by Hope Franke
Anna
“Lie very still.”
Anna kept her arms stiff along the length of her torso, damp palms pressed against her thighs. She could keep her body still, but she had no control over the rapid beating of her heart. She hated small spaces. Every time she had a CAT scan, it was the same thing: heart palpitations, cold beads of sweat sprouting on her bald, bare head, gravity pulling slow rivulets down her temples until they pooled in her ears.
She pinched her eyes tight and imagined a wide-open plain, warm wind sweeping across grassy fields, rolling hills carpeted in lavender, a sunrise bruising the horizon. Anything except the choking weight of claustrophobia.
Breathe in. Out.
And then it was over. A nurse smiled at her kindly and handed her a towel. Anna ran it over her face and head and accepted the plastic cup of water the nurse gave her in exchange for the soiled towel.
Anna was left alone in an examination room to get dressed. The hospital gown dropped to the cool floor and she slipped easily into her jeans and jumper. All her clothes hung loosely on her boney frame now. She wrapped the scarf on her head and stared at the stranger in the mirror. She barely recognised herself. Without eyebrows and lashes her eyes seemed to disappear: however, her nose and cheekbones were more pronounced and skeletal—a caricature of her former self. Anna sighed and fished through her purse for a powder compact. She lightly dusted her face to even out the tone. She followed that with eyeliner, which helped a little to create the illusion that she still had eyes, and applied lip balm to her lips.
Anna didn’t know why she bothered. There was no one to impress, no one who cared if she was ugly or not. She was only fooling herself anyway. Makeup didn’t change anything. It didn’t make her beautiful. It didn’t hide that she was sick.
At the same time, it was the one thing she could control. And deep down she knew the moment she stopped trying, she’d have given up. And when she gave up, she’d die.
She wasn’t ready to die yet.
A tap on the door indicated the doctor was on the other side.
“Come in,” Anna said.
The doctor sat on the edge of a stool, pushed wire-framed glasses up on his nose and studied the clipboard in his hand. “I’m afraid it’s not good news.”
Anna’s insides squeezed together tight yet felt like jelly. She wrapped her arms around her chest and lifted her chin. “I didn’t think it would be.”
“Despite your chemo treatments and radiation, the tumour has grown. Have your headaches worsened?”
Anna nodded and rubbed her left temple.
The doctor nodded. “The tumour has grown. I’m not surprised you’re feeling more pressure.” He took a prescription pad out of his pocket, scribbled on it, ripped off the top sheet and handed it to her. “This should help with pain management. It’s stronger than what you’ve been taking so far.”
“Any side effects?” Anna asked. Her stomach turned at the memory of her many vomiting sessions. The good thing was she’d never have to do chemo again. The bad thing was she’d gone through three sessions, and she was still going to die.
“Drowsiness. You’ll want to sleep a lot, and that’s something I recommend you do anyway.” The doctor paused at the door before leaving. “If things get bad, call 999 and get to the hospital.”
If things get bad. Anna knew he meant when.
“Thank you,” was all she said.
She bundled up with a wool cap, scarf, gloves and winter coat. With no body fat to speak of she needed all the help she could get to brace against the damp cold of winter.
She picked up her prescription using the last bit of cash left in her wallet and wondered what she’d do for food. She could visit the soup kitchen at the shelter again, she supposed. At least she had that. Yes, thank God for the good people who offered help to the homeless this time of year.
With nowhere to go in a hurry, Anna found herself drawn to the church bells of St. Margaret’s Church. She stopped to look at the nativity scene lit up with lights. A light snow danced in the lamplight and Anna couldn’t help but admire the beauty and inhale the serenity. She decided she’d attend on Sunday.
The weekend hurried by in a blur of drowsiness. The doctor had been right about her new meds making her sleepy. She barely had the energy to feed and walk her dog. When Sunday morning came along, she forced herself to get dressed for church. If she was going to go to the trouble of trying to extend her life, she had to at least try to live it a little.
Anna was quite exhausted when she finally arrived at the ancient, stone abbey. She was late and the service was half over. She debated whether or not she should go in. The door of the church opened and a man in a trench coat stepped out and lit a cigarette. It would be warm inside, and that was incentive enough. She walked past the man who nodded slightly before a puff of smoke escaped through his nostrils.
Heavy, well-oiled wooden doors opened to the back of a long and narrow, white-washed sanctuary. Two rows of wooden pews dotted with parishioners ran from back to front. Anna slipped into an empty row at the very back.
The minister, who stood on a podium on a small elevated area, was clearly in the middle of his Christmas message.
“And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone ‘round about them, and they were afraid.
“And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.’”
Hot tears pricked the back of Anna’s eyes. Fear not? How could she not be afraid? She was alone and death was a black, shrouded stalker waiting to take her. The truth was she was afraid. She was terrified.
Belle
Belle hummed as she dusted the shelves, enjoying the mindlessness of the task since it allowed her thoughts to roam free. She felt like Cinderella in the fairytale after meeting the prince. The way Ian stared at her, his eyes crinkling with amusement and curiosity, and… longing—she felt like a princess, like he saw her dressed in a gown with a tiara instead of the cleaning rags she really wore.
