Your Perfect Year(56)

Lisa eventually broke the silence. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“We could send Simon to see Sarasvati, get her to read the cards for him.”

Hannah straightened and looked at her doubtfully. “I don’t think so. He’d never go along with such ‘humbug,’ as he’d call it, and in any case, we don’t know what would come of it. She might tell him he doesn’t have a chance—and then what?”

Lisa shook her head. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s not Mr. Magic. Sarasvati shows her clients the possible ways. She helps them discover their own opportunities.”

“Whatever. Simon won’t go along with it. I’m sure of it.” She almost laughed. “I can just imagine saying to him: ‘Listen, I know you think you’re going to die soon, but here’s the address of a brilliant psychic. You ought to go see her.’ Honestly, he’d tell me where to stick it.”

“It was just a suggestion.” Lisa sighed. “I’ve got no idea how to help him either.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re helping me just by being here. I don’t want to have to be alone tonight.”

“That goes without saying.” Lisa smiled, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “And I’m sure we’ll find a solution together.” She yawned widely and scrunched down a little into the sofa. “But maybe not right now. Everything will look a little better in the morning.”

“I hope so.”

Hannah laid her head on Lisa’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Although she was also bone tired, her thoughts continued to run amok. If only she could think of something to drag Simon from the hole he’d sunk into! How could she breathe a little of the will to live back into him? How could she convince him that he most certainly wouldn’t die in the coming year?

Maybe a session with Lisa’s tarot reader would be the right thing? No, it was nonsense, it wouldn’t achieve anything.

From the depth of Lisa’s breathing, Hannah could tell that her friend had fallen asleep. She wished she, too, could drift off and escape from her brooding, at least for a few hours. But there was no way; despite her exhaustion she simply couldn’t rest. After trying for a few moments longer, she threw the blanket aside and stood up, taking care not to wake Lisa.

Deep in thought, she watched Lisa sleeping. Hannah was really glad she had her. Not only because together they had brought a successful business into being, but above all because without her friend, she would have had no idea how to survive this night.

Hannah went to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and took her cell phone from the bedside table. She usually switched it off at night, as she did her house phone, but tonight she had kept it ready and waiting in case Simon called. A glance at the display told her he hadn’t been in touch. She hadn’t expected him to.

Nevertheless, she had hoped. Wished. Wished that he’d sent her a message before going to sleep, a little I love you and I’m thinking of you. Or even a Don’t worry, I’m fine. Anything.

Hannah opened the web browser. However great the temptation to do a sneaky search for information on lymphoma, Hannah resisted. She didn’t want to risk being driven crazy like Simon had by Dr. Google. No, she’d leave it and not allow herself to go into a downward spiral toward death by the opinions of people whose specialized medical knowledge came from browsing the pharmacy shelves.

Instead she searched for inspiration on the themes of life, optimism, and joy. For stories proving that there was a way out of any situation, however hopeless it appeared.

As she read and read, a single question ran through her head: How can I get Simon to tackle the coming year with optimism, despite his illness? How could she convince him that he held the key to the way the next twelve months would turn out? That he shouldn’t lose faith. And that it was a matter of taking each day as it came, each hour and each minute; that he should savor and enjoy them fully.

Ultimately, it made no difference how long someone lived—what mattered for everyone was the here and now, living in the moment.

Her phone display was showing 6:23 when the idea came to Hannah’s rescue. She let out a cry of joy, so loud that she heard a clatter from the living room indicating that Lisa had rolled off the sofa.

A second later her friend was standing in the bedroom door.

“What happened, for God’s sake?”

“Nothing,” Hannah replied with a laugh. “I’ve just had a stroke of genius, is all.”

“And what’s that?” Lisa plonked down next to her on the bed and looked at her expectantly.

“It’s simple.”

“So tell me!”

“You and I, we’re more or less event managers, aren’t we?”

“Well, maybe that definition’s a little ambitious.”

“Then we’ll aim high. What I mean is, every day we make sure the kids in our care have a wonderful time.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite following you.”

“It’s simple: what Simon needs is a wonderful time!”

“A wonderful time?”

Hannah nodded. “Exactly!”

“Uh-huh.” A thousand question marks were written on Lisa’s face.

“I’m firmly convinced,” Hannah continued, “that Simon’s actually suffering a kind of depression. His mother’s death and the loss of his job—he’s slid into a crisis situation and can’t find his way out.”