Page 15 of The Love of Our Lives

With each sunrise, I try to get to grips with this new reality, but it still feels so strange, being in this other body.

My heart rate keeps anxiously flying up, to the point that I’ve actually wondered if Emily has a condition too – I’ve spent so many years being careful all the time, I’m not entirely sure I know how to do anything else.

Plus, I still get this feeling that Emily hasn’t totally gone – as though at any moment, she’ll come back, and pick up where I left off.

And until then, I want to make sure I keep everything going as it should be. Don’t cause any problems.

I take the disposable camera to a kiosk along the street, telling myself that it’s a necessary invasion of privacy in order to figure out what’s actually going on.

But my lack of funds means I won’t be able to pay for them on collection, and I finally realise that I might have to think a little longer term.

So, I go to the bank with paperwork to figure out what’s actually available.

I need to know how I’m going to look after Emily’s life while I’m here; how I’m even going to pay her rent.

I’m pretty amazed to see what’s in the account too – Emily has clearly been saving up for a while.

It’s nothing mind-boggling, but certainly enough to last her a good year without working and, given what I know about her quitting her London job, I have to assume that that was her plan all along.

A cat starts showing up, and I’m glad to have some sort of company again, at least. He’s got no collar or tag, and I can’t help wondering if Emily named him something. But, for now, I call him Ferris, something I think Cat would once have found amusing.

I don’t run into Adam again, and he doesn’t come to see me.

I hear him coming and going though, the soft click of his door, his footsteps on the stone steps, but he leaves me be, understandably.

I just can’t decide if I’m glad or not. I feel bad for how it went, but there’s not much I can do about it, I suppose.

I could disappear any day, after all, and so could he.

Just like at home – because as soon as they find out the prognosis for people like me, I see the shadow passing over their face; hear the death knell of the relationship.

So, it’s easier this way, not putting either of us through the pain of it.

Not getting involved at all.

I take a few random pictures around the city like Emily did, start finding myself homing in on specific angles and objects, just like I would do with my drawings. And it feels good trying something completely different for a change.

Something new.

I find myself walking by my home most days also, uncertain what I’m doing exactly, but just keen to be close to the familiar. Occasionally I’ll catch sight of Mum in the garden or Dad coming back from work, and there’s something soothing about those routines and patterns.

But sometimes I’ll see myself at a window or heading out for a walk and I’ll walk away very quickly – it just feels too painful, witnessing myself getting increasingly more sick, knowing how bad it gets.

I call Jess twice more to hear her voice, much to her obvious chagrin.

Graham, it’s those prank callers again! she cried, in a way that made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

God, I miss her a ridiculous amount. Luckily, it doesn’t take me long to figure out how I can still see her because her life was full of small routines and outings at this point; ways to get her through each week with two high-energy toddlers in tow.

So, on Wednesday, I walk to their favourite playpark on the Meadows.

I don’t go up to them; don’t know what I’d say to them given they’d view me as a complete stranger.

But just seeing them there together makes me feel better, and perhaps right now that has to be enough.

I struggle to sleep at night, rising at various points to much confusion, then, after about five days, I start to feel this physical itch in my body, an energy thrumming through my limbs.

By the time it gets to the Thursday morning, I know I have to do something about it.

I rummage through the bedroom drawers until I find expensive-looking sports leggings and a running top.

It feels odd initially with all the nylon against my skin, but pretty quickly, it settles.

Sticking on the bright-blue running trainers at the door, which fit like a glove, I can’t help smiling into the mirror.

I look like any other runner, going out for a normal morning jog in the sun.

The air outside is slightly cooler than the rest of the week, the sky bustling with soft white clouds.

I start with a brisk walk first, until my heart beats faster, getting excited almost – like a muscle flexing instinctively.

When I hit the Meadows again, other joggers are already out doing laps.

One passes me, and the woosh of air tickles my skin.

As though mirroring the woman, I suddenly find my legs going into a bound, and then my arms are going too, and then I’m running.

