Page 30 of The Love of Our Lives

The end of Christmas Eve was nothing like I’d hoped for – that look on Adam’s face before he went back over into his flat alone, that mix of concern, desperation and then something more like anger.

And I get it. After all, I explained nothing – gave him no valid explanation for my coldness, or why I have to leave.

But how the hell could I explain anything?

How could I explain to him that this body that I’m in – this life that I’m in – is all going to disappear in a few short months.

I called Charlie straight after it happened, made her promise to look after Adam on Christmas Day, and although she agreed, I could still hear the confusion there.

‘Did you guys have a fight?’

I tried to hold back the tears, as I said, ‘Something like that.’

Then she promised she’d see me soon, said I was as much a friend to her as Adam now and she’d support us both.

So, I spent Christmas afternoon with William in the end, and despite the fact that I felt so awful, so utterly desolate without Adam there beside me, we still managed to make it a little merry – after William gave up cross-examining me.

I finally did some digging on Emily’s parents that day, realised her father ran some multi-million-pound real estate business, after severing ties years before with his previous business partner and brother – Fran’s dad.

A family rift it appears, that didn’t extend to the cousins luckily.

And, more than ever, I understood the pressure Emily must have been under to be something great, to make it all worthwhile.

Some mulled wine and a big bowl of pasta later, I dragged myself back up to my empty flat, before having the most mammoth of sleeps.

And then, waking up on Boxing Day, something came over me.

Despite the ache in my heart, I looked out through the snowy panes with fresh eyes and knew that I could hide away from the world and wallow in the misery of it of it all – or go do.

Go do all the things Emily wanted to.

Because her mum asked just one thing of me in her letter.

To keep her alive.

And after the past five months, I know now that simply staying alive isn’t enough; simply existing is not enough.

I need to figure out what Emily wanted to do and go where she wanted to go, actually get out there properly and live her life, the way I’m certain she did the first time around.

I know it from all the vague memories of being in restaurants and checking out dance classes, from the camera and the clothes and just the whole fact that she made such a drastic change in her life.

Because if I don’t go and live for her now, while I’m physically in her healthy body – if I let her legacy down like that, and it sticks in time – how could I ever face myself back in my own life?

And even though I won’t get it exactly right, I reckon I can get pretty close. I’ve increasingly felt Emily with me at every step, in those memories and sensations, in the way I started speaking to her mum like I did. And there’s just this feeling I’m increasingly getting, that I’m not alone.

She’s guiding me along the way.

That’s why I finally sat down and thought about all the things Emily might have wanted to do in this last year – all the things she must have done the first time around.

I make up a list from things I’ve noticed in the flat and from all the conversations with Fran – a clichéd bucket list, so to speak.

Which is why I’m here now in a deserted car park doing number two on the list – Learn to Drive .

Number one was figuring out how to apply to photography school, of course, given that will likely take the most time (and I might secretly enjoy it too).

I knew I’d missed most of the deadlines at this stage, but after a quick call with Daphne in Aberdeen about courses, I discovered I could send a late application if I put together a portfolio quickly enough.

It feels almost wrong, taking more photos for a course Emily will never get the chance to do.

But still, I know this is right. I know she really wanted to get in, and perhaps that has to be enough.

But driving was definitely next on the list, because it was one of the first things I noticed when I got here – that she had no licence.

It’s something I always wanted to do when I was seventeen, of course, when every other normal kid begged their parents to get behind the wheel.

And even though I technically could have done – even though the doctors said that many people with heart issues drove – I decided I couldn’t risk it.

What if I had a heart attack on the road? Or knocked someone down?

But now, as I sail around the potholed space with Charlie beside me, all of those worries and ‘what ifs’ just evaporate. It almost seems silly that I thought so much about it before.

‘Now release the clutch, and push down on the accelerator . . . that’s right,’ Charlie is saying. As her little red Mini rolls slowly across the empty car park, I grit my teeth, but I don’t stop.

