Billy and Me

by Giovanna Fletcher

  After a few more days of solitude I finally muster up the energy to walk downstairs to the kitchen, needing something other than the copious amounts of tea and toast my mum has been bringing me. I’m halfway down the stairs when I overhear her and Colin talking in hushed voices. I’m about to turn and sprint back upstairs, not being in the mood to see Colin, when Mum’s words stop me.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she says. ‘They said she’s quickly getting worse.’

  ‘You have to tell her now.’

  ‘But she’s still so fragile herself, Colin. I don’t know how she’d cope.’

  ‘Jane, she has a broken heart. That’s all.’

  I want to shout in protest, tell Colin I think he’s an idiot for being so flippant about what I’m going through, but I don’t, because I need to know what they’re keeping from me.

  ‘Can you imagine how she’d feel if she dies without her having said goodbye?’ he continues. ‘That would be devastating for her. You need to tell her so that she can go and see her.’

  ‘Tell her what?’ I say quietly at the door. Afraid of what I’m about to be told.

  They both stare at me for what feels like hours, before speaking.

  ‘Love …’ says Mum finally, worry lines appearing on her forehead, clearly pained by whatever news she has to break to me.

  ‘Just say it.’

  ‘Molly’s not well.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘It’s cancer.’

  My heart stops beating at the word. I don’t respond. Instead I stay quiet as Mum fills me in with more details.

  ‘It seems she’s known for quite some time, since before you moved to London, in fact. That’s when she first found a lump in her breast, which turned out to be malignant. It was only when she went in for more tests that they found it was also in her lungs and spine. She was told then that it was terminal.’

  My jaw drops in shock. She was riddled with it and has kept this a secret from me for months.

  ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’

  ‘She didn’t tell anyone. I think she didn’t want to be a burden.’

  ‘But we could’ve helped,’ I squeak, not able to understand why Molly would have chosen to go through this alone. ‘Where is she?’

  Silence falls on the room, Mum hesitant to tell me, her hand covering her face in sorrow.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the hospice.’

  ‘What?’ I gasp.

  I don’t know much about hospices, but one thing I do know is that they’re the places extremely sick people go to die.

  Molly is about to die.

  My best friend, the person I love more than anything, is about to die.

  The person I love but have ignored over the past week or so because I’ve been so self-absorbed, is about to die. She hasn’t been calling to see how I am. She’s been calling to tell me of her own heartache.

  ‘I’ll drive you there, if you like,’ offers Colin. The first time he has spoken since I entered the room.

  I nod my head at him, still trying to make sense of the news.

  ‘Can we go now?’ I ask, not caring that I’ve been cooped up in my room for days without washing, that I’m wearing my pink-and-white-striped pyjama bottoms with a massive grey jumper and that I look like crap.

  ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘But …’

  ‘But, what?’

  He looks down at the floor, pursing his lips together in hesitation.

  ‘There’s a photographer parked outside.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s been here for days.’

  ‘Oh love, we haven’t wanted to worry you, especially as you’ve been up in your room with no plans to go outside anyway,’ explains Mum. ‘We thought he’d eventually get bored of sitting there.’

  I shake my head at the vulgarity of the situation.

  ‘So, basically, he is waiting for the first shot of me since the break-up, preferably with me looking like shit.’

  ‘Sophie!’ reprimands Mum, never having heard me swear before.

  ‘Let’s give him what he wants shall we? Then he can bugger off back to wherever he came from and leave me alone. Come on,’ I command, striding to the door and chucking on my boots.

  Mum and Colin sheepishly follow behind me, no doubt taken aback by my feisty attitude.

  As soon as I open the door, I spot the scumbag as he hastily scurries out of his white van, wearing a baseball cap and leather jacket, and leaps towards me. He instantly holds his camera up to his face and starts snapping away.

  ‘Lovely to see you finally, Miss May. I was beginning to think I had the wrong address,’ he shouts, running backwards in front of me. ‘So sorry to hear about you and Billy. Do you have anything to say on the situation? Have you heard from him at all? Has he begged for your forgiveness yet?’