“Aren’t we in a good mood,” Mrs. Cowen noted. Her penciled-on eyebrow arched. “Is it possible you’ve met a boy?”
Belle couldn’t stop the flush that crept up her neck. Her body was so disloyal!
“Ah, there is a boy,” Mrs. Cowen said with a smirk. “It’s about time. Aren’t you going to tell me about ‘im?”
Belle was actually dying to tell someone. Had she met Ian three years ago, she’d have told her friends Marta and Beth all about him. When Belle’s mother’s health worsened, Belle dropped everything except for work and caring for her mother. She didn’t have time for her friends then, and they didn’t have time for her now.
“He’s a new customer,” she said. “We got to talking, and he asked me to dinner.”
“Ooh,” Mrs. Cowen cooed. “Love at first sight!”
Love? Was it love? “No, Mrs. Cowen, it was just a date.”
“A date that made Belle Vaughn sing.”
Belle rolled her eyes and wondered how on earth she was going to escape Mrs. Cowen’s poking around in her personal business. The phone rang and Mrs. Cowen hurried to answer it. Belle returned to her dusting, thinking she’d been spared.
“Belle,” Mrs. Cowen sang out. “It’s for yo-ou.”
Belle almost dropped her duster. No one rang for her. Ever.
Mrs. Cowen held a palm over the receiver as she handed it to Belle with a grin. “It’s your fella.”
Belle’s nerves sent flares into the ceiling. “Hello?”
“Hi, Belle, it’s Ian. I hope it’s okay I rang you at the shop. I forgot to ask you for your number last night.”
“No, it’s fine.” She didn’t bother telling him she couldn’t afford a phone of her own anyway.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night.”
Belle’s throat instantly dried up at his words. He thought about her. The same way she’d been thinking about him. “Me, too.”
&nbs
p; “Can I see you again?”
Belle’s eyes flickered to Mrs. Cowen who studied her with interest. Her boss was enjoying this too much. She must miss the soaps she watched when she didn’t come into work, and this was as close as she could get in real life. Belle turned her shoulder to the woman and kept her voice low. “Yes. I’d like that.”
“Great! Unfortunately, I’m tied up tonight, but are you free tomorrow?”
“Yes, I am. It’s my day off.”
“Brilliant. Is it okay if I pick you up at your place?”
She wasn’t ready for him to see her flat. She’d been forced to sell off some of their furniture to pay bills, and she was embarrassed at its sparseness. Besides, she didn’t really know Ian that well, and she’d promised her mother she’d be careful when it came to boys. “I’ll meet you on my steps.” Her flat was among many, and if she were ever in trouble, all she had to do was yell, and one of her nosy neighbours would pop their head out of a window.
Ian agreed to meet her at two in the afternoon the next day. Belle handed the phone back to Mrs. Cowen. Try as she might, Belle couldn’t stop a huge smile from commandeering her face.
“Another date, eh?” Mrs. Cowen’s eyebrows danced. “Where’s he taking you?”
“He wouldn’t say. It’s a surprise.”
Mrs. Cowen clapped her hands. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
Belle turned away before rolling her eyes, even though it made her glad to have someone to share her happy news with.
Belle spent the next day and a half in a soupy, emotional fog. She fancied a boy! He fancied her.
She was gobsmacked that she’d garnered the attention of someone so extremely dishy. Goodness, those eyes! Golden brown, the colour of a penny. And how they almost disappeared when he smiled? Just so adorable.
Belle opened the doors of her wardrobe and frowned. If only she had something nicer to wear. She donned her prettiest sweater and nicest jeans. She pinned back her fringe with two silver barrettes and pushed her short hair behind her ears to reveal silver stud earrings. A little mascara and lip gloss and she was ready to go. She checked the time. Five minutes to two. She quickly pulled on her jacket and scarf, but carried her hat. She didn’t want to mess her hair before he had a chance to see her put together.
Ian was already standing at the bottom of her steps when she opened the building’s exterior door. Gosh, he was an early bird.
His face broke into a smile, stirring up the butterflies that had nested in her stomach since the day they’d met. She smiled back as she descended, careful to keep a hand on the rail so she wouldn’t slip on the light dusting of snow. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he answered back. “You look nice.”
She giggled. “Thanks. So do you.”
Ian wore civilian clothes, the first time she’d seen him in jeans, and Belle swooned a little more.
“So, where are we going?” she asked.
“Have you ever been on the Millennium Wheel?”
Belle gasped. Many times, when she just needed to get away, she’d hop on the District Line to downtown London to see the sights and watch the people. She’d watched that monstrous Ferris wheel as it was being built, but had never ridden on it. “It’s so high.”
“Four hundred and forty-three feet tall, to be exact. Have you been on?” he asked again.
She shook her head.
“I went on it in 2000 just after it opened. You can see the whole city. It’s fabulous. You’ll love it.”
Belle had been watching people ride the London Eye, as it was also known, since it opened. She’d never gone on it because she’d been too preoccupied with her mother’s ill health during most of those years, and it seemed a frivolous waste of money.
She also didn’t like heights. Just looking up to the top of the massive machine made her stomach slide.
