‘It won’t.’
‘Your baby’s so small I could keep it in my pocket.’
‘Shut up, Tessa!’
‘You were looking at clothes for it the other day.’
Zoey slumps back in her chair and closes her eyes. Her mouth goes slack, as if she’s been
unplugged. ‘Please,’ she says. ‘Please shut up. You shouldn’t’ve come if you’re going to
disapprove.’
She’s right. I knew it last night when I couldn’t sleep. Across the landing, the shower was
dripping and something – a cockroach? a spider? – scuttled across the bedroom carpet.
I got up and went downstairs in my dressing gown. I was planning a cup of hot chocolate,
maybe some late- night TV. But there, right in the middle of the kitchen, was a mouse stuck to one
of Dad’s cockroach traps. The only bit of it that wasn’t glued to the cardboard was one of its back
legs, which it used like a paddle to try and get away from me. It was in agony. I knew I’d have to
kill it, but I couldn’t think how to do it without causing it more pain. A carving knife? A pair of
scissors? A pencil through the back of the head? I could only think of awful endings.
Finally I got an old ice-cream carton out of the cupboard and filled it up with water. I dunked
the mouse in and held it down with a wooden spoon. It looked up at me, amazed, as it struggled to
breathe. Three tiny air bubbles escaped, one after the other.
I write Zoey’s baby a text: HIDE!
‘Who’s that to?’
‘No one.’
She leans over the table. ‘Let me see.’
I delete it, show her the blank screen.
‘Was it to Adam?’
‘No.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘You practically have sex in the garden and then you get some kind of
perverted kick out of pretending it didn’t happen.’
‘He’s not interested.’
She frowns. ‘Of course he’s interested. His mum came out and caught you, that’s all. He’d
happily have shagged you otherwise.’
‘It was four days ago, Zoey. If he was interested, he’d have contacted me.’
She shrugs. ‘Maybe he’s busy.’
We sit with that lie for a minute. My bones poke through my skin, I’ve got purple blotches
under my eyes, and I’m definitely beginning to smell weird. Adam’s probably still washing his
mouth out.
‘Love’s bad for you anyway,’ Zoey says. ‘I’m living proof of that.’ She chucks her magazine
down on the table and looks at her watch. ‘What the hell am I paying for exactly?’
I move seats to be next to her.
‘Maybe it’s a joke,’ she says. ‘Maybe they take your money, let you sweat, and hope you get
so embarrassed that you just go home.’
I take her hand and hold it between mine. She looks a bit surprised, but doesn’t take hers
away.
The windows have darkened glass in them so that you can’t see the street.
When we arrived, it
was beginning to snow; people doing their Christmas shopping were all wrapped up against the
cold. In here, heat is blasting from the radiators and piped music washes over us. The world out
there could’ve ended, but in here you wouldn’t know it.
Zoey says, ‘When this is over and it’s just you and me again, we’ll get back to your list. We’ll
do number six. Fame, isn’t it? I saw this woman on the telly the other day. She’s got terminal cancer
and she’s just done a triathlon. You should do that.’
‘She’s got breast cancer.’
‘So?’
‘So it’s different.’
‘Running and cycling keep her motivated. How different can it be? She’s lived much longer
than anyone thought she would, and she’s really famous.’
‘I hate running!’
Zoey shakes her head at me very solemnly, as if I’m being deliberately difficult. ‘What about
Big Brother ? They’ve never had anyone like you on that before.’
‘It doesn’t start until next summer.’
‘So?’
‘So think about it!’
And that’s when the nurse comes out of a side room and walks towards us. ‘Zoey Walker?
We’re ready for you now.’
Zoey hauls me up. ‘Can my friend come?’
‘I’m sorry, but it’s better if she waits outside. It’s just a discussion today, but it’s not the type
of discussion that’s easy to have in front of a friend.’
The nurse sounds very certain of this and Zoey doesn’t seem able to resist.
She passes me her
coat, says, ‘Look after this for me,’ and goes off with the nurse. The door shuts behind them.
I feel very solid. Not small, but large and beating and alive. It’s so tangible, being and not
being. I’m here. Soon I won’t be. Zoey’s baby is here. Its pulse tick-ticking. Soon it won’t be. And
when Zoey comes out of that room, having signed on the dotted line, she’ll be different. She’ll
understand what I already know – that death surrounds us all.
And it tastes like metal between your teeth.
Do'stlaringiz bilan baham: