A Song for Tomorrow

by Alice Peterson

  66

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Mum asks, desperately trying to sound casual when she catches me by the front door, coughing.

  ‘Pete’s. I can park right outside his studio.’ I wait, wanting to know she’s not going to be worrying about me the second I leave. ‘I promise I’ll be careful, Mum.’

  ‘Go. Some wise old owl once told me everything in life is a risk.’

  I get out of the car, my oxygen tank lodged in my rucksack, my bleeper in my handbag, and slowly walk to the pedestrian crossing. The little green man barely gives me enough time to cross the road. I stop when I reach the other side. Breathe. My legs feel weak as I walk on, avoiding a couple of glances from passers by. They look like students.

  Please don’t stare at me. I feel conspicuous enough.

  Oh no, one of them is coming over now.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she says, ‘you’re the singer, aren’t you?’

  Play it cool, Alice. Make out this happens daily . . . But a huge smile spreads across my face.

  ‘I just bought your album! I love your voice and your story is so inspiring. You’ve really helped me through a difficult time.’ Next she is digging into her bag. ‘I’m sure you get stopped all the time . . .’

  If only!

  ‘. . . but could you . . .’ She offers me a pad and pen.

  Even if I went home now, this trip would have been worth it. I feel every inch the pop star as I sign my autograph in her notebook with a kiss.

  I stop feeling like a pop star when I enter the building, breathless and coughing, unsure if I can summon the energy to walk up the stairs. Then I see Pete. ‘None of this pride, you ask for a bloody lift,’ he says, scooping me up into his arms, saying he’ll come back for my rucksack.

  ‘Sure, Superman,’ I say. ‘Can you give me a lift to the top of the charts, please.’

  I sit on the sofa with a mug of coffee as Pete reads some of my reviews. I have read most of them already but enjoy revelling in our success. ‘Drenched in strings and sweeping orchestral arrangements that scream film score . . .’ Pete looks up, ‘I like that.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I love that they say your album—’

  ‘Our album.’

  ‘Our album, but mainly yours, Alice, has a rocky, edgy feel.’

  I raise my mug to his.

  ‘Catchy, infectious songs that deal with love, death and passion. A joy to listen to.’ He puts the paper down. ‘You can’t ask for much more than that.’

  So much has happened in a year. Imagine what could happen in another twelve months . . . a new CD, more people stopping me in the street to ask for my autograph, more gigs, writing a song with Robbie Williams . . . I just need to get that call . . .

  ‘Whatever happens next Alice, no one can say you didn’t succeed.’

  ‘We didn’t succeed, and what’s going to happen next is I’m going to get that transplant, breathe with new lungs and record a second album.’

  67

  It’s twenty days before Christmas and I’m back at the Brompton with Susie. During the past few bitterly cold and dark weeks neither one of us has been able to manage our chest infections from home; mine have been too vicious even for Rita to cope with.

  Milly is visiting tonight, the anti support group being held in Susie’s bedroom, down the corridor from mine. ‘I think you’re competing for the Prof’s attention,’ she says to us both, before revealing she has some exciting news.

  ‘Oh, good,’ I say, thinking we could do with some.

  Susie and I lie in bed together, while Milly sits on the chair beside us. ‘I’ve handed in my notice. I figured it’s time my boss booked his own flights or shouted at someone else to do his dirty work.’ She gives herself a little cheer before telling us she’s found a new job working privately for someone who runs her own travel business from home.

  ‘That’s so exciting,’ I exclaim, congratulating her while hoping for a reaction from Susie, but none is forthcoming.

  ‘And I’ve joined a dating agency,’ she continues. ‘It’s time to be brave.’

  When I nudge Susie to respond, ‘I miss Bond,’ she mutters. ‘I wish Dad could . . . smuggle him in under his . . . coat.’

  Milly gets up, saying she’ll try and find a vase for the flowers she brought us. When she’s at the door I catch the look of concern in her eyes.

