I can tell she’s bad, because she’s not trying to read. Her hands are swollen, I notice. They often are. Her skin goes blotchy; her fingers go numb. Often she can’t use an iPad, and even a remote control is a struggle.
But I don’t refer to any of this. We have a shorthand, all of us, based on Nell’s basic aversion to talking about her illness, even when she’s unable to move. This doesn’t go down too well with medical professionals, but the four of us are used to it. And I know that “Getting there” means she doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Great.” I sit down by her bed and open up my phone. “So, I’ve got a new one for you.” I put on a super-dramatic voice. “A Zombie Kiss.”
My way of distracting Nell is to read books aloud to her, and the latest genre we’ve found is horror romance novels. Some of them are pretty gruesome—The Blood-Soaked Bride was frankly traumatic—but Nell says that’s what she likes.
“Excellent.” Nell’s voice is muffled by the duvet. “Wait, hang on. How were Matt’s parents?”
“Oh.” I cast my mind back to Matt’s parents’ house. “Fine. Bit weird. You know.”
“But was it OK?”
“It was OK apart from the naked sauna. Right, Chapter One.” I draw breath—but then out of the corner of my eye I suddenly notice the duvet shaking.
“Nell. Oh God…”
My stomach is hollow as I put down my phone and get to my feet. Please don’t say she’s crying. I can’t bear to see wonderful, strong Nell felled. Plus if she cries, I’ll cry…and then she’ll yell at me….
But as I peer fearfully over the folds of the duvet, I realize she’s not crying, she’s laughing.
“Pause on A Zombie Kiss,” she manages between painful chortles and swivels her face to look at me. “Ava, you can’t leave it there. What bloody naked sauna?”
Eighteen
Four nights later, Matt and I have our date. We’ve chosen a vegetarian restaurant in Covent Garden and have decided to come separately, just as though it really is a first date. I get there on the prompt side, but even so, Matt is already at the table, and I feel a massive pang of love as I see him. That’s so him, to arrive early.
He gets up to greet me and kisses me lightly on the cheek. The waiter pulls out my chair for me, and Matt and I smile at each other with almost nervous anticipation.
“You look lovely,” says Matt, gesturing at my dress.
“So do you.” I nod at his crisp blue shirt.
“Oh, thanks. It’s new.” He seems about to add something, then stops himself.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head quickly. “What do you want to drink?”
Why’s he changing the subject?
“Oh God,” I say in sudden realization. “You had to buy a new shirt because Harold wrecked your old one. Sorry.” I bite my lip and Matt shakes his head quickly again.
“No! That’s not what I was going to— I needed some new shirts, anyway. How’s Nell?”
“Better.” I smile at him. “I mean, not better, but, you know. Improved.”
“Excellent. Menu looks good,” he adds, with determined enthusiasm, and I feel another wave of love. He’s not complaining about Harold ruining his shirt and he’s being positive about vegetarian food. He’s making a real effort here. I need to do the same.
“Why don’t you teach me golf?” I say in an impulsive rush, and Matt looks slightly stunned.
“You want to learn golf?”
“Er…” I push back my hair, playing for time. Maybe “want” is overstating it. But I do want to bond with Matt, and also I should try to get over my prejudice. Plus, I might be naturally brilliant at it. Who knows?
“Yes!” I say firmly. “It could be a new joint hobby! I’ll buy some tartan socks.”
“Tartan socks aren’t necessary.” He grins. “But, yes, if you want, I can teach you.” As he speaks, his phone buzzes with a call and he flinches slightly as he sees the number. “Sorry. My dad. I told him I was out for dinner, but…” He breathes out. “I’ll just send him a quick text, remind him I’m busy.”
As Matt sends the text, our waiter approaches the table and we order our drinks. Then, as we’re left alone again, I draw breath, because I have some important stuff I want to say.
“Matt,” I begin. “I think we need to talk. Can I be frank?”