Page 63 of Before You Say Goodbye

“You think I can just hold hands with someone in the street? Or kiss them?” he’d asked her one afternoon. “I can pretty muchguarantee that you know at least one person who would feel uncomfortable with me doing that, just because I’m gay.”

They whiled away their days with lots of important conversations, some silly ones, board games, arguments and lots of food. Everybody knew what was really going on, but nobody wanted to talk about it. Bowie did not have long left to live. Though he was in good spirits and his pain had lessened a little, he had never fully recovered from his heart attack — and they knew, deep down, that he never would. Nobody dared to go out any more in case Bowie wasn’t there when they came back.

Despite her deep concern over the Whittles’ denial in the beginning, Autumn found herself no better at accepting the reality than any of the others. While Bowie could be spoiled and grumpy and stubborn, he was also funny and mischievous, clever, caring and compelling. He was smart, creative and talented. He cared unapologetically about the things that really mattered and was curious to learn like no one Autumn had ever known before. He treated every conversation as if it was an adventure and he was, in so many ways, so full of life. To acknowledge that Bowie was dying was to begin to comprehend the hole he would leave behind in Autumn’s heart and she couldn’t bring herself to even try to imagine it. She was completely in love with him and with his sincere attempts to make her happy. He took pride and pleasure in making her laugh and complimented her constantly, sometimes until she blushed beetroot-pink. He still hadn’t told her he loved her again, but he made sure she knew it. It was there, in everything he said and did, every day.

They were a happy little group most of the time, but, every now and then, somebody would become suddenly swept up in the realisation of what they were facing. It was usually Emma. She’d stop and stare at Bowie, her face frozen in an expression of abject terror, or stand up without warning and leave the roomto cry. Sometimes it was Autumn. She once collapsed in tears in the kitchen, because Ben had suggested they take a family trip in the springtime — his favourite season — and she’d seen Bowie crumple inside, his head bowed and his face subdued, as he humbly let them plan for a time when he would no longer exist.

She knew Marley struggled with it, too. In the depths of the night, Autumn would hear him crying in his bedroom above theirs. Sometimes she would text him to come downstairs and they would sit on the porch together, smoking and drinking rum until they fell asleep. They always woke up at first light and went back to bed. They never talked about the time they’d spent together, with each other or to anyone else. In fact, it had been left unsaid for so long now it felt wrong they were even doing it in the first place.

“Pip has always been this way.” Emma’s voice distracted Autumn from her thoughts. They each nodded, lifting their glasses and sipping their wine. Autumn browsed the menu for vegan snacks, her stomach rumbling unhappily. “But he’s still so young,” Emma continued. “He’s had us all to himself until now. You all moved out and weren’t there to experience how challenging he can be at times.”

“He’s been ruined.” Bluebell pointed an accusing finger at Emma.

Emma laughed. “You’ve all been ruined. But Pip had less competition for our attention, so he can be even more bratty than the rest of you. He’s just got some growing up to do, that’s all.”

“I don’t know about that,” Maddie said. “It’s not as if Marley has grown out of it. He’s still so entitled.”

Autumn was about to nod. Maddie was right. Marley could be a real brat. His parents had been subsidising his lifestyle for years so that he could pursue a career in music. Emma and Ben were OK with it, but Autumn knew it made Maddie feeluncomfortable. Until recently, Marley had spent every penny on wild nights out, alcohol and new guitars. By contrast, Maddie was saving the allowance her parents insisted on giving her to buy a house some day.

“Marley is not entitled.” Emma’s voice bounced around the restaurant. Several diners stopped eating to look at them. Autumn had been about to laugh, but managed to stop herself just in time. Emma’s tone had taken her by surprise. She had never heard her defend Marley like that before. She took a gulp of her wine. Nobody spoke for a while and Autumn’s thoughts returned to the plight of her lover’s brother.