  Alone I rest my head on Susie’s shoulder. Professor Taylor has spoken to the two of us again about cross-infection, that we are vulnerable to different bacteria and bugs that grow in our lungs, and these bugs can be easily transmitted from one person with CF to another. He explained that there have been a few outbreaks of damaging cross-infection with unusual bacteria, maybe in settings with poor general hygiene, and these outbreaks have scared the CF community. ‘I’m not suggesting for a moment you cut yourself off from your close friendship, Alice, and I know you’d never do that anyway, but exercise caution,’ he’d said, hinting that we shouldn’t always be sharing rooms or cutlery, towels or anything vaguely intimate.

  ‘It’s too late for that,’ Susie says, and I agree. ‘I’d rather die than not spend time . . . with you.’

  Susie has been talking a lot about death recently, and if she’s not talking about it, I sense she’s thinking about it. Dreaming about it, even.

  ‘I want to die, Alice,’ she murmurs and I can feel the sheer effort it takes for her to say even that. To breathe . . .

  ‘Shush.’ I sit up and stroke her hair.

  Milly returns with a vase, stops at the door when she notices Susie squeezing my hand weakly saying, ‘You’ll be . . . fine, Alice. You’ll get a transplant. You have . . . you have to go on for Milly and me.’

  Milly looks as if she’s about to drop the vase.

  ‘You can show everyone what . . . what we can do. That our lives aren’t . . . over.’

  I squeeze her hand back, unable to imagine a world without Susie in it. My friends, Tom, my family understand everything about CF, but they don’t have it.

  Milly places the vase on the windowsill before joining us on the bed. ‘Will you . . . will you both help . . . evil stepmum doesn’t want Bond . . .’

  ‘We’ll find him the best home,’ Milly promises her.

  ‘He could come and live with me if it weren’t for my cats,’ I say.

  Susie manages a smile. ‘They might eat Bond for break . . . fast.’

  ‘Hang on in there, Susie,’ I beg.

  ‘I want to take you to Rome,’ Milly adds. ‘You’d love the shops, the food, the handsome men . . .’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘We could go somewhere else,’ Milly suggests, ‘anywhere you like.’

  ‘Could you . . .’ Susie pauses for breath. ‘There’s an envelope . . .’ She gestures to the drawer of her bedside table.

  Milly finds it. Cautiously she shows it to me. It’s addressed to Ethan. ‘I want one of you to give it . . . to him.’

  When she sees our faces, she says, ‘I did love him once. He’s not . . . all . . . bad. Promise me.’

  Milly clears her throat. ‘We could post it . . .’

  ‘I want you to . . .’ Susie has to pause again, ‘. . . to make peace with him. He has . . . no one. Alice?’

  ‘I’ll do it for you.’ I can’t look at Susie for fear I’m going to cry.

  I think of all those times she has been there for me, keeping me going when I have needed strength. I see us in the café, Susie drying my hair and keeping me warm after I’d had the news about the transplant; Susie telling me not to give up, that I still had stars to reach in the sky. Ethan hurt her, he destroyed her confidence and yet she still has the capacity to forgive him. She has the biggest, most generous heart I know. ‘I don’t want you to go,’ I can’t help saying, unable to be strong for her. ‘Don’t leave us.’

  She looks at me, and then at Milly. ‘Let me go.’

  No.

  No.

  No.

  ‘I want to be with my mum. She’ll be
waiting . . . for me. I want to fly home.’ She touches the small black tattoo on my arm. ‘Like your bird . . .’ She then looks at her own. ‘Remember . . . after the storm . . .’

  ‘. . . comes the sunshine,’ I finish and then Susie is fighting, gasping for breath. Milly presses her buzzer repeatedly before a nurse comes into her room and attaches an oxygen facemask over Susie’s nose and mouth. ‘She’s trying to talk too much, she needs her rest,’ the nurse warns us kindly but firmly. ‘Come back tomorrow.’

  When we leave the room Milly and I hold on to one another, grieving for our friend already.

  The following morning, only moments after waking up, I walk down the corridor, past bedrooms I have slept in. Over the years I have slept in every single room in this ward. I head towards Susie’s. When I look through the small window her bed is empty. With dread I push the door open and stand staring at the vase of roses on the window ledge. Slowly I back away before sinking down against the corridor wall, my head pressed into my knees. She can’t have gone. Susie can’t have gone. I feel pain in my heart and in my stomach. Grief already lodges in my throat; it’s grief I didn’t know existed. I don’t know how many times I shout ‘no’.

