The Last Days of Us

by Beck Nicholas

  He’s smiling, but there’s a shadow in his eyes. ‘I’m not sure you can hold me to a promise I made when I was nine.’

  ‘A promise is a promise,’ says Jolie. ‘Don’t you think so, Zoey?’

  Laughing, I can’t resist the opportunity to tease. ‘I’m with Jolie. That house sounds amazing.’

  Luc’s fingertips squeeze mine. ‘Not you too.’

  Jolie grins. ‘I like this girl. You should make a move on her fast, before she gets away.’

  I flush. There is no way anyone in the van missed that comment. I expect Luc to deflect, or make the whole thing into a joke, but when he responds his voice is serious. ‘I’m doing my best.’

  CHAPTER

  16

  Don’t speak now baby, don’t say a word, or I’ll head straight to you, to the end of the road.

  ‘The Road’—GRAY

  The apartment is amazing. All white and glass, with views of the city skyline from every window. There are three bedrooms, a lounge, and a huge kitchen-dining area.

  I’m in the lounge room, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sinking sun when Luc finds me.

  ‘This view,’ I say. I shake my head. ‘Seriously, how can we afford this?’

  ‘Actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about. But first, I have a present for you.’

  I frown. We’ve been together pretty much nonstop for the last few days. I would have noticed him buying something unusual in the supermarket or at the petrol station. Because I notice everything about Luc. ‘How?’

  He shrugs. ‘It’s nothing really.’ He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a shell, but not just any shell. ‘It’s the pink one you liked.’

  Like I don’t recognise it straight away. He holds out the shell from the top of our sandcastle, but I’m afraid if I take it my trembling hands will give away what it means to me. ‘How?’ I ask again.

  He smiles as he places it on the glass coffee table. ‘I jogged back down to the beach and grabbed it before we headed into town for dinner.’ He shrugs. ‘Like I said, it’s nothing really.’

  He’s looking down at the shell, sitting there on the coffee table. He probably thinks I hate it.

  I reach out to pick it up. ‘I love this.’ I try to keep my voice steady as I pass it from one hand to the other. The shell’s both rough and smooth in my fingers, whole and broken. ‘Thank you.’ The wobble in my voice is impossible to miss now. I sink onto the white leather couch.

  Do not cry over a shell.

  His hand wraps around mine, engulfing both it and the shell as he sits beside me. ‘I’m glad you like it,’ he says. And then, ‘Don’t be mad.’

  I’ve heard that tone; whatever he’s going to say can only be bad news. I’ve heard it before, but not from Luc. My belly twists into a hard knot. I could flee now and avoid whatever he’s about to share, but my mind is already racing.

  Maybe Gray’s concert has been cancelled.

  Or Luc’s not actually single.

  Or this place is the home of some drug lord.

  There are a million possibilities, and I don’t want to hear any of them. ‘I thought we had an agreement. We were being nice,’ I add, when he looks blank.

  He nods. ‘But this isn’t about us.’

  ‘I knew it; the concert’s been cancelled.’ I wrench my hand free. ‘Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter, you only think that because Gray’s not your thing.’

  He takes my hand back and the look on his face stops me mid-rant.

  No, no, no.

  It’s too late to run away from whatever this is, and besides, I’m tired of running. I exhale slowly. ‘This is worse than the concert being cancelled, isn’t it?’

  His throat works. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What is it?’

  And the strong Luc I’ve come to know over the last few days crumples in front of my eyes. ‘Jolie is sick. Really sick.’

  I watch his mouth move. Hear him say the word: cancer. He goes into some detail, but I struggle to follow. There’s a rushing in my ears and it all sounds terrifying.

  ‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘This trip is part of a wish that some kind people have funded so that she . . . so her last dream can come true. When Finn talked about you guys going to see Gray, she decided it was time for her first road trip, and we joined you.’

  Jolie, sick.

  It’s like the rats that run the wheel in my brain have all been scared away, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t work out what to say. Eventually the silence goes on for too long and I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. ‘I don’t want to ask the stupid questions.’

  ‘From you, there aren’t any.’