  With my eyes concentrating on the pavement below, I clench my jaw to stop myself from biting back and swiftly make my way to Colin’s silver Ford Mondeo, choosing to ignore him. I know he’s after a reaction of some sort, although I’d have thought a photograph of me in this state would have been enough to satisfy his needs!

  Sensing my reluctance to reply, he continues.

  ‘We’ve all felt ever so sorry for you. It must’ve been awful watching him all over Heidi like that. Apparently he is back at work already, acting as though nothing has happened, that must be painful for you to hear – thinking of him back on set, with her. All over her again without a second thought for you. They’ve not been pictured out together any more, you’ll be happy to hear. Doesn’t mean anything, though, they’re probably shacked up in bed together, making up for lost time.’

  Before slipping into the car, I do the unthinkable; I flip him the birdie.

  I don’t speak in the car. I’m annoyed that the media would be so callous as to come after me so that they can write a stupid article on how heartbroken and devastated I am without Billy, but to be honest, I don’t care. The fickleness and the unimportance of that world hold no significance next to the knowledge that Molly is leaving me.

  I look out of the window and take in the world around me. Watching as people go about their daily business, not aware that one of the kindest people I know is at death’s door.

  I think back to all the calls I’ve missed, the times she’s tried to get me to listen to her, only to be ignored. I try to remember the last time she tried calling … was it yesterday, or the day before? Why didn’t she leave a message telling me the truth? Although what would she have said? ‘Hi Sophie, Molly here. Just wanted to let you know I’m dying. And that you’re being a crappy friend.’

  Oh, Molly …

  When we pull into the hospice car park, Colin parks the car and switches off the engine. Both he and Mum take their seatbelts off but stay in the car.

  ‘You OK, love?’ Mum asks, swivelling in her seat so that she can see me.

  I nod hesitantly.

  ‘Is it OK if I go see her on my own first?’

  ‘Of course it is, Sophie,’ she says, as she leans over and takes my hand in hers, rubbing it. ‘You go in and then I can see her afterwards. How does that sound?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Do you want me to walk in with you? Or would you rather we stayed here?’

  ‘No, you stay here,’ I say, stepping out of the car.

  My footing is unsteady as I make my way towards the entrance sign along the pebbled pathway, nerves causing my body to convulse involuntarily.

  When I get to the reception desk, a round-faced lady with a blonde bob and heavy fringe is there to greet me.

  ‘Hello, darling. How can I help?’

  ‘I’m here to see Molly? Molly Cooper?’

  ‘Can I take your name, please?’ she asks, filling in a form in front of her.

  ‘Sophie May.’

  She looks up and inspects my face before smiling at me.

  ‘So you’re Sophie! She’s been asking after you ever since she got here.’

/>   ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. She’ll be thrilled you’ve come.’

  I smile back at her, unsure what else to say.

  ‘She’s in room seven, which is just down the corridor to your left.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, turning to leave.

  ‘Molly’s is the only closed door – she’s been complaining of the noise the other patients have been making. I think she’s frustrated that she can’t get out of bed and see what’s going on,’ she smiles warily. ‘I must warn you, she’s very weak and tired. Don’t let that scare you. And don’t take offence if she falls asleep while you’re talking to her, she’s done that to me a number of times, so I’m hoping she means nothing by it. She’ll be so happy to see you.’

  I can’t speak, already feeling the emotion gathering in my throat. I give her a pained smile and start to make my way to Molly’s room.

  Walking through the green hallway I hear cries of pain and weeping pouring from every room I pass, causing me to glance through the open doors as I walk by, even though I know I shouldn’t. Some of the cries come from the patients, who call out in pain or confusion, wondering where they are or what’s happening to them. Others are from their families or loved ones who are standing by their bedsides, looking devastated at seeing someone they love so close to death. It’s terrifying to see and causes my insides to curdle in trepidation.

