Page 78 of The Love of Our Lives
I hear the knock on my door a few moments later, a familiar male voice saying, ‘Emily, are you in? It’s William.’
I’m surprised to hear from him after the last time we spoke. But then I feel that overwhelming sadness take over me and I sink back down in bed. Pressing play on the film I’m only vaguely watching, I lie against the pillows once more.
But he comes again the next day, and when I still don’t answer, I hear something drop on to the hall floor. Once I think he’s gone, I tentatively go to see what it is – a red envelope. Ripping it open, I find a Christmas card inside with a reindeer on it.Just like I did with him.
To Emily, it says inside,please come dancing with me,Best, William.
Although my heart catches briefly, I just don’t see the point in any of it anymore. Not if I might die anyway. Placing the card on the side table, I head back to bed.
On the fifth day, I receive one with a snowman on it, which feels a little odd in late March.To Emily, please come on a walk with me, Best, William.
And while my heart begins to thump at the prospect of fresh air, I quickly push the thought away.
I start to think about my family while I’m doing nothing; what they’ll do if I die in the hospital. No heart, no second chance. What kind of legacy would that leave the boys with anyway? To have one aunt die, then another?
I know Jess has never actually had them tested because it absolutely terrifies her, the very idea that they might have the same condition as me. And maybe if I had had a second chancein my old life, I could have shown them that there was life after diagnosis; life in the face of death.
But I might never get that chance now.
On the seventh day of being inside, I get another card with a lonely Christmas tree in a forest.To Emily, it says, and I instinctively know this will be the last, because there’s only so many times you can try; only so many times before it starts to break you a little bit too.
Please come back into the world,it says,like you made me do. Love, William.
My heart is thudding in my chest but he just doesn’t get it; doesn’t understand what I’m dealing with.
A few minutes later I hear a shout of pain, then the words, ‘Emily, help me!’ echo up from downstairs.
Immediately I’m back on my feet, pulling on a grey sweater. Then throwing myself out the door, I’m leaping down the stairs two at a time.
Please be OK, please be OK.
Shit, I should have gone to see him quickly, I should have just popped my head out the door even, I should—
But when I get to the bottom, I’m surprised to see him standing there in the hallway, very much OK. A tiny box sits in front of him and his eyes twinkle when he sees me.
‘Sorry,’ he says, his mouth twitching, ‘I just thought I could use a little help with this very heavy package here.’
Frustration bursts through me, from all the time alone in the flat, from him making me feel worried about him like that.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ I start, heat blazing behind my eyes, ‘don’t you ever . . . don’t you ever . . .’
And then out of nowhere, I am crying, big heaving sobs right there in front of him, as though the simple act of speaking to another human has broken down my walls, and all I can do is stand here and weep with the relief of it.
‘Oh Emily,’ he says.
Twenty minutes later, and I’m ensconced in Connie’s old chair, hot tea in hand. William puts a custard cream on the saucer too,to get my sugar levels up, and I find myself nibbling at it slowly. As he walks back from the kitchen, I can’t help noticing how much quicker he’s moving these days, as though dancing’s revived some part of him that had never truly gone away. And when he hugged me in the hallway earlier, I could feel the strength of him around me still, the exact support I needed in that moment. Eventually, once I’d calmed down, he told me to come over for tea, but first to go shower because I looked like, ‘a creature from the deep’. Despite everything, it made me laugh, and as the water poured over my skin a few minutes later, I realised I hadn’t actually washed since London. And it felt sort of good, that simple exercise of cleaning myself.
Sitting down opposite me now, he places his tea and saucer purposefully on the little table to the side – next to a new mobile phone, I note.
‘So,’ he says, leaning forwards slightly, ‘let’s hear it. What’s going on, Emily? Why the hell did you let that man go to Canada without you? And why the hell did you disappear on us all?’
I can’t help smiling; there’s never been any beating about the bush with William. Still, it’s hard to form the words, impossible to tell anyone what my real issue is. But he’s right in one way, I did sort of ditch them, these people I’ve grown to adore, in search of something else. And where did that leave me, trying to follow someone else’s heart? Sad, alone and miserable. Emily even tried to tell me: I felt those mixed emotions with Simon and on the train to London, and that tingle speaking to Fran before, but I didn’t listen.
So, I probably do owe him – all of them – an explanation.
‘I might have to leave . . . in a month,’ I say, tracing my finger over the blue beading of Connie’s chair.
I don’t need to look up to know that William’s face has dropped and I feel awful again – for upsetting Adam, for upsetting William. But also for upsetting myself. Because I’ve had the best time of my life and I really don’t want it to end.
