Page 92 of The Forever Gift

‘Oh my God, you stink,’ Aiden says, holding his nose as he tries not to laugh.

‘Do I?’ I ask genuinely.

Aiden nods.

‘Sorry. I forgot you were coming,’ I say, lifting my shaky arm over my head to try to sneak a cheeky sniff.It’s not that bad,I decide.

‘Today is Tuesday,’ Aiden says, much more horrified that I wasn’t expecting him than by the fact that I just measured my body hygiene by inhaling a whiff of my underarm.

Aiden comes to visit every Tuesday without fail. And not just because he has double Irish on a Tuesday morning and I know he’d trade his signed Messi jersey to get out of class, but because it’s become our routine. Mam doesn’t even ask if he has his mother’s permission to be here anymore. I think both our mothers came to a realisation a few weeks into my treatment that there wasn’t any punishment they could threaten, or inflict, that would stop him from cutting class and catching the 9.15 a.m. train to Dublin to come visit me every single week.

‘Where is everyone?’ Aiden asks.

‘Mam has a meeting with the doctor. And the nurses are floating about. They come in and out all day. I’m never on my own for very long.’

‘Is your mam still baking for the hospital?’ Aiden asks, and I think he’s hoping for a brownie or muffin later.

‘She hasn’t had time to bake anything for a few days,’ I say, hoping he won’t ask why. ‘I think she’s getting worried they’ll let her go.’

‘Oh God.’ Aiden becomes serious. ‘They won’t will they?’

‘I hope not.’ I shrug, and a sharp pain instantly shoots out my shoulder. ‘It’s not about the money, you know. I don’t think they even pay her that well.’

‘They should,’ Aiden says. ‘Your mam’s muffins are the best.’

‘Thanks.’ I smile, realising that I can’t remember the last time I ate one. Mam brings them in to me all the time, but it’s an effort just to nibble the corner and I wait until she goes to the loo or something, wrap the giant muffin in a tissue and throw it in the bin so I don’t hurt her feelings.

‘You okay?’ Aiden asks. ‘You don’t seem yourself today. Do you need a break from your mam? Must be pretty intense just the two of you here all the time.’

‘Nooo,’ I say, trying not to take offence. I know Aiden doesn’t understand how close Mam and I are. Most teenagers my age hate their mothers, or at least they pretend to, but it’s always just been Mam and me. I could spend all the time in the world with her.

‘What then?’ Aiden asks. ‘Is it really worries about your mam’s job or is there more going on? Do you want to talk?’

‘I am a little worried about her losing the job. It’s been so good for her. Mam needs the head space. Baking is a perfect distraction. She’s getting mad stressed over all this medical stuff.’

‘Understandable.’ Aiden nods, making his trying-to-look-wise face, which I know doubles up as his I-don’t-know-what-to-say face. ‘Your mam worries when you go out in the rain without a coat, I can’t even imagine how much all this must be stressing her out.’

‘She’s extra stressed since…’ I take a deep breath, not sure if I’m ready for the next words, but I really, really need someone to talk to. The kids in the games room are great and they reallygetcancer. I’m just not sure theygetme. We’ve become cancer friends, but right now I need an old friend. I need Aiden.

‘Since…?’ Aiden asks, his eyes narrow with concern.

I shake my head. If I can’t find the right words to tell my best friend that I’m getting sicker and I don’t want any more treatment, how the hell am I supposed to tell my mother? Mam’s face lit up yesterday when she was taking about experiments or whatever it is, but I can’t try it. I really, really can’t. When Mam said, ‘No more chemo’ a few weeks back, I nearly burst with excitement. I was ecstatic even though deep down I knew it wasn’t that simple. I knew chemo couldn’t just stop and everything would go back to normal. Normal is long gone. But I was still so happy just to hear the word ‘stop’. I want itallto stop!

‘Kayla since what?’ I hear Aiden say and I realise my eyes are closed and I’ve drifted into that relaxing state somewhere between awake and asleep that has become my favourite place. The pain never feels quite so intense when I’m in that place.

I open my eyes and the words tumble from my lips. ‘Since I’m dying.’

Aiden doesn’t back away or shake his head the way my mam and dad do when the doctors break more bad news to them that basically spells out the inevitable. Instead Aiden nods and says, ‘What can I do?’

‘Aren’t you going to freak out?’ I ask.

‘Would it help if I did?’

‘No,’ I say, ‘not really.’

‘Right then, tell me what you need me to do. Because let’s face it, Kayla, there’s no way that head of yours isn’t formulating some sort of a plan, is there?’

I smile. I’m so glad this isn’t going to be a battle of acceptance for him the way I know it will be with Mam. ‘Help me with something very, very awesome,’ I say. ‘Please?’

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