Page 124 of A Collision of Stars

‘Four million.’ Those sleepless nights on Googleweren’t for nothing.

‘Of course you researched it. I get this one-in-four-million type of cancer, and then I fuckingdie,like, fully out, gone, took a trip to the pearly gates, was promptly denied entry, et cetera. And somehow I’m still here? I don’t think many people could say they have that kind of luck.’

When I was younger, I always believed I was lucky to be part of our family. To get on with both parents, to have a best friend for a brother, to have our weird nicknames and stupid traditions and ridiculous inside jokes. Then, when everything happened and we got Max back, I was sure of it. But it always felt like an abstract kind of luck. Hearing Max lay it out like this so quantitatively sends me spiralling in a good way, up and out towards the stars.

‘You’re lucky,’ I concede. ‘And I’m lucky by default to know you.’

‘You and everyone else in my life, Colin,’ he drawls. Whenever he says things like this, I’m reminded that if I didn’t know him beneath the bravado, I’d almost definitely find him insufferable.

He yawns and it’s enough to make me check the time and ask, ‘Lucky enough to make it to Waterloo in time for your train?’

I show him my screen and he shoves an entire doughnut in his mouth with a garbled, ‘Shit,’ and we scramble to grab all our stuff.

‘Why,’ I gasp, promptly approaching oxygen deprivation as we speed-walk to the Tube, ‘did our parents not instil in us the importance of punctuality?’

‘I have no idea,’ he replies easily, stupidly long legs taking him further than mine without even trying. ‘Keep up, you gnome.’

We make it to Waterloo just as the conductor blows the whistle to announce the train doors are closing, and we yell hurried goodbyes as Max darts through thebarriers. Someone’s bag is caught in a door further up the train, so all the doors reopen for five seconds. In that tiny pocket of time, he manages to step on. Maybe he really is the luckiest person on the planet.

I settle on the sofa next to Josie, grabbing the other end of her blanket to drape across my knees, the pair of us refusing to admit defeat and turn the heating on even though we wake up to condensation on the windows every morning by now. We’ve leftTwilightplaying on the TV in the same way some people listen to classical music while they relax.

She peels back the lid of the tub of olives I picked up on my way home and pops one in her mouth, doing a little happy wiggle of her shoulders. ‘How was today’s session?’

‘Easier than last week, but I’m still getting used to,’ I wave a hand around my head, ‘diving deep. I need to practise.’

Every Wednesday evening, I make my way to a plant-filled office on Clapham High Street to talk to a woman called Anita, who sits and listens and has the vaguely uncanny ability to get me to talk without saying a word herself.

And every Wednesday night I come home feeling like my brain’s been scooped out of my skull with a spoon. But by the next day, I always feel a little lighter.

‘Not to be soppy,’ she clears her throat, ‘but I’m proud of you.’

It took me longer than it should’ve to bite the bullet. I spent so many years telling myself that nothing in my mind was as bad as it is for some people, that even putting myself on the NHS waiting list would be taking up space from someone like Max. But after talking to him, I knew what had to be done. I have a duty to myself to listen to my brain and unearth what it’s trying to tamp down.

‘Thanks.’ It takes everything not to squirm under it, but still I add, ‘And thankyou for the recommendation. Even though she’s expensive.’

The answer was right in front of me, so obvious I felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. I’d been saving money all this time paying hardly any rent, building savings with no clear goal. I had all this stagnant money to use, and figured it was time to invest in myself with a private therapist. I’m a long way from where I want to be, but I’m on my way. I’m better than I was.

Maybe when my mind’s more settled I can start using my savings for fun things. I could join Max on one of his trips, or visit Josie on tour. Or I could go to San Francisco. As much as I want to move forward, I miss Finn. It’d be impossible not to.

‘Oh!’ Josie jolts me out of my daydream, setting her pot on the coffee table and swapping it for her tea. ‘Invites have been sent out for the exhibition opening, so check your email, you should have a ticket. Clear your calendar.’

‘I can’t wait.’ She’s been working on this for so long, and excitement hums through me thinking about what her team has put so many hours into. ‘Don’t think there’s much danger of me having clashing plans, though.’

My social life has dwindled after my hectic, vibrant summer, save for the occasional drink with Josie or Dylan at the pub. But it’s been good to spend some time working on myself. I’ve been alone before, but never spent the time really putting any effort into making myself better.

‘You need to make the most of having normal human working hours. Now you’ve got your shiny new job and don’t have to wake up before some people have even gone to sleep.’

It was strange; the minute I decided it was okay to give myself a try, change came flooding in, as if it had been piling up against the door, just waiting for me to open up.

Not long after Max’s treatment ended, or, alternatively, not long after he called me out on being a little bitch, one day I went into work and Nadia from head officewas sitting with Carl. She pulled me aside and informed me she was looking for an assistant. She’d gauged from our earlier conversations that dealing with customers was not my favourite thing to do, and had remembered how I was always on top of stock and payments and doing things for the shop outside of my jurisdiction. I’d never really thought about it before, but I guess I was more efficient and organised than I’d realised. (Despite the blatant KitKat theft, which I so far have kept to myself.)

And so, I’ve spent the last month as her assistant, which has mostly consisted of setting up meetings, planning training sessions for new employees, and joining her on site visits at other branches. It’s not customer-facing, I get to wear my own clothes, and my new boss is possibly more deadpan than me, so it’s working for now. Sometimes, the fear creeps in, fear I’ll never be truly fulfilled. But I’m not shackled to the monotony of the shop’s routine. Leaving was at least a step in the right direction. I took the step. I’ve been taking lots of these steps, recently. That has to count for something.

Josie’s holding her mug with one hand, scrolling her phone with another, when she asks, ‘Do you want a plus-one?’

As soon as his scans came back clear, Max jumped back into his normal life with that aggressive intensity of his, and he’s away in Germany at the moment. I briefly consider asking Dylan, but ultimately I say, ‘Nope. Just me.’

She drops her phone in her lap and tilts her head to consider me. ‘You should talk to him. Don’t you think it’s been long enough?’

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