  I flush a little at the way he singles me out, like I’m different. I feel enormous pressure not to say the wrong thing. ‘How bad is it?’

  He winces, then rubs at his temple.

  Okay, so there goes any hope that I’m going to be awesome in this moment. And I guess that makes perfect sense, because moments like these have no awesome, and no-one comes out of them unscathed.

  I give him time. His hands rub mine, round and round, the sounds a faint swish in the quiet room. I don’t know if the others were told to stay away for this, but we’ve been left in peace.

  ‘She’s fought longer and harder than anyone expected. Today, she’s great, but tomorrow . . . who knows.’

  I sit in silence for a minute and he lets me absorb the news. I’m going back over my conversations with Luc, wincing at all the times I acted like I have a mortgage on pain and loss. My cheeks burn over some of the things I said—as if he needs someone telling him what pain feels like. Suddenly his protective behaviour makes sense.

  Knowing Jolie’s sick at once brightens and casts a shadow over everything she’s said and done over the past few days. Now I understand why she seems young and old at the same time.

  I think back to the way they each asked me about Dan’s death. Now I see it: Luc fearful about what lies ahead and Jolie worried about those she’ll leave behind.

  I wish I’d given better answers. If I’d known, I would have tried to say something to give them hope, but it’s too late now.

  One thing sticks in my brain. ‘But your mum left?’ It’s both a question and a statement. I just don’t get how it fits with what he’s told me about Jolie.

  His slow nod is more sad than angry. ‘She did.’

  ‘How could she?’

  ‘I don’t know. She said Jolie’s treatment was hard on her.’ He shakes his head. ‘Hard on her,’ he repeats, but this time with an edge. ‘We came home from school one day and Mum’s bags were packed. She couldn’t handle it anymore. It was funny because Jolie was well then—it was right in the middle of a long remission.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Jolie kissed her goodbye. Can you believe it? I wanted to make her stay, chain her up if I had to, but Jolie said we were better off without her “negative outlook clouding our good vibes”.’

  ‘I can almost picture it.’

  His smile is sad. ‘That was the first day. But that night Jolie cried herself to sleep. There have been times since when she’s hated Mum, but she’s never asked her to come back. Jolie believes that a positive attitude has done more to keep her alive than any of the drugs or treatments. And trust me, we’ve tried them all.’

  ‘And that’s why you took up cooking?’

  ‘Someone had to.’

  He says it like it’s nothing, but I don’t know a lot of guys who’d do what he’s done for his family. Not just the cooking, but this trip, too. The way he’s watched out for his sister while trying to let her go. It must have been so hard to let her camp in a storm knowing that a cold could so easily become deadly.

  ‘And basketball? You played like someone who knew what they were doing.’

  ‘Dad couldn’t get Jolie to treatments and me to games. Some of the other kids’ parents helped, but it got too hard.’ He’s silent for a moment, then adds, ‘I told Jolie I didn’t make th
e team. She’s got enough to deal with without thinking she messed up basketball for me. Anyway, it’s just a game.’

  It’s hard not to kiss him then. Words don’t seem enough to say that I think he’s amazing and I’m sorry and it’s not fair. All I’d have to do is lean forward.

  But I don’t.

  When I kiss Luc it will be about us. This is about his family, and my friend. My new friend.

  I settle for pressing a kiss to his rough, unshaven jaw. ‘I’m sorry. If I’ve said anything or done anything to make things harder. I didn’t know.’

  ‘Obviously. And to be honest, your sharing about Daniel has helped.’ He turns over my wrist so the white tattoo is showing. ‘I’ll remember.’

  I know he will. So many times I’ve noticed their close bond. I thought it was just because I missed my own brother, but now I realise they’ve been treasuring this time together.

  Luc’s hands on my shoulders bring me out of my thoughts. ‘You can’t let this change anything with Jolie.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘This is her dream trip. All of this is kind of . . .’ He swallows and I can see him making a conscious effort to gather himself before continuing. ‘It’s her last wish. She never thought she’d be old enough to have it happen, but thanks to a few willing doctors and a shitload of planning it’s happened. I don’t want anything to spoil this.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  His lips brush my forehead. ‘I know. We can’t make her well but we can give her this.’

