Page 32 of Before You Say Goodbye

“She always does,” Autumn said.

Bowie opened his eyes at the sound of her voice.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hello.” She gestured for him to move over so she could sit beside him. He settled his head on her lap. She stroked his hair back from his face, working really hard to keep concern from creeping across her expression. He looked pale. Autumn could barely believe there had ever been a time when she’d not known that Bowie was ill. He had hidden it well early on, but he wasn’t so good at it anymore. Bowie was in almost constant pain. He’d confided in her that he strongly suspected his lymphoma had spread to his bones. He had chronic pain in his back, pelvis and legs, but he was most worried about headaches he’d been experiencing and an infrequent pain in his skull. Bowie’s biggest fear was skull metastasis. He was afraid of the confusion, seizures and personality changes that sometimes came with it. He was scared of the impact it might have on his sight and the feeling in his face and what that might mean for his quality of life. He didn’t want to tell his family of his concerns because he knew they were already terrified, but he found it very difficult to hide it when he was worried, so instead he’d become visibly withdrawn, curling up on the sofa under a blanket and pretending to be asleep. But these were the good days, he’d say. She would soon see the bad, he promised, because they never stayed away for long.

She knew he didn’t like to talk about it if he could help it, so Autumn had been doing her own research about lymphoma, often on her phone while he was sleeping beside her, as well as asking his family for more information about his personaljourney whenever she could. When he’d first revealed his diagnosis to her, he’d told her many people lived to normal life expectancy with low-grade non-Hodgkins lymphoma, and her Google searching confirmed this. Some people went into remission and never needed treatment ever again. He had been extremely unlucky, and that was why he was so concerned about bone metastasis, which was extremely rare. She learned lymphoma was one of the most common cancer types for teens and people in their early twenties. The first sign of Bowie’s cancer had been a painless swollen lymph node in his neck. The doctors had dismissed his symptoms for months. By the time he’d been diagnosed, the cancer had spread and he’d need a combination of treatments to save his life. Since then, Bowie’s cancer had returned a further three times. Since some treatments couldn’t be recycled because they’d stop working and potentially permanently damage the body, there had been periods when Bowie had been living with the knowledge his cancer was spreading for several months at a time, waiting until he could no longer manage the pain and discomfort to begin a new course of treatment. That, he said, was incredibly difficult to navigate. He worried during those times he was leaving it too late, but he was also gravely concerned about requesting treatment too early, which could mean it didn’t work properly and then it could never be used again. When the cancer had returned the third time when Bowie was in his late twenties, it had presented as a large tumour in his spleen, which is where the scar on his stomach had come from. The last time, he’d suspected it had returned in his abdomen because he’d lost his appetite. He’d been sent for a PET scan, where he’d been injected with a radioactive liquid that was absorbed by the lymphoma and, though he and his oncologist had already prophesied he was very sick, they had both been surprised by just how far the cancer had spread. That had led to the discoverysome of his cancer had transformed into high grade lymphoma, and Bowie’s decision to stop treatment. They could work to prolong his life, but his chance of survival was incredibly slim. He was tired. He didn’t want to do it anymore.

She’d gathered quite a lot of information in dribs and drabs given the Whittles hardly ever talked about it. That being said, everything they did was done with the end of Bowie’s life in mind. Maddie had given up work to spend more time with the family, Pip was studying from home and Marley spent every single moment he could with his twin.

After Autumn had succumbed to his pleas for her to accompany them to England, Marley had hugged Autumn so hard and for so long that she’d wondered if he’d been crying. When he’d eventually pulled away, he’d turned away from her with unnatural speed, before she’d seen any hint of a tear. She’d followed him warily into the lounge and found him perfectly composed and addressing his family.

“Autumn’s coming back to England with us.” He’d poured himself another drink.

Autumn was worried about the family’s reaction, but it soon became clear that Marley’s suggestion was a collective one. There was a sudden and unmistakable sense of relief in the room.

“Bowie isn’t going to like this,” Maddie warned.

“Well, Bowie doesn’t always know what’s best for himself,” Ben said. Bluebell objected.