  My walk becomes slow and heavy as I near Molly’s closed door, fear taking hold of me. Outside her room, I pause before going in, trying to steady my breathing, which has become erratic and keeps catching in my throat.

  Knowing that what I see on the other side is going to shock and upset me, I try to prepare for the worst, telling myself to expect Molly to look gaunt and ill, but it doesn’t seem real or possible for her to be on the other side of this door. I’d love to run away and pretend none of this is happening, to block it all out, but I could never do that to Molly, knowing that she needs me, that she’s been asking after me, and that I’ve added to her recent anguish by ignoring her calls.

  Terrified, I quietly twist the handle and open the door. As I walk in the sight in front of me instantly sends heat prickling at the back of my nose and deep in my chest. I clench my jaw and hands, trying to hold off the tears that are already threatening to pour.

  I’m unaware of anything else in the room other than Molly: sweet, kind, wonderful Molly. Lying in a hospital bed, looking tiny and frail. Propped up by pillows and smothered in white sheets.

  Her face is thin and grey, almost transparent, enabling me to see every vein that lies underneath. Her eye sockets seem to have sunk into her face, and her chin seems to have disappeared completely due to her extreme weight loss. Her cheekbones, however, stick out sharply, making her seem more alien than human. I watch as her chest rises and falls dramatically, showing her breathing to be heavy and laboured.

  Slowly, Molly opens her eyes, aware of someone in the room with her. My whole body tenses in shock as her once-sparkling blue eyes look back at me, now glassy and grey. An emptiness lies behind them, as though she’s already disappeared.

  ‘Hello, duck!’ she says, her voice raspy and weak, yet somehow managing to sound cheerful. ‘You made it!’

  She lifts a shaky hand for me to take, my presence seeming to give her a sudden burst of energy. I quickly move towards her and gently take hold of the offered hand, marvelling at the thinness of it, the fragility of these bony fingers, which were once so strong from baking all day, the skin so thin and delicate; so futile.

  ‘Hello, you,’ I say warmly, cursing myself as tears manage to escape from my eyes.

  ‘I’m so happy you’re here, pet. So happy,’ she says, making an effort to lift my hand and kiss it, the action causing a lump to form in my chest and throat. I watch as she closes her eyes briefly, looking peaceful and content.

  Words fail me as more tears roll.

  ‘Oh, Molly,’ I weep, emotion taking hold of me.

  ‘No point crying now, duck,’ she says, opening her eyes and looking at me with concern.

  ‘You should’ve told me.’

  ‘I didn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘Why?’

  Molly doesn’t answer, she just screws her face up, closing her eyes again.

  ‘You’re my oldest friend, Mol! I haven’t been there for you and I should’ve been. I should’ve been looking after you, Mol. Instead, I’ve been so self-absorbed.’

  ‘You’ve done more than you know, just by being here now,’ she says quietly, keeping her eyes closed, holding my hand to her chest. ‘My best friend. My girl.’

  With my free hand, I grasp her other hand and kneel close to her, watching as she flitters in and out of sleep. At times her face is a picture of calmness, at peace with what’s to come, maybe dreams of seeing her Albert again filling her with joy. However, there are also moments when it flickers with confusion and pain, which I struggle to watch.

  I feel so useless knowing that it’s only a matter of time and that I can’t do anything to stop her dying, no matter how much I want to.

  She keeps trying to wake up and talk to me, but doesn’t have the energy, so instead, she’ll take a deep breath, open her eyes slightly to check I’m still with her and close them again. I can see she’s tired and that she needs to rest, but I know she won’t if she knows I’m still here.

  Remembering that Mum wanted to come in and see her too, I straighten up, wanting to leave before I wear her out further.

  ‘I’m so proud of you, Sophie,’ she says, opening her eyes and looking at me.

  I feel unworthy of the comment, sure that there is nothing about me to be proud of. Especially as I appear to be making a mess of everything lately.

  I lean over her and give her a kiss on the cheek, before resting the side of my face on hers and whispering into her ear.