They were all growing increasingly concerned about Marley and his mental state. The sicker Bowie became, the more openly Marley would discuss his own suicide. Earlier that week, he and Bluebell had had a blazing row, because she’d heard him ask Maddie how he could kill himself without causing himself any pain or making a mess for his family to find. A few days before that, Autumn had caught him looking up information on his phone about how many painkillers a man of his weight would need to take to end his life. The songs Marley wrote almost always contained references to suicide now. There was no longer any room for doubt or hope — Marley wanted to cease to exist once Bowie had gone.

Autumn didn’t feel able to talk to Maddie about it because she found her attitude to suicide frustrating. Maddie’s belief was that if Marley was of sound mind when he made his decision, he should be allowed to choose for himself. Although Autumn might have agreed with her in principle, she could not force her head to overrule her heart — she wanted Marley to live. She couldn’t talk to Bowie about it. He would just reiterate that he’d be doing the same if their roles were reversed. Emma and Ben would not discuss it with her either, so Autumn found herself chewing over her concerns with Bluebell and Pip whenever theywere alone. Individually, they had all spoken to Marley and they all felt the same way as a result — that nothing could be done to convince him that he would have a life worth living without Bowie by his side. He wasn’t interested in a career anymore, and couldn’t see the point of marriage or children, nor was Marley able to take any pleasure from ideas of travel, art, poetry or even music, if Bowie wasn’t there to share them with him.

Bluebell’s voice brought Autumn’s attention back to the conversation. She was glad to notice that the nosy diners had gone back to focusing on their food.

“We could all have done with a bit of a kick up the backside, to be honest, Mum,” Bluebell said ruefully. Autumn was impressed by her friend’s honesty. Emma laughed lightly and the atmosphere lifted a little.

“I can’t bloody win, can I?” she asked incredulously. “I gave you everything you could ever want and now it’s my fault you’re all spoiled?”

Emma’s five children often talked among themselves about how ridiculously extravagant their lives had been. As Emma had just said, they’d always had everything they could ever want. Their home was perfectly picturesque, with space to run and play, and their bedrooms had been full to the brim with toys, books and clothes. They’d been educated privately and their university tuition fees were paid for by their parents. In essence, they’d never wanted for anything. As adults, they were able to recognise how lucky they’d been growing up. Autumn knew Bowie was sometimes ashamed of their absurdly good fortune.

“I’ll never be sure how many of my achievements have been due to my own tenacity and how much of it is down to the luck I’ve had being born into such a wonderful family. I’m straight, I’m white, I’m a man. I’m not ashamed to admit that life has been easier for me than it has been for every other demographic.”

Autumn winced at his words. She could cut in here and tell them exactly what it was like to be born on an estate that chewed up its children and spat them out, but that would mean revealing a part of herself to them she knew they would be fascinated by. She was quite sure she was a long way from being ready to address the questions she knew would follow her admission.

“You, of all people, don’t get to say life has been easy,” Emma said. “Not given your situation.”

“Easier,” Bowie corrected her. “Yes, I do. Because if I wasn’t born this way, I’d have been dead long ago.”

He argued, persuasively, that white men were taken more seriously than any other group when seeking a diagnosis for symptoms like those he had experienced, a view that Maddie corroborated.

Bluebell nodded, mischief in her eyes. “Whilst we’re putting the world to rights, this house is far too big. Our homes are all over the world now. You two could make do with a townhouse with one bedroom and give this space to people who need it more.”

Ben and Emma laughed, shaking their heads and accusing their children of having no idea just how hard they’d worked to be able to buy them all the things they had, or what it was really like to have no space.

“Where would you all sleep on Christmas Eve? On the living room floor?” Emma asked them.

“You’re hoarding space so that we have somewhere to sleep on Christmas Eve?” Marley laughed.

“No. We’re hoarding space because we paid for it,” Emma said, moving her shoe token three spaces around the board and then to the ‘jail’ square as instructed. Bowie handed her the money she needed for freedom from his own pile of cash, which Autumn knew was against the rules. There was no point inmentioning it ? they made up their own rules most of the time. Still, she glared at him.

“She’s my mother.” He shrugged.

Playing with them was so frustrating.

“I’m fine with sleeping on a floor,” Maddie said.

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