if one wrong word or a too-tight cuddle might alter her sinus rhythm.
‘She’s got more Christmas drinks and nibbles events lined up than Michael Bublé has records played on Kensington FM this time of year,’ Keeley admitted with a sigh. ‘My dad says she’s burying her head in tinsel-wrapped festivities and hobbies so she doesn’t have to think. You know, about Bea and everything. Well, mainly about Bea.’
‘And what do you think?’ Rach asked.
‘I think if I don’t move out of home soon I’m probably going to go mad… or set fire to something… or go mad… or eat something really really bad but really really delicious in front of her… like a Walls Viennetta… with my fingers.’
Keeley stirred a spoon in the coffee mugs and handed Rach’s over to her. ‘Christmas isn’t the right time to think about moving though, is it?’ she breathed. But when would be the right time? Currently, she knew deep down, she was staying at home because her parents needed her to… or Lizzie did, at least. Their whole lives had been turned upside down after Bea’s death and, as well as managing the loss of a child, they had put everything on hold to nurse Keeley back to health. Lizzie had even taken early retirement. Hence the need for all those hobbies…
‘Are there two sugars in here?’ Rach queried, holding her mug aloft.
‘Yes, to go with those chocolates you’ve eaten from the advent calendar.’ Keeley took a sip of her drink. ‘You do know it isn’t even December yet.’
‘You do know it’s not my advent calendar,’ Rach replied, grinning. ‘It’s Oz’s. I told him the cleaner’s daughter is nicking them.’
‘Rach!’
‘Oh God,’ Rach said, leaping forward and putting her coffee down on the worktop. ‘Have we got any kitchen roll?’
‘I… don’t know.’
‘Don’t panic,’ Rach said. ‘It’ll be fine.’ She removed Keeley’s mug from her hands and set that down too. ‘I’m sure it won’t stain.’
‘What?’ Keeley looked down at her hands to discover they were both coated in dark brown. ‘Rach! Is this hair colour?’
‘Well, you went all hair-grabby when I told you about Mr Peterson. You probably had palm-sweat and I said don’t get it moist. Come on, we’ll go to the loo and I’ll sort it out. Just don’t touch anything on the way.’ She took Keeley’s arm.
‘What do you mean you’re sure it won’t stain? It’s stained my hair! It has all the capabilities of staining! Staining is its sole USP!’
‘Take a deep breath,’ Rach ordered. ‘Think of that Viennetta. I might even buy it for you.’
Three
The Resting Hospice, Kensington, London
‘You’ve changed your hair. Man, it looks terrible.’
Keeley watched twenty-two-year-old Erica devouring Celebration chocolates by the handful. It seemed she had already removed all the wrappers to make the scoffing easier. Some of them were now covered in fluff from the hospice blanket wrapped over her shrinking frame. Erica didn’t seem to care. And, frankly, why should she? It wasn’t the polyester that was going to kill her. It was the Stage IV cancer.
‘Thank you,’ Keeley answered with a smile.
‘I know my hair looks shit too, by the way. But I’m dying. I’m allowed to look shit. What’s your excuse?’
‘Rach dyed it last night with some substandard product we’ve since found out is illegal in the Ukraine. Apparently I’m lucky I haven’t been blinded by the fumes or made sterile by the chemicals contained in it. I guess time will tell on that last one.’
Erica’s face exploded into a whole feast of expressions. Her deep, dark brown eyes crinkled up, her cheeks briefly turning from hollowed out to fattened and her mouth opened wide, chocolate pieces spraying all over the bed covers. ‘Shit, man, you’ve made me waste all that chocolate!’
Keeley grabbed the box of tissues on Erica’s bedside unit and began to mop up the damage. ‘I’ll get you another blanket.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Erica insisted. ‘It’s only chocolate and I can lick the crumbs up when they starve me later.’ She lowered her voice. ‘That’s what they do when they want to get rid of you here. If you’re not dead within a couple of weeks, they do anything they can to get you out of here and back into a care home, including bringing down the quality of the nosh.’
‘Oh, well, I’m not sure that’s true.’
Keeley was just a volunteer here. After the accident, she had wanted to do something to give back. In the weeks after her operation, when she had stopped feeling like she had been pummelled wrestling