  I hear the sound of footsteps and soon Janet is sitting down next to me. She places an arm around my shoulder and lets me cry.

  It’s not fair.

  Life is not fair.

  I want to see her face one more time.

  Hear her laugh one more time.

  Squeeze her hand one more time.

  When finally I dare to look at Janet to ask how and when it had happened, I notice how bloodshot her eyes are, too. ‘About three in the morning, love. Her father rushed in, they said goodbye. Before she died, I massaged her feet and her hands. I was with her until her very last breath.’

  ‘She wasn’t alone.’

  ‘She wasn’t alone,’ Janet reassures me.

  I hope Susie realised how special she was. I pray I reminded her enough times.

  ‘She was peaceful, calm,’ Janet says. ‘She was calling out for her mum. She’s not suffering any more. She’s gone home, Alice.’

  Later that night I wait for Jake to arrive. Mum and Dad are out tonight, so Jake promised he’d visit. I don’t know how to tell him about Susie.

  Tom is away at the moment, on a work conference. I miss him. All day long I have thought of nothing but my friend and have wanted to feel his arms around me. When I called Milly she was distraught, both of us crying deeply for our soul mate, but also unable to escape the harsh reality of what we too are up against. The only comfort was that we had both seen her, been with her, right up to the very last day. Milly told me she would deliver the card to Ethan, since it was impossible for me to do so in hospital. She wouldn’t go alone. Her mother was going to be with her.

  Jake enters the ward, carrying a couple of DVDs and a bag of crisps and popcorn. When I’m in hospital he always brings the cinema to us by way of his portable DVD player. His jeans are loose and there are heavy bags under his eyes. He makes out that it’s from lack of sleep, that visiting me in hospital is good respite from baby Rose, but I can see these visits cost him, just as they cost my parents, Tom and Cat.

  As we watch About A Boy with Hugh Grant, we’re both distracted. All I can think about is Susie, yet I can’t bring myself to tell Jake yet. It will feel too real. Too raw. I’m not ready to face a life without her.

  CF steals lives.

  It is a silent deadly killer.

  Finally, as if Jake can’t take it any longer, he asks me, ‘Has Susie gone home, Alice? I noticed an empty bed.’

  Don’t cry. But I’m going to. ‘She’s gone.’

  He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. ‘Gone home?’

  ‘She died, Jake.’

  Later that night, I watch Jake put on his coat and scarf and I feel indescribably sad when he hugs me for an unusually long time.

  ‘I don’t feel like taking the tube or bus,’ he says, ‘think I’ll walk. The fresh air will do me good.’ He puts on that familiar brave smile that reminds me of both Mum and Dad.

  As he waves goodbye I don’t want to know what he is thinking as he walks home on a dark winter’s night. But I do end up thinking. I imagine he is asking the exact same thing as me. How long do I have left? A year? Months? Even weeks? Days? I want to go and talk to Susie. I get out of bed and slowly walk back towards her bedroom, refusing to believe she isn’t there.

  68

  Mary’s Diary

  December 2002

  Susie’s funeral was small, just for family and close friends. Nicholas, Tom and Jake were with us. We didn’t know anyone except for Milly. Alice sang ‘The Sunlight Song’ especially for her, a song about flying away, being free. It was brave of her to get up there and sing when I know how emotional she felt, and of course she had only just come out of hospital. Her voice was weak, but she managed it well. Bond was there. They had groomed him especially, giving him a smart collar. Susie’s father said Bond must sit in the front row. It was what Susie would have wanted. Bond is family. He is the child she never had. Alice says he’s keeping the dog, after all. He’s going to take him to the office. When he broke down in front of me, I felt so helpless. I wanted to take it all away from him.

  During the service Alice pointed to a man who had just arrived, standing at the back of the church. He was tall, awkward-looking somehow, his hands buried in his pockets. Alice whispered to me that it was Ethan. When I turned round to him again he looked wracked with guilt and unhappiness, a solitary figure grieving alone.

  During the service there wasn’t a single dry eye in the congregation.

  I was crying for Alice, too.