  I let him hold me and then, realising I should be finding the right words to try to help, I wrap my arms around him, giving comfort too.

  Luc’s phone dings. He pulls away, checks the screen and his teeth grind together. ‘Dad,’ he mutters. His eyes meet mine. ‘He wants me to call.’

  I see it now. The careful balancing act of Luc and his dad, both desperate to care for Jolie, neither quite sure how to do so. I nod, words escaping me.

  Luc heads towards the kitchen where Jolie’s just come in. She’s squealing about some flowers that have been left for her.

  ‘I reckon we should call Dad,’ Luc begins. The rest of what he says to his sister is lost as the door swings closed behind him.

  I remember her up and down appetite, her fluctuating energy levels, the incident in the shower. It all makes sense.

  I take a second before joining the others. Jolie’s not going to want me sobbing all over her. And really, she’s no different to the girl I knew an hour ago.

  Except now I know she’s dying.

  It puts everything Luc has said into context. He might not be right all the time, but I have to admit, he’s right about the way I’ve been acting towards my parents.

  They’ve tried and tried to reach out. I think I’m ready to meet them halfway.

  I don’t really plan what to do, but my phone is in my hand and my fingers work despite my eyes misting with tears. A simple text, long overdue, sent to a number I’ve ignored far too many times. We made it to Melbourne fine.

  I’m not sure if it’s even wanted anymore.

  A second passes. Long enough for me to regret the message and go back to being sure I’m all alone in the world. If only Luc hadn’t put it in my head that maybe, just maybe, they still give a shit.

  But then there’s a ding, and a reply:

  Thanks for letting us know.

  I stare at the words. Maybe Mum really was waiting for me to contact her, like Luc said. Or was it luck, pure and simple, that she was by her phone?

  I can’t be sure of anything except that maybe, just maybe, I haven’t completely screwed things up with my family.

  I wipe at the tears on my cheeks and suck in a shaky breath. All Jolie wants is a good time. Some memories for the next time her illness takes her low.

  I stand and I’m at the door and pushing it open far too soon, but I know no amount of time can prepare me for this.

  And somehow, the others have gone and Jolie’s alone. She’s leaning back against the bench waiting, gripping the marble countertop. I’m not the only one nervous about how this will play out. ‘Luc told you,’ she says.

  I nod. ‘I’d rather the concert was cancelled.’

  She laughs sadly. ‘Me too.’

  I’m not a hugger. Not really. Since Dan died I’ve lost the capacity for casual affection. But there’s nothing casual about the hug I give Jolie.

  ‘This completely sucks,’ I mutter, aware of how slight her shoulders feel. How could I not have noticed? ‘I’m really sorry this is happening to you.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I don’t cry, although my eyes burn and my throat feels like it’s filled with cement. And neither does she. I guess this isn’t the first time she’s done this. I hate the idea of her being an old hand at sharing such news. ‘How are you feeling? Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘Okay, and no.’ Her chin juts out a little. ‘I’d rather you treated me the same as before.’

  ‘I will.’ I don’t know how, but if that’s what she wants I’ll do my best. ‘If you change your mind . . .’

  ‘Thanks.’ She glances towards the bedrooms and yawns. ‘I might have that nap I mentioned.’

  ‘Sure.’

  I watch her go.

  * * *

  ‘Hey, sleepyhead.’

  I blink and wipe the drool from my face, before sitting up on the bed and realising Luc’s voice wasn’t just an unexpectedly nice part of my dream. ‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep.’

  He’s standing in the doorway, still in his beach clothes from earlier. There’s a white dusting across his bicep—dried salt maybe, or sand. And now I’m staring at his muscles and I hope he doesn’t think the drool is related.

  His grin tells me he can read the direction of my bleary thoughts. ‘The Chinese food is here.’

  I drag my gaze away from his knowing eyes. ‘Great. I’ll be out in a minute.’