  ‘I love you, Molly. Thank you for turning my life around. I have no doubt I couldn’t have done it without you. I love you, Mol,’ I say, squeezing her hand and turning towards the door to leave.

  ‘I love you, Sophie,’ Molly says, opening her eyes again. ‘Love you, Sophie. I love you, Sophie,’ she repeats again and again in a coarse voice. I struggle to keep control as I walk out of the room and shut the door.

  I barely take two steps before I have to hold on to the wall to steady myself. Leaning against it, I slide to the ground and grab my knees, hugging them into me. Molly’s last sentence rings in my ears, causing me to feel an abundance of love and a painful amount of grief all at once. It was a mutual understanding that we’ll never see each other again. That was it. Our years of friendship building up to that final farewell.

  I’m stunned at her transformation and distraught at her weakness.

  How can life be so cruel to someone so giving?

  Needless to say, I don’t sleep. All I can think about is Molly, lying in her bed at the hospice. All alone.

  I wonder what’s going through her head. Is she frightened of what’s to come? Is she worried that at some point she’s going to close her eyes and never open them again? Or, after months of knowing this was to be the outcome, is she relieved the end is so close? Putting an end to her pain and torment.

  When the phone rings early the following morning, I know straight away. I curl up in bed and listen as Mum runs down the stairs to answer it. Moments later she knocks on my door, walks in and sits on my bed, looking distressed as she puts her hand on my side.

  ‘Soph, that was the hospice calling. Molly passed in her sleep last night.’

  Although I knew the words were coming and although I knew, without a doubt, that this would be the reason for the phone call, the shock still hits me hard.

  ‘They said that she wasn’t in any pain, that she was very peaceful. Oh love, I’m so sorry,’ she chokes.

  Her tears spark off mine, as uncontrollable sobs fly out of me, my whole body shaking with heartache. My beloved friend has gone. I feel relief at having seen her, enabling me to say a proper goodbye, but sad t
hat I hadn’t managed to say everything I should have done. Now I never would be able to.

  I have so much to be thankful to Molly for and I’m not even sure if those feelings could ever actually be broken down and expressed in words. I just hope she knew how special she was to me, how much I adored her and how grateful I am to the woman who taught me so much and stood by me with patience and kindness as she tried to mend my broken being.

  One thing that pains me is that, having seen her, I can’t get her grey face and glassy eyes out of my thoughts. When I think of her now a knot forms in my stomach, as it’s that version of Molly that appears in my head, not the kind-faced Molly I have known and loved for years. The sight of Molly looking so fragile and empty on her deathbed seems to be etched in my brain, refusing to budge, filling me with despair.

  23

  A couple of days later, I’m attempting to read in the living room, my mind refusing to take in any of the information on the page. I must have read the same paragraph at least twenty times, but again and again my thoughts manage to worm their way through, overriding the written words in front of me and deleting their meanings; turning them into shapes that my eyes glance over indifferently. It’s highly frustrating, especially as I’m trying to read so that I can give my mind a break from those worries. No matter how hard I try it seems nothing can stop Billy, Molly and my lack of future plans from leaking through into my consciousness. Giving me something to agonize over, as they demand my attention.

  An unexpected knock at the front door halts my efforts.

  Although I’m still housebound and feeling fragile, not wanting to go out and face people yet, I have been getting out of bed and pottering around the house. I’m no longer sticking to the confines of my bedroom as I realized I’d slowly start to go mad if I sat staring at my pink walls any longer. For the moment, forcing myself into the shower each morning and stopping myself from wearing pyjamas in the daytime seems like a gigantic personal achievement. This means that, despite looking a mess, with my hair bundled on top of my head in a messy bun, my clothes baggy and mismatched, the arrival finds me clean, at least.

  I answer the door to find a man in his late thirties standing on the doorstep. I know who he is instantly. His sun-kissed hair, ruffled and messy, and his tanned hands, with which he is rubbing his equally bronzed face, give him away.