I smell the sweetness of the grass, the trees all around me, and almost instantly I’m flooded with the greatest physical relief.

That itch, which was building in me for days – those random heart elevations I was worried about – all start to dissipate, and in a rush of unexpected joy, I find myself running even faster, speeding past the first woman I’d begun to follow at the start.

I turn down the path, utterly amazed by the power in this body.

This absolute feeling of freedom.

I lap the Meadows four times, before that itch inside me finally begins to fade, and as a new sense of peace enters my body, I begin to jog back in the direction of the flat.

Just as I’m sticking the key into the door, I feel a drop of water on my skin.

Then another. Then suddenly what feels like a waterfall is coming down all around me, soothing my hot skin, my dry mouth.

I stop where I am on the pavement, the thick scent of rain hitting concrete all around me.

I close my eyes, tilt my head up to the sky, and I don’t move a muscle, as I just let myself get steadily wetter – not caring at all if it makes me cold or sick or any of the things Mum would have shouted at me about before.

When I finally open my eyes again, I look up at the top window to see Adam standing there looking right back down at me, a curious smile playing on his lips. Blood rushes to my face, and I duck inside the building, before jogging up the stairs two at a time to the top.

How long was he watching me for?

I stare at his door, heart still pounding, but I’m not definite on why this time. As I head back into the flat, I have the most amazing feeling running through me, like the world is brighter and lighter and I’m capable of anything.

Almost skipping through to the bathroom now, I strip off the wet clothes, discarding them in a puddle on the floor.

Summer rain beats against the thin glass window, and as I step into the hot shower, I allow myself to actually look down properly, to take in this body which is giving me the strength to run like that.

I linger in the water a while, enjoying the feel of being cleansed all the way through.

As the whole of me warms up, I let myself feel one pure moment of peace.

With the towel wrapped around me, I pick out a pair of denim shorts and a berry-pink vest top.

Surveying myself in the long mirror, I trace my hand across the exposed skin on my chest, down the sleek lines the clothes create.

Next, I brush all the knots out of my hair, until it’s smooth yet wavy, like I suspect Emily usually has it.

I have no make-up on, no creams or potions on this skin at all, but the way it’s glowing from that run . . . it’s amazing to see.

I’m about to make a cup of tea when I find myself pausing, then walking towards the front door instead.

I open it and cross the landing. My heart is thumping in my chest, but I can’t just keep ignoring Adam, given he lives right opposite me.

And anyway, maybe I should apologise for how I left like that the other night, and if he never wants to speak to me again, well, that’s OK too.

I’m reaching up to knock, when the door swings open and Adam appears on the other side with his backpack on, like he’s going somewhere.

‘Oh, hello again,’ he says, his expression a mixture of surprise, and something possibly bordering on pleasure.

‘Hello,’ I say, trying to hold my breath steady.

A silence passes between us as he looks at me expectantly.

‘I just wanted to say,’ I start finally, ‘that I’m really sorry about the other night, leaving the show like I did. It wasn’t cool of me, but I think I got a bit panicked. I’m just . . . dealing with a lot right now.’

For a moment, I think he might shut the door in my face but then he gives me that easy lopsided smile again and my stomach somersaults.

‘Apology accepted,’ he says, ‘and in fairness to you, you did say you were still working some stuff out. So, take all the time you need, Emily, and if you do ever need to talk to anyone, then I’m right here. Literally,’ he says, thumbing back behind him into the warm-looking flat.

‘Thank you,’ I say, relieved, then add, ‘for not thinking I’m a total arse.’

He looks at me softly. ‘That’s the last thing I think, Emily. I just like getting to know you is all. I’d like to get to know you more, even if it’s as friends.’

‘Friends,’ I repeat after a moment. ‘I think that could work.’

‘Well, that’s great to hear,’ he says, a genuine smile on his face. ‘Oh, I got this out of my cupboard for you, in case we happened to run into each other again.’