One Endless Summer Page 2

  Samantha sighed. ‘How did I not realise that my dress is the exact same colour as the sofa? No one will see me. I’ll be a floating head.’

  Lizzie’s smiling face appeared behind her in the mirror. ‘When,’ Lizzie asked, resting her head on Samantha’s shoulder, ‘are you going to see how gorgeous you are? Not to mention intelligent. You will not be a floating head, you’ll be perfect.’

  Samantha smiled at Lizzie’s pale face and the dark smudges under her eyes. The unfairness of it all washed over her just like the nausea had done an hour ago. Why did it have to be Lizzie? Of all the millions of people in the world who smoked, took drugs, lived life on the edge, who killed, and hurt others, the millions of people that, without question, deserved to die, why did it have to be kind, loving Lizzie going through this? It was a question Samantha had asked herself at least once a day for the past few months, more than once on the nights she couldn’t sleep, mulling the question over in her mind with dozens of others she didn’t have the answers to.

  Jaddi stepped away from the mirror. ‘So,’ she said, placing her hands on her hips as Samantha and Lizzie turned to face her, ‘you know I love you, don’t you? We’re like family. So you know when I say things, I say them for your own good, right? Well, I need to tell you that the two of you need to pull yourselves together. It’s natural to feel nervous, but this is our chance. We’ve talked about travelling the world since university. I know it’s scary, but we can’t focus on how we got here or why we’re doing it, or it’ll make it too hard. We have to live in the here and now.’

  Samantha listened for a quiver in Jaddi’s voice, any sign of the fear and sadness that clouded Samantha’s head, but there wasn’t any. Jaddi sounded just like Caroline, forthright and self-assured in a way that only people confident with their own place in the world could be. No amount of education, elocution, or expensive clothes could make a person that way. It was in the way Jaddi and Lizzie were raised, something middle-class that Samantha tried to emulate, but so often failed.

  She’d seen the looks from her peers at the Home Office. They knew just by looking at her that she was different. The first-class degree, the hours she spent at her desk long after everyone else had made their way to a back-street pub or home, how she knew parts of the law inside and out; none of it wiped out her upbringing in their eyes.

  ‘It was nine years ago that we first planned this trip,’ Jaddi continued. ‘Nine years. That’s almost a decade. And we’re finally doing it.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ Samantha said. ‘Having a cameraman tagging along is all well and good when you’re tall, thin and drop-dead gorgeous. I, personally, don’t relish the thought of half of Britain seeing my gigantic bottom climbing up a mountain. Not to mention –’ a lump lodged in Samantha’s throat forcing her voice into a whisper ‘– Lizzie’s tumour.’

  Just then, a woman wearing a headset appeared in the doorway. ‘We’ve gone to adverts. Three minutes and you’re on,’ she said before disappearing again.

  ‘Was she talking to us?’ Samantha turned to Lizzie as wasp-like panic swarmed in her stomach.

  ‘Who else?’ Jaddi grinned.

  ‘I … I can’t do this. Lizzie, I’m so, so sorry. I’ve tried to hold it together. I love you so much and I’ve tried to support you through this …’ Samantha could hear the rupture in her voice, but she couldn’t stop now. ‘You’re dying.’

  ‘We’re all going to die at some point,’ Lizzie shrugged, a weak smile touching her face.

  ‘But not in three months. We can’t just up and leave as if everything is normal.’ Tears spilled from Samantha’s eyes. ‘Everything is not normal. What about your parents? They’re devastated, we all are. And what if you get ill whilst we’re in the middle of nowhere? Then what? We can’t go, we just can’t.’ A sob escaped Samantha’s mouth.

  Silence grew between them. Samantha tried to read Lizzie’s wide-eyed stare, but all she could see was her own fear reflected back in her friend’s face. Then Lizzie’s gaze turned to Jaddi, causing frustration to surge inside Samantha. Sometimes, just sometimes, she hated how they both deferred to Jaddi, as if they were still standing in the kitchen of their houseshare, total strangers on their first day at university. Jaddi had oozed self-assurance. She’d chosen the pubs they’d gone to, the boys they’d spoken to, the clubs they’d joined. Back then it had seemed as if Jaddi had had a magic wand that could alter the course of their destinies.