  I will him to go. Not because I don’t want him here, but because I do. And after what he told me about Jolie, it feels wrong to be fantasising about him and us and our future.

  ‘Don’t take too long. I’m starved, and the limo is coming to pick us up in two hours.’

  ‘Limo?’ I turn back to him in surprise, but I guess the reason before he can answer. ‘Oh, Jolie’s wish.’

  His nod is more of a jerk of his head, and the tight muscles of his neck betray the strain this whole thing is putting on him. No wonder he glowers all the time.

  I head out to where the others are gathered on the balcony. I’m drawn by the aroma of spicy peanut sauce and fried rice. What I fear might be awkward is saved by Jolie singing along to Gray’s first hit, ‘The Road’, using a chopstick as a microphone, and bugging me until I join in. The singing comes easier this time.

  Once we’ve eaten, the boys claim one of the apartment’s amazing bathrooms and us girls take the other to get ready. As I model outfits for Cass and Jolie, I’m trying to focus on the excitement of finally seeing Gray perform, and the thrill of a limo ride to the stadium without focusing too much on the reason behind it.

  Jolie’s sick.

  But most of the time, pretending actually isn’t as hard as I’d have thought. All that not thinking about Dan must have trained me up. That and the fact that Jolie is right here, and so full of life that it’s hard to believe she’s sick.

  Cass’s mum rings and she disappears to the bedroom to take the call, leaving me alone with Jolie.

  She leans towards the well-lit mirror and makes an ‘O’ with her mouth before applying a coat of bright peach lipstick with a practiced hand. She smacks her lips together and admires the colour in the mirror. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, what did you do to my brother?’

  I startle and only just save myself from dragging the mascara wand across my forehead. ‘What?’

  Her eyes twinkle. ‘I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.’

  I do. I can still feel the taste of his salty lips on mine in the storm. I think of the
truce and his promise to wait until I’m sure. The shell I’ve slipped into my purse and can’t stop looking at.

  She giggles. ‘Luc and Zoey, sitting in a tree.’

  ‘It’s not anything serious,’ I say fast. ‘It might not be anything at all.’

  ‘It’s something. I’ve never seen him like this.’ Her voice lowers. ‘I’m really glad. I want him to be happy. I want to know he has someone.’

  Knowing she’s sick gives her words a weight I’m not sure how to handle. ‘I’m not . . .’ I can’t bring myself to finish, but I want to tell her maybe I’m not the right person to help Luc through this, if that’s what she’s thinking. I don’t know if she’s trying for some forward planning, or if that’s even a thing, but I do know it’s not going to work.

  I’m broken and now I see Luc is like a sculpture held together by the flimsiest tape. It’s only a matter of time before he shatters.

  Her hand on my arm, her fingers thin and impossibly light, force me to meet her gaze, and the happy-go-lucky Jolie I’ve come to know in the last few days is gone.

  This girl is older and wiser and so freaking tired of it all I can’t stop myself from reaching out to hold her up. How could I have not seen how frail she was?

  But she gently pushes my hand away. ‘I’m not asking you to look after him for me. He’s happy, and that makes me happy. That’s all.’

  Suddenly I can’t stop the question I’ve been trying so hard not to ask.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I hate that I sound whiny. My sense of betrayal is nothing compared to what she’s going through. I know it and yet, I thought we’d become friends.

  She folds skinny arms over her chest, guilt in the flush in her cheeks. ‘I was going to.’

  ‘When? Next time I found you on the floor of a shower?’ I cover my mouth with my hand, wishing the words back, unable to do anything but ache at the hurt in her eyes at my tone. ‘What is wrong with me? I don’t mean to sound angry, but I care about you.’

  ‘You should be angry.’ Her lips press together. ‘It’s not like I didn’t have a chance to come clean. I pestered you with questions about your brother and acted like I had nothing to hide.’ She stares at the floor, her eyes hidden by long lashes. ‘But the diet excuse came out and you seemed to believe it.’ When she lifts her head, her eyes swim with tears. But they don’t fall; she’s too strong for that. ‘I didn’t tell you about the cancer because I like you.’