  For the rest of the day, Alice stayed in her bedroom, MTV playing in the background. Tom had to go back to work but I think she wanted to be alone. As I was taking her down a cup of tea later in the afternoon I overheard her calling the transplant team. ‘Please don’t forget about me,’ she was saying. ‘I’m still here. Are you sure there isn’t any news? Is my bleeper definitely working?’ When I popped her tea onto her bedside table, she said, ‘I have to get that call, Mum. I will, won’t I?’

  69

  Alice

  Christmas is only five days away. Daydreams continues to receive glowing reviews, but that’s not enough; I want it to be number one in the charts. ‘Put it over there,’ I urge Cat when we’re in the music store, Our Price. I gesture to the shelves with all the bestselling albums. ‘Go on,’ I egg her on as she discreetly picks up Daydreams from the alphabetical shelving and, when no one is looking, places it right at the front of the store next to Westlife’s Unbreakable, The Greatest Hits Volume 1.

  ‘Faster!’ I say to Cat as she pushes my wheelchair out of the shop, both of us in a fit of giggles. Finally I have succumbed to Tom and my friends pushing me around in a chair. My condition is that if they push, they have to push fast to make it fun.

  Cat and I have time for one last clothes shop before we meet Tom for lunch. ‘Budget?’ Cat asks, referring to the presents we’re going to buy for one another.

  ‘There isn’t one.’

  Cat knows what I’m thinking. ‘That’s dangerous,’ she mutters, before exclaiming, ‘Alice, it’s your song.’

  ‘If I Fall’ is playing over the store’s sound system.

  My heart lifts. I will never get bored of hearing it on the radio.

  Two women enter the shop. One looks familiar, with her dark hair. There is an overpowering smell of scent as she strides past me. I turn round to Cat, who looks just as shocked as I am to see the ghost of our past.

  ‘Shall we go?’ I mutter, feeling vulnerable and trapped. I don’t want her to see me in a wheelchair. I don’t want her looking down at me.

  ‘I like this song,’ we overhear Daisy Sullivan saying to her friend as she sifts through a pile of neatly folded tops before shoving them back onto the shelf without bothering to refold any of them.

  ‘Me too,’ says her friend; tall, slim, s
hort auburn hair. ‘I’ve heard it played a lot.’

  ‘Who’s it by?’ Daisy holds a black lace top against her chest.

  ‘Alice someone? Would look great with jeans.’

  I hear Susie’s voice inside my head. ‘You can show everyone what we can do . . . that our lives aren’t over . . . you have to go on, for us . . .’

  I stand up and grab Cat’s hand before heading over to Daisy. ‘Hello,’ I say.

  Daisy narrows her eyes as if trying to place me. When she glances at Cat I can almost hear the penny drop. ‘Alice?’

  ‘Yes! How are you?’

  ‘I’m good, really well. Engaged.’ She shows us her enviable sapphire ring. ‘You?’ She glances at the empty wheelchair behind us.

  ‘Still alive and kicking,’ I say.

  Daisy’s friend stands by her side, waiting to be introduced. ‘Sorry, Miranda, this is Alice and Catherine, we’re old school friends.’

  My heart is pounding, my legs almost giving way, as if I am standing in front of my class about to give my presentation on my grandmother all over again. ‘I wouldn’t say we were friends exactly, would you?’

  Daisy clears her throat. ‘Well, we’d better get going—’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to be such a bully,’ Cat continues, ‘did you?’

  ‘Yes. No. I mean, we all say silly things when we’re young, don’t we? Well it was lovely to—’

  Before Daisy can get away, Cat grabs her arm. ‘Did you say you liked this song?’

  ‘Yes,’ Daisy replies tentatively, looking from Cat to me.

  ‘It’s mine.’ The strength in my legs returns. ‘It’s me singing. It’s my song.’

  ‘Alice’s album has just come out to rave reviews,’ Cat tells her.

  ‘Wow,’ Daisy’s friend says, seemingly oblivious to Daisy’s acute discomfort. ‘I love your voice. Where can I buy it?’

  ‘Our Price,’ Cat and I say together.

  ‘It’s on the bestseller’s shelf,’ Cat informs them. ‘And Robbie Williams came to her last gig.’