  Samantha let the thought go. This wasn’t another one of Jaddi’s daredevil plans. This trip belonged to all of them. It was a shared dream that had kept them going through exams and dissertations, and long days slugging it at work followed by evenings in the dingy one-bed flat they had shared in East London. Their reasons for travelling might be different – Jaddi wanted adventure; Lizzie wanted new experiences; and Samantha had wanted to escape (or she had once anyway) – but the dream was the same and they’d clung to that. Just not like this.

  Jaddi stepped towards Samantha and pulled her into a tight embrace. Part of Samantha wanted to push Jaddi away, but she didn’t. Jaddi’s cool confidence had a way of rubbing off on the people around her, Samantha included. The knots in her stomach began to unravel.

  ‘I’m scared too, Sam. But Lizzie can’t stay here waiting for it to happen,’ Jaddi said. ‘There is so much she hasn’t seen or done. There is nothing anyone can do for her here. It shouldn’t end like that for anyone, especially not Lizzie.’

  Samantha nodded, dabbing her fingers under her eyes in an attempt to wipe away the tears without smearing any more of her make-up. ‘I know. I’m sorry, you’re right.’ She drew in a long breath. ‘I’m panicking about this interview, but I’ll keep it together.’

  Lizzie’s arms wrapped around them. ‘I don’t think I’ve said thank you to both of you, for doing this with me,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t do it without you.’

  ‘You don’t need to say thanks, Lizzie,’ Samantha said. ‘You know we’d follow you anywhere. Except off a cliff, of course.’

  ‘You two had better not be getting tears on my dress,’ Jaddi said a moment later, making them all laugh in a shaky uncertain sort of way and releasing the sadness that hovered over them.

  Jaddi squeezed Samantha a little tighter before letting go and spinning on the points of her heels. ‘Let’s go then.’

  CHAPTER 3

  Lizzie

  Bright white lights on tall metal frames emitted heat like the summer sun, causing a bead of sweat to trickle down Lizzie’s back as she stepped into the studio.

  Jaddi’s hand touched her arm, shepherding her forward quicker than her feet wanted to move.

  A dozen people in dirty jeans and baggy T-shirts stood in clusters around screens and laptops, speaking over each other in rushed voices. Wires covered the floor around her feet, held in place by strips of silver tape. They looked like a bed of snakes about to slither over her body and squeeze the breath right out of her.

  Like the eye of the storm, the blue sofa sat serenely amidst the wires, equipment and people. The breakfast-show presenters were huddled over a clipboard in two armchairs opposite the sofa. They looked up and smiled as Lizzie approached. Adrenaline pumped through her veins.

  When they reached the sofa, Jaddi tugged her arm, pulling Lizzie down next to her. Samantha sat on the other side of Jaddi, her gaze fixed straight ahead as if she was about to be interrogated by MI5, rather than interviewed by Britain’s most likable breakfast duo. Guilt stabbed the pit of Lizzie’s stomach. Lizzie thought of the pebble dropping into the sea again and the ripples it caused.

  ‘OK, people,’ someone shouted from behind her. ‘We’re back in five, four, three.’

  The studio fell silent as if a mute button had been pressed.

  ‘Welcome back to Channel 6 Breakfast. I’m Frankie Scott,’ the female presenter said, flashing a row of white veneers.

  ‘And I’m Tim Reynolds.’

  ‘We’re joined on the sofa now by Lizzie Appleton and her two friends,
Jaddi Patel and Samantha Jeffrey,’ Frankie said in a mellifluous voice.

  Lizzie turned towards the cameras and stared at the screen of writing moving along underneath. She could see Caroline’s head just beyond the cameras. The producer gestured a ‘don’t forget to smile’ U-shape with her hands.

  ‘I don’t think there can be many people out there who don’t know Lizzie’s harrowing story. She was diagnosed with a brain tumour three months ago, and after the radiotherapy failed, Lizzie was given the damning news that there was nothing more her doctors could do. With just months to live, Lizzie’s lifelong dream to travel the world seemed impossible. Until her best friend and flatmate, Jaddi, created a website and asked for people to donate money for their trip.’

  Frankie turned her gaze to the sofa. ‘Lizzie, first of all, thank you for joining us.’