“It’s really high,” she repeated.
Ian laughed. “You definitely need to ride it.”
He reached for her hand, and she wished she hadn’t just put on her gloves. Still, it felt nice that he was holding onto her that way and she decided she didn’t care if she was catapulted into space or not. She was just going to enjoy being with him.
They rode the district line tube, chatting casually about nothing. Sitting across the narrow aisle was an Indian woman dressed in a bright orange sari with a small child sleeping across her lap. Beside her were two teen girls sharing gossip and complaining about boys, and down one empty seat was a woman with manly features and thick makeup. Belle considered them all with mild amusement, but mostly she was aware of Ian’s leg pressing against hers. The automated female voice announced that they were arriving at Westminster, and they stood while waiting for the doors to open.
“Mind the gap,” the voice commanded as commuters disembarked, and others hopped on. They moved with the crowd through the brightly lit underground halls, and Belle shivered slightly when Ian pressed his palm against her lower back to guide her.
A tall set of cement steps brought them to street level. Big Ben loomed over them as they walked with the crowd of pedestrians across Westminster Bridge. The Eye stared at her from the opposite side of the River Thames, wide and daunting, like it anticipated her fear and taunted her. She reached for Ian’s hand subconsciously for comfort then froze. What was she doing? She didn’t mean to be so forward.
Belle couldn’t bring herself to look up at Ian, afraid of the expression she might find on his face. She closed her eyes and gently pulled her hand away, but Ian’s grip tightened.
She glanced up at him then. He smiled and lifted their clasped hands as if to study them. “It’s nice,” he said. “I like it.”
Relieved, she let out a puff of air. “I like it, too.”
Her heart went manic as they approached the front of the line, and she was grateful for Ian’s hand in hers. She wasn’t doing this alone. She was with him, part of something, someone, stronger and braver.
Belle tried to distract herself by asking Ian about his life.
“What happened to your mum?”
She winced when the words left her mouth. This was what she really wanted to know, but way to jump in with hard personal questions. She couldn’t start with something simpler, like his favourite colour or band?
Ian didn’t seem to mind, answering without hesitation. “She died in a bus crash when I was eleven. My dad was away a lot with the army so my gran basically raised my sister and me.”
Belle glanced at his face and sympathised. Both of his parents dead. “They are in a better place.”
Ian rolled a shoulder. “That’s what everyone says.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“I don’t know. It seems like the easy way out, though the sentiment is comforting.”
“I believe it,” Bell said wistfully. “With all my heart. I know I’ll see her again someday.”
Ian smiled. “I hope you do. What about your dad? What happened to him?”
“I never knew him. I’m not sure mum even knew who he was for sure.”
Ian squeezed her hand and Belle searched for a lighter topic. “Tell me about your sister. You said she married an oil baron?”
A slight grimace crossed Ian’s face. “Libby’s very beautiful, and it was always her goal to use it to her advantage. Get out of the slums, she used to say. And she succeeded. She lives like a queen and has no use for my gran and me anymore.”
“That’s too bad,” Belle said. So much for lighter topics.
They reached the front of the line and their sad family stories were forgotten. A load of people scrambled into one of the large glass capsules. Belle had seen an ad where a small car had been driven into one, and she felt like she’d just stepped into one of the many science-fiction novels she’d read at the shop. Ian pushed her to the front, and she hung onto a bar on the window. Her hands were sweating and they hadn’t even lifted off yet!
The capsule door closed and Belle was glad they were standing far from it.
The capsules never actually stop for loading and unloading and she squealed a little as it separated from the platform.
“Are you all right?” Ian asked
“Fine,” she squeaked out.
The capsule inched upward and Belle’s eyes popped wide as they got farther away from the ground. She gripped the bar with white knuckles.
Ian chuckled. “Are you afraid of heights?”
“I might be.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t actually know for sure. I’ve never been higher than the third floor before and in those cases the floor and walls weren’t made of glass.”
“Well, you’re in a pickle then, aren’t you? Not like we can get off now.”
Ian was joking as the capsule went ever higher, but Belle felt on the verge of tears. She knew she was being irrational. The capsule was enclosed, there was no way she could fall. But what if the actual capsule fell? Twenty people screaming to their deaths in the Thames?
“Oh, Belle,” Ian said. “Can I hold you? Would that be all right?”
Belle swallowed and nodded. Mum always told her to look for a silver lining, and having Ian hold her was definitely silver. Bright, shiny, polished silver.
His strong arms wrapped around her from behind and she shivered at his nearness, feeling like she’d just been plugged into an electric socket. She nearly melted when he rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “I promise it’s going to be fun.”
The ground beneath moved farther away, and Belle forced herself to relax into Ian’s firm body. It was the only way she was going to make it through this.
They reached the top of the eye and Ian pointed. “You can see the whole of the Westminster Palace and the top of Big Ben.
“Wow,” she said. She’d never seen the city from this perspective before. She hadn’t seen anything from this perspective before. She hadn’t even flown on a plane. The red, double decker buses looked like toys crossing the bridge. The city spread out like a vast sparkly quilt as far as her eyes could see.
