Before I die Jenny Downham

Twenty-seven 
The afternoon goes quickly. The table s cleared and the TV s turned 
on. We all listen to the Queen s speech, then Cal does a few magic tricks. 
Zoey spends the afternoon on the sofa with Sally and Mum, going 
through every detail of her doomed love affair with Scott. She even asks for 
their advice on childbirth. Tell me, she says, does it hurt as much as they 
say?
Dad s engrossed in his new book, 
Eating Organic
. He occasionally 
reads out statistics about chemicals and pesticides to anyone who s 
interested. 
Adam mostly talks to Cal. He shows him how to spin the clubs; he 
teaches him a new coin trick. I keep changing my mind about him. Not if I 
fancy him or not, but if he likes me. Every now and then his eyes catch 
mine across the room, but he always looks away before I do. 
He wants you, Zoey mouths at me at one point. But if it s true, I 
don t know how to make it happen. 
ve spent the afternoon flicking through the book Cal got me, 
A 
Hundred Weird Ways to Meet Your Maker
. It s quite funny, but it doesn t 
stop me feeling as if there s a space inside me that s shrinking. I ve sat in 
this chair in the corner for two hours, and I ve separated myself. I know I 
do it and I know it isn t right, but I don t know how else to be. 
By four o clock it s dark and Dad s switched on all the lights. He brings 
out bowls of sweets and nuts. Mum suggests a game of cards. I sidle out to 
the hallway while they rearrange the chairs. I ve had enough of stagnant 
walls and bookshelves. I ve had enough of central heating and party games. 
I get my coat from its hook and go out into the garden. 

---

191
The cold is shocking. It ignites my lungs, turns my breath to smoke. I 
put my hood up, pull the drawstring tight under my chin and wait. 
Slowly, as if arriving out of mist, everything in the garden comes into 
focus – the holly bush scratching the shed, a bird on the fence post, its 
feathers fluffing in the wind. 
Indoors they ll be dealing out the cards and passing round the 
peanuts, but out here, each blade of grass glistens, spiked by frost. Out 
here, the sky s packed full of stars, like something from a fairytale. Even the 
moon looks stunned. 
I squash windfalls under my boots on my way to the apple tree. I 
touch the twists in the trunk, trying to feel its bruised slate colour through 
my fingers. A few leaves hang damply in the branches. A handful of 
withered apples turn to rust. 
Cal says that humans are made from the nuclear ash of dead stars. He 
says that when I die, I ll return to dust, glitter, rain. If that s true, I want to 
be buried right here under this tree. Its roots will reach into the soft mess 
of my body and suck me dry. I ll be reformed as apple blossom. I ll drift 
down in the spring like confetti and cling to my family s shoes. They ll carry 
me in their pockets, scatter the subtle silk of me across their pillows to help 
them sleep. What dreams will they have then? 
In the summer they ll eat me. Adam will climb over the fence to steal 
me, maddened by my scent, by my roundness, the shine and health of me. 
He ll get his mum to cook me up in a crumble or a strudel and then he ll 
gorge on me. 
I lie on the ground and try to imagine it. Really, really. I m dead. I m 
turning into an apple tree. It s a bit difficult though. I wonder about the bird 
I saw earlier, if it s flown away. I wonder what they re doing indoors, if they 
miss me yet. 

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192
I turn over and press my face right into the grass; it pushes coldly 
back at me. I rake my hands through it, bring up my fingers to smell the 
earth. It smells of leaf mould, worm breath. 
What are you doing?
I turn round very slowly. Adam s face is upside down. I thought I d 
come and look for you. Are you all right?
I sit up and brush the dirt from my trousers. m fine. I was hot.
He nods, as if this explains why I have wet leaves stuck to my coat. I 
look like an idiot, I know I do. I also have my hood tied under my chin like 
an old woman. I undo it quickly. 
His jacket creaks as he sits down next to me. Want a rollie?
I take the cigarette he offers and let him light it. He lights his own and 
we blow silent smoke across the garden. I can feel him watching me. My 
thoughts are so clear that I wouldn t be surprised if he could see them 
blazing above my head like a neon sign outside a fish and chip shop. I fancy 
you. I fancy you. 
Flash. Flash. Flash
. With a neon red heart glowing beside 
the words. 
I lie back on the grass to get away from his gaze. Cold seeps through 
my trousers like water. 
He lies down next to me, right next to me. It hurts and hurts to have 
him this close. I feel sick with it. 
That s Orion s Belt, he says. 
What is?
He points up to the sky. See those three stars in a line? Mintaka, 
Alnilam, Alnitak. They bloom at the end of his finger as he names them. 
How do you know that?

---

193
When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me stories about the 
constellations. If you point binoculars below Orion, you ll see a giant gas 
cloud where all new stars are born.
New stars? I thought the universe was dying.
It depends which way you look at it. It s also expanding. He rolls over 
onto his side and props himself up with one elbow. ve been hearing from 
your brother about you being famous.
And did he tell you it was a complete disaster?
He laughs. No, but now you have to.
I like making him laugh. He has a beautiful mouth and it gives me the 
chance to look at him. So I tell him about the whole radio station 
ridiculousness and I make it much funnier than it really was. I sound heroic, 
an anarchist of the airwaves. Then, because it s going so well, I tell him 
about taking Dad s car and driving Zoey to the hotel. We lie on the damp 
grass with the sky massive above us, the moon low and bright, and I tell 
him about the wardrobe, and how my name has gone from the world. I 
even tell him about my habit of writing on walls. It s easy to talk in the dark 
– I never knew that before. 
When I ve finished, he says, You shouldn t worry about being 
forgotten, Tess. Then he says, Do you reckon they ll miss us if we go next 
door for ten minutes?
We both smile. 
Flash, flash
, goes the sign above my head. 
As we go through the broken bit of fence and up the path to his back 
door, his arm brushes mine. We hardly touch at all, but it s startling. 
I follow him into the kitchen. ll just be a minute, he says. ve got a 
present for you, and he disappears into the hallway and runs up the stairs. 

---

194
I miss him as soon as he goes. When he isn t with me, I think I made 
him up. 
Adam? It s the first time I ve ever called his name. It sounds strange 
on my tongue, and powerful, as if something will happen if I say it often 
enough. I go into the hallway and look up the stairs. Adam?
Up here. Come up if you want.
So I do. 
His room s the same as mine, but backwards. He s sitting on his bed. 
He looks different, awkward. He has a small silver parcel in his hand. 
I don t even know if you re going to like this.
I sit next to him. Every night we sleep with only a wall between us. 
m going to knock a hole in the wall behind my wardrobe and make a 
secret entrance to his world. 
Here, he says. I suppose you better open it.
Inside the wrapping paper is a bag. Inside the bag is a box. Inside the 
box is a bracelet – seven stones, all different colours, bound with a silver 
chain. 
I know you re trying not to acquire new things, but I thought you 
might like it.
m so startled I can t speak. 
He says, Shall I help you put it on?
I hold out my hand and he wraps the chain around my wrist and does 
up the clasp. Then he threads his fingers with mine. We look down at our 
hands, together on the bed between us. Mine look different, entangled with 
his, the new bracelet on my wrist. And his hands are completely new to me. 

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195
Tessa? he says. 
This is his room. With only a wall between my bed and his. We re 
holding hands. He bought me a bracelet. 
Tessa? he says again. 
When I look at him, it feels like fear. His eyes are green and full of 
shadows. His mouth is beautiful. He leans towards me and I know. I know. 
It hasn t happened yet, but it s going to. 
Number eight is love. 

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196