The Girl Who Cried Wolf(12)

I do not want him judging me for some reason. I am not normally one to care a great deal for what people think of me and could often be found boasting about the weekend we watched thirty-four back-to-back episodes of Geordie Shore. I want Michael to think I have more depth. He does look a little older than me; it is quite hard to tell because this illness (I’m sick of the C word) makes everyone look so much older. I wouldn’t lie to him exactly, but if he asks how I spend my spare time I will have to think of something more worthwhile than endless parties and duvet days.

‘How long did you live in America?’ I ask, feeling it might be better to keep the spotlight over there for now.

‘Like I say, I was born there, but my mom left when I was young.’ He pauses for a second and looks down at his hands. ‘She left after my little brother died and my dad raised me alone.’

‘I’m so sorry, Michael.’

I want to put my hand over his, but he moves them before I have the chance and the moment passes.

‘We had our own riding centre where tourists would come out and ride round Western-style. A taste of being a cowboy, they loved it.’

‘So you had a Dude Ranch, that’s so cool.’

He looks impressed. ‘Exactly, a Dude Ranch. Anyway, a few years later one of the tourists caught Pops’ eye and they fell in love. My stepmom, Caroline, didn’t want to leave her family in England so we sold up and moved over here. I was only ten and we didn’t have much family to leave behind, so we set up the business and it’s been doing pretty good since. They got married nearly ten years ago and spend most of the time travelling; they wanted to retire, so I was running things; ready to take over ‘til I got sick.’

It is the first time either of us has mentioned being ill, and it hangs in the air between us. I’m not ready for it yet. I love listening to him; he is so open and confident. Maybe I do worry too much about what other people think, but I am terrified he will find me transparent and boring while I find him so original. Let’s face facts, I do not exactly have my looks to fall back on.

‘So you’re, like, twenty?’

‘Nineteen. And you?’

‘I might look a hundred and eight but I’m actually seventeen. And a half,’ I add quickly, in case he thinks I am too young. ‘Seventeen and a half.’

He smiles but it’s more like a little laugh and he starts strumming on the guitar in his hands, singing jauntily ‘She might look one hundred but she’s only seventeen.’

‘And a half!’ I try to say crossly, but I’m laughing too.

The night goes on like that, we laugh and share stories and I thank God I feel OK. I’m not rushing to the bathroom to throw up every five minutes. I just feel young and happy for the first time in a long time.

‘Your scarf looks pretty.’

I blush furiously, feeling horribly self-conscious. ‘Two months ago I had blonde hair.’

‘Like a Palomino.’ He’s doing that half-smile, half-laugh thing again. It makes me disintegrate.

‘What’s a Palomino?’ I ask him, holding his gaze.

‘I might tell you one day.’

I smile at Michael, delighted at the thought that we might have another day, but I can see he suddenly looks tired.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask, and help him set his guitar down so he can lie back on the bed.

‘I will be. They came round this morning and said the treatment’s worked. I felt like that alone would kill me but the tumour’s small enough to remove.’

‘Where is it?’

‘At the bottom of my back, near my spine. A dangerous place and it was too risky to operate, but now I’m all set for Wednesday. Prospects look good considering a while ago they thought I might not be able to walk again.’

He catches the look of fear that flickers across my face for only a second.

‘Anna.’

‘Michael, I’m happy you’re going to be OK, I really am. But I should go. It’s getting late and Nurse Ratched will have a ding dong if she finds me in here.’ I mimic her raspy voice, ‘“Visiting hours are eleven ‘til one, and six ‘til eight. Not a minute before or after. Patients need rest.”’ I wagged my finger at him. ‘“Rest. Rest. Rest.”’

‘Anna,’ he says gently.

I shrug and wrap my ballet cardy tightly around me, self-conscious once more. ‘My chemo didn’t work. They have to operate anyway, but it’ll be a much higher risk. They never really put you in the picture properly but I forced them to. The tumour is growing too fast for the chemo to touch. It will, without a doubt, kill me very soon, so they may as well have a go at the operation. I’m going home to rest for a few weeks then I’ll be back to face the music. I suppose I’m really going home to spend some quality time with the people I love before I die. It’s got to beat living the rest of my life in this place, I guess. Mr Raj is trying to keep me positive, and even though I’m definitely quite stupid, I’m not stupid enough to believe he can pull it off and my life will go back to normal.’

***

There. I’d said it. I had told another person that I knew I was going to die. I had known it from the day I sat in the Alice in Wonderland chair and the black cloud appeared to loom patiently above me.

It felt good to share with him, but it pretty much put an end to any romantic thoughts I may have had. Before, we were simply Michael and Anna, holding one another’s gaze for beautiful drawn-out moments. Now he was just another patient, except he would get better and I wouldn’t.