Page 35 of Before You Say Goodbye

“Obviously.”

“Two hours then,” he said. She laughed and he smiled.

The movie was rubbish, but it had never really been about seeing a great film. Autumn leaned as far across her seat as she could, resting her head on his shoulder and wedging the armrest so painfully between her ribcage and armpit she knew that she’d be left with a bruise. She didn’t care. Bowie fed her a mixture of sweets and popcorn, and they sat happily together in the semi-darkness for two hours, just like a normal couple would. It was almost as though one of them was not dying. Autumn managed not to think about it. She thought about her work, her parents, his parents, about how his hand felt in hers, how long and slender his fingers were, everything except how crap the movie was and how soon days like this would be impossible.

As they left, Bowie rubbed his hands together.

“Pizza, then?” he said.

“I thought you were making that up so Emma would let you come,” Autumn said.

“I was. But now I want pizza.”

She clutched her stomach, full to the brim with sugar and popcorn.

“I can’t eat another thing, Bowie—”

“You promised me pizza!” He pouted, folding his arms petulantly across his chest. Autumn laughed, her stomach fluttering at the sight of him. She could hardly believe if she’d come across Bowie for the first time in any other situation than the circumstances in which they’d met, she’d have almost certainly looked straight through him. Now that she knew him, his wide blue eyes and floppy blonde hair made her heart melt. She loved his height and his trademark awkwardness and his ridiculously large feet. She relished the fact his nose was too big for his face. She liked his lips, the little freckle on his cheek, and even how pasty his skin was. Occasionally, Autumn thought back to the other men she’d slept with and those she hadn’t deemed attractive enough to even consider. How many of them could she have learned to love in the way she loved Bowie if she’d only gotten to know them? Maybe none of them. The storyteller inside her liked to believe what she had with Bowie was special, although she also knew that that was probably naive.

When Bowie’s pizza came, Autumn found she couldn’t help herself. Eating was becoming ever easier for her now that she was happy. Being around Bowie and his family was doing her good, she knew. Autumn felt strange admitting that to herself, she was here because Bowie was ill, after all. But it was true. The simplicity of their family life calmed her nerves and helped her focus on small joys in a way she never had before. Glimmers, Bluebell called them. Little things that made her smile or gave her peace. The more she did that, the less she felt she needed to control things, including what she ate. She took her timechewing her way through a slice. Bowie ploughed through the rest like a lion on a carcass. It was good to see him enjoying his food.

“Are you ever going to tell me about your family?” he asked her, with no warning. Autumn looked down at the table, shaking her head. “Why not?”

She knew he wasn’t trying to make her feel as though she was obliged to talk, but his request still made her bristle. Bowie’s family were completely in love with each other. She wasn’t quite sure he knew how rare that was. Like most people, he was a reflection of his parents: he was liberal and open-minded, non-violent and loving. For him to even begin to understand her family, Autumn would need to reveal a side of herself she wasn’t very proud of. She would never take any man she met to her hometown. She didn’t want to talk about her parents and sibling at all. She was ashamed of who they were and of who she had been, and had worked hard over the years to erase the girl she had been in her past.

“I don’t want to,” she said. She knew this would be explanation enough. Bowie would never force her to talk about anything she was uncomfortable discussing.

“Will you be going to visit them?” he asked. She wished he would leave it alone.

“No.” She shook her head.

“Do they even know that you’re home?”

“No.”

Nodding and eyeing her cautiously, he threw her a dopey smile. She forgave him his curiosity and he changed the subject.

* * *

There wasn’t much else to do in a provincial town on a Wednesday night, but Bowie and Autumn were not ready to go home to everyone else. They wished they’d gone to Londonstraight from the cinema, but Bowie was too tired now for a big night out. In the end they found a bar nearby. Autumn bought a bottle of wine and a packet of cigarettes, and they sat outside beside a fire pit.

“This is all Marley’s fault.” Bowie watched her light up.

“No, it isn’t.” She shook her head, making sure to blow her smoke away from him. “I’ve always smoked socially.”

“I’d say that what you two are doing at the moment is more than social smoking,” he said. He was right, she conceded. She and Marley had smoked their way through hundreds of cigarettes since that night on the balcony. She hardly thought about smoking when he wasn’t there, but when he offered her one she was powerless to resist. Hewasa bad influence, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Bowie. He, understandably, wanted them both to quit.

“I’ll stop soon,” she said.

“Life is too fragile, too short, to mess about with this shit,” he said, pointedly tapping the packet.

Autumn flicked her cigarette snippily. “He says, though he’s no longer accepting treatment that could extend his life.”

“Please don’t,” he warned her. His voice was soft, but his expression was stern. Autumn sighed. She’d never once yet suggested he deviate from his chosen course of action, but the more she got to know him the harder she found it to accept he no longer wanted to fight.

He swallowed hard. “Maddie is the best person to speak to about this. She’s a great believer in letting people do what they want. We had a whole conversation once about suicide and she basically believes that if someone really wants to kill themselves, they should be allowed to.”

Autumn raised her eyebrows.

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