and learning from them, it’s about living on your own terms and doing things that light you up inside, it’s about loving fiercely and letting yourself be loved in return. It’s about following your heart.
Even if you only have a year left.
