The softness of her voice makes my stomach clench. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be treated like I’m breakable.
“Hi.” I try to keep my voice even. “I know your parents told you. You don’t need to treat me like I’m made of glass.”
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I just don’t know how to be. What do you want me to be?”
I shut my eyes. “Like nothing’s changed.” It’s a lie, but I need it. “I can’t think about this yet. Can you come over? Can we just have a normal night? Watch a film?”
“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “We can do anything.”
Four hours later, we’ve just finishedThe Fellowship of the Ringfor probably the tenth time in our friendship, and I realise how fucking lucky I am to have Kath. She’s curled up on the sofa next to me, feet stretched over my lap with a bowl of popcorn set between us. Her hair is piled up in a messy bun and she’s wearing her favourite blue sweatshirt. She smells of her shampoo, of her mum’s favourite laundry detergent. Of Kath.
“I’ve booked three driving lessons,” she says casually as we load up the next film.
I blink. “Why?”
She grabs a few cushions, adjusting them on the sofa before plopping down beside me. “So I can take you to and from practice.”
I just stare.
She doesn’t meet my eyes, fiddling with the blanket instead. “Don’t look at me like that,” she scolds. “I needed to do it anyway. And you can’t get your licence until the end of summer. Also, when are you going to find time for lessons when you’re already juggling school and training?”
My throat feels tight.Don’t cry.
I swallow hard. “Thanks.” I squeeze her hand. “And thanks for coming over.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, squeezing back like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anyway, ready to watch Legolas be amazing again?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re obsessed.”
She smirks. “No more than you.”
And for the first time all day, something feels normal. At least one thing hasn’t changed.
Chapter 12
Seventeen years old
Sam
Icheer as Kath finishes her backstroke event in second place. She makes her way around the side of the pool back to the bench, sitting down next to me before waving at her dad who’s sitting next to my parents in the stands. I love school galas, being at the pool with all my friends, my parents able to attend easily rather than having to drive to some random pool in another city just to watch me swim a few lengths.
“You got this, Champ,” Kath says as I stand to stretch.
“Thanks.” I hand her my water bottle, rolling out my shoulders.
She grins. “You better be taking this as seriously as the Olympics. School pride is at stake. Plus, we all need to hear another one of Mr Rudd’s assembly speeches about how