‘Why don’t you make a turn here and we can loop back to the other side.’

‘OK,’ I say, with more confidence than I actually feel. But that’s the thing I’ve learnt in the week since Christmas. Maybe I’ll never feel totally ready for anything in life; maybe I’ll always feel a little bit scared of it going wrong. But isn’t it better to try?

As I finally pull over to the rusted fencing and bring the car to a halt, I tip my head back against the seat, and smile.

‘You did so great,’ Charlie says, and I turn to see her holding her belly lightly. I’d suggested it might not be a great idea with the pregnancy and everything, but Charlie being Charlie had immediately waved me off; told me the baby would enjoy a little spin.

‘Thank you for taking me,’ I say.

‘My pleasure, we’ll have you joyriding in no time. God, I used to love cruising off with my friends when I was younger,’ she says, with a somewhat distant look in her eyes. ‘We’d open the windows, blast the music full volume and just disappear off into the sunset.’

‘That does sound fun,’ I reply softly, realising yet again all the things I missed out on, all the things I kept saying no to. Was it really necessary?

And not for the first time, I think about how oddly similar Charlie and Cat are, or were. That’s the sort of thing Cat did with her friends, and then with Fraser. She lived like every moment could be her last one, like every sunset might be her grand finale.

She always tried to get me to live that way too – as much as I could anyway.

‘So,’ Charlie says, turning her attention back to me now, ‘what’s with the sudden desire to drive?’

I pause, realising there’s truth in what I’m about to say. ‘I guess I’m just tired of waiting for it all to begin.’

‘Waiting for what to begin?’

‘Something,’ I say, and look up at the wide-open sky outside. ‘Everything. There’s so much stuff I’ve always meant to do, but never actually did. I’ve got this list actually . . .’

‘List?’ Charlie says. ‘I like the sound of a list.’

‘Well, you’re welcome to come along for it,’ I say, because the truth of it is, I would have loved to have done something like this with Cat, and although Charlie can never be my sister, they have the same energy, the same gusto for life. And I could probably do with some of that along the way.

‘What about Adam?’ Charlie says after a moment, lowering the paper to her lap. ‘I’m sure he’d have been keen to do some of this too.’

I look ahead again, at the way the rusted fence knots in and out of itself.

‘I know,’ I say, ‘but it’s better this way. He’s better off without me.’

Charlie raises one eyebrow. ‘Debatable.’

I turn to her, take a breath in. ‘Have you heard from him?’

‘Only briefly,’ she says. ‘He was on some ferry at the time.’

‘He just took off so quickly after it happened,’ I say, thinking of the sight of him with his backpack out my window, ‘I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.’

‘Well, that sounds like Adam,’ she says slowly, ‘but I don’t think he’s away for long this time; just seeing some of Norway. He’s got orders to complete before he goes further.’

I pause. ‘And how was he? When you spoke to him, I mean.’

‘Not great,’ Charlie replies truthfully, ‘but he’ll be OK, in time . . . will you?’

I force myself to look up now at the sky above, knowing that I am still here with time to complete my list. And even though my heart is still aching at the thought of Adam, I smile. ‘I hope so.’

Charlie smiles back. ‘Still on for Friday night then?’

‘Absolutely.’

Number three on the list, here I come.

It takes William and me a little while to get down the stairs of our building a few days later, but I don’t rush him, don’t say a word. He’s a little older, and I know that everyone needs to make their own decision about when they want to change their life.

And for whatever reason, this was it for William. A simple invitation to a dance lesson; a request for the expertise I saw up on his mantelpiece with his wife. It was simple as that – something, or someone as unexpected as a neighbour, coming into your life and making you say, how about now?

We get the bus down through the lamp-lit town in silence and as I watch him stare out of the darkened windows, I realise that this might be the first time he’s been on a bus in a very long time. This might be the first time he’s gone anywhere in a very long time.

And suddenly, I wonder if the two of us are all that different.