  Lizzie forced her mouth into a smile. Her heartbeat quickened. ‘Thank you for having me.’

  ‘Can you tell us what’s been happening since Jaddi first set up the fundraising page?’

  Blobs of colour threatened Lizzie’s vision again. She blinked until her focus returned, drew in a deep breath and tried to remember the lines she’d practised with Caroline. ‘It’s been a whirlwind. Jaddi set up the website overnight. I didn’t know anything about it until the next morning, by which time my brother, Aaron, had shared it on Twitter, and things have been pretty crazy ever since.’

  ‘For those at home who don’t know,’ Tim said, staring into the camera, ‘Lizzie’s brother is Aaron Appleton, British gymnastics champion, and arguably one of our best hopes for Olympic gold in the next games.’

  The mention of Aaron caused an ache to radiate from Lizzie’s chest. Her brother had been too young to remember her stays in hospital growing up. He hadn’t even been born the first two times. Until recently, Aaron had been oblivious to the burden of waiting. Waiting to hear a diagnosis. Waiting to hear if the treatment had worked. Waiting to see if the tumour would come back.

  Aaron had insisted on coming with them for her last hospital appointment. Lizzie had known what Dr Habibi was going to say the moment he’d clipped her CT scans onto the viewing screen and flicked on the light behind it. There it was, the kidney-shaped blob at the base of her brain. No bigger, but no smaller either. Months of treatment wasted. The neurologist had launched straight to the point – ‘Unfortunately, the radiotherapy hasn’t been successful …’ – but Lizzie had only been half listening. It felt as if she was watching an out-ofcontrol car skidding on ice, spinning straight towards a lamp post on the other side of the road. She gazed at her parents, then at Aaron, powerless to alter the course of the scene unfolding in front of them. The anguish on their faces would haunt her forever.

  ‘I guess he has a lot of followers,’ Tim said, dragging Lizzie’s thoughts back to the interview.

  She nodded and smiled. ‘Just a few hundred thousand more than me, I’d say. A lot of his followers shared the link and then the donations started coming in.’

  ‘When I saw the website for the first time, about a month ago,’ Tim said, ‘it was the helplessness of your situation, Lizzie, that really touched me. The fact that there is just nothing more you can do must be tough to accept. I don’t know how I’d cope in your shoes, and from the comments people made when they donated, I’d say I’m not the only one who feels that way. How did it make you feel when the donations began to pour in?’ Tim asked.

  ‘I was completely overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity. People we didn’t know were giving us money to go backpacking. It didn’t seem real. It still doesn’t.’

  ‘But it didn’t stop there?’ Frankie said.

  ‘No, it didn’t. The story started appearing in the local news and in some of the national papers. Then Jaddi got a call from a producer at Channel 6, offering to pay for the rest of the trip, if we agreed to be part of a documentary covering the last few months of my life. So here we are. We’re all packed and leave for Thailand tonight.’

  ‘That is truly awe-inspiring,’ Frankie said, before turning her gaze to Jaddi. ‘Jaddi, did you have any idea that your website would become so popular? That you’d be able to fulfil Lizzie’s dream?’

  Lizzie looked at Jaddi, who grinned back before focusing on Frankie. ‘It was a long shot, but I had to do something. When Lizzie came home from the hospital and told me the radiotherapy had failed, I felt so helpless. I guess setting up the page was my way of coping. The fact that we’ve made it here, is just as Lizzie said … overwhelming.’

  ‘I remember going to Thailand some years ago,’ Tim began, ‘and getting a visa was a nightmare. With the speed at which this has all happened, have you found that side of things a problem?’

  Jaddi laughed. ‘Thankfully, that’s not been a problem, Tim. Samantha is the most organised person I’ve ever met in my life. She even colour codes her socks. She and Caroline have made sure we have all the visas and vaccinations we need.

  Samantha’s cheeks glowed red, but she managed to smile. ‘Well, I have to be organised living with these two.’

  Samantha’s comment sent a spattering of laughter across the studio.

  ‘Caroline has upgraded our phones so we can access the internet anywhere we have signal,’ Jaddi said, turning her head a fraction and staring into the camera. ‘So feel free to post messages on our Facebook page and tweet us.’