“He does, it’s just that he’d rather we did whatever is best for everybody else.”

Bluebell hit the nail on the head, Autumn realised. Bowie was selfless. He put the well-being of those he cared for above his own needs, often at his own expense, and she realised it was very likely he wanted to stay in New York only because she did.

Once his anger about Marley’s ambush of Autumn subsided, Bowie conceded that he did long for his family home in Hertfordshire, but he didn’t want her to feel bullied into joining them. Bowie didn’t know all the details of her miserable upbringing in England, but did know about her desperation to get away. She never spoke about her family and he was sensitive enough to know something wasn’t right about her life back home, so never asked her to go with them.

Autumn thought long and hard about what she should do about her apartment in New York. In the end, she decided to continue paying rent, telling herself she could move back there when this was all over. She never let herself dwell on what that would mean for Bowie. The more time she spent with him, the more difficult it became for her to imagine a time when he wouldn’t be there, so her forethought went only as far as keeping her home options open.

A few days before she was due to leave, Autumn returned to her apartment to pack. She visited Walter one last time, promising she’d be back. As sorry as he was to see her leave, he was happy she would be settling down with the nice young man he had given a pen to, despite the tragedy of his situation.

“Will you be coming home after he dies?” he asked, rather bluntly. The question took Autumn’s breath away, but she nodded, unable to speak.

“Good. It’s been nice having someone so lovely living upstairs. Will you call me every week from England while you’re gone?”

Nodding again, Autumn pulled Walter into a hug.

“Don’t worry about your rent, girl. You go focus on that young man of yours. I don’t need money, not really. Now, you listen to me. I want you to know how grateful I am for the kindness you’ve shown me since you got here. I’m going to holdthis place for you, but don’t you rush. Take your time. Don’t protest. Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”

Autumn tried, through tears of appreciation, to give him money to cover the rent on her apartment for the next six months, but he refused her. She clutched it to her heavy heart and assured him she could afford to pay what she owed, but he wouldn’t hear of it. His compassion overwhelmed her and Autumn cried so violently into her cardigan sleeve on her way back to the Whittles’ place that the taxi driver cautiously asked her if she was OK.

“I’m fine,” she said through sobs, knowing she sounded ridiculous. How could someone so hysterically sad be fine?

“Is there anyone waiting inside for you?” he asked, pulling up onto the kerb. Autumn smiled weakly, nodding a yes.

“And they’re people who will understand,” she added with glee. That was the part she was trying hard to remember. She was doing this for her best friend, for the man she was falling in love with, and for their family, who were showing her what real compassion looked like.

“Good for you,” said the driver, with an awkward little nod of his head.

Autumn wailed her way through the lobby, where she ran into Marley and Pip. They were dressed up for a night out.

“Autumn, what the fuck?” Pip pulled her into his arms.

She laughed pathetically, trying to explain as they guided her upstairs to the apartment, listening all the way. She told them how sad she was for Walter and how guilty she felt for leaving him, how mad it made her that she felt relieved this would only be for a few months, and how unfair it was that she could somehow feel so happy and yet so sad all at the same time. Marley carried the bags she had brought with her and Pip never took his arm from around her shoulders. Whatever they had been going out to do, they abandoned their plans for her.Although she felt a little bit ridiculous, Autumn was strangely relieved they had witnessed a dramatic reaction like this from her now. She tended to do this when something upset her, so it wouldn’t be the last time they were privy to it. Better to get it out of the way. Still, she said sorry after almost every sentence, while Pip sat patiently beside her, holding her hand and brushing away her apologies. “Say sorry again, Autumn,” Marley said, handing her a cup of tea and playfully shaking his head. “How dare you be so kind and attached to the old man who lives next door. The audacity! Disgusting behaviour.”

She laughed at his teasing, feeling, for the first time in her life, proud of her sensitivity and pleased someone had interpreted it as kind.

“You’re just like Bowie, you know,” Pip said. “He does this, too. Feels guilty about things that aren’t his responsibility to sort out.”

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