  ‘So, girls,’ Tim said, ‘can you tell us and the audience at home a little about yourselves? I gather from the website that you’ve been good friends for a while?’

  Lizzie looked at Jaddi, then Samantha. ‘We’ve been best friends since university.’ She smiled. ‘Our halls of residence preference forms got lost and we ended up getting put together in a student house.’

  For the smallest of moments, the urgency and the fear lifted as Lizzie thought about that first afternoon when they’d dragged their boxes and suitcases into the kitchen and met for the first time, Jaddi, hands on hips, insisting a trip to the nearest pub, and Samantha, picking at her fingers, suggesting they unpack first.

  ‘We moved to London together after university and still live together now,’ Jaddi added. ‘Samantha works in the Home Office, writing policy documents or something else extremely important that I don’t understand. She’s the brains behind us. I work in public relations for a confectionary company.’

  ‘So we have a lot of chocolate kicking about,’ Samantha chipped in.

  Jaddi grinned. ‘It never lasts long though, does it? And Lizzie, she …’ Jaddi faltered. The smile remained on her face, but the glow behind it had gone.

  Another ripple, Lizzie thought with a pang in her chest. She slipped her hand inside Jaddi’s. ‘I was working as an office administrator up until last summer,’ Lizzie said, ‘whilst I figured out what it was that I wanted to do. I’d just started teacher training when I got ill again.’

  Tim nodded. ‘Can you tell us about your tumour, Lizzie? I must admit I wasn’t expecting you to look so well.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Caroline’s words echoed around her head. Speak slowly, be clear, no medical jargon. ‘My tumour is called a benign low-grade meningioma, which doesn’t mean much, except that it’s slow-growing and it’s not cancerous. Generally speaking, these tumours are relatively easy to treat with either surgery or radiotherapy, or both. I should know as this is my fourth one. But it’s a problem this time because of its position in the brainstem.’ Lizzie paused and touched the nape of her neck. Her fingers brushed the prickles of hair that had started to grow back.

  Should she describe the radiotherapy? How she’d been bolted to a table by a white mesh mask, the claustrophobia so overwhelming that it had stolen the breath from her lungs. How she’d wanted to scream but couldn’t because the mask was fixed so tightly to her face that she couldn’t open her mouth. Did people want to hear that? She guessed not.

  ‘The brainstem is the part of my brain which controls my breathing and tells my heart to beat. Any surgery to remove the tumour would destroy the brainstem. Some
thing the tumour will do itself in a few months.’

  Frankie touched her ear. ‘My producer is telling me that we’re almost out of time. So I just have one more question for you, Lizzie. As you mentioned, your story has reached many of the national newspapers. How does it feel to be considered a role model to others suffering with terminal illness?’

  Role model? Lizzie pulled in a sharp intake of air and tried not to wince from the explosion of pain in her head. The only answer teetering on the tip of her tongue was the truth. ‘I’m not a role model. The truth is that I …’ Her eyes felt drawn to the camera. She stared into the screen and imagined the people sat on their sofas watching her, her parents and Aaron included. ‘I feel lucky,’ she stammered.

  Frankie smiled. ‘It’s clear this must be very difficult for you to talk about, Lizzie, but I don’t think any of our viewers would use the word lucky to describe your situation.’

  ‘Oh, I’m very lucky. This is my fourth brain tumour. The first one, when I was three, was removed by surgery. The second one, when I was nine, was shrunk down to the size of a speck of dust. The third, when I was sixteen was also removed. Most of my life has been about having treatments and operations, and scans. Lots and lots of brain scans. But now … now I’ve been given the opportunity to live.

  ‘There will be people out there right now, walking down the street, thinking they’ve got years ahead of them. When bam, a bus hits them, and it’s over. I’ve been given a chance to live my dreams. I’ll always be grateful for that, and for all of the people who’ve helped me get here.’

  ‘Well, you might not see yourself as a role model, Lizzie, but you’re certainly an inspiration. Good luck on your adventures,’ Frankie said, before turning to face the camera. ‘The first episode of Lizzie’s documentary – The Girl with Three Months to Live – will be right here on Channel 6 at nine o’clock this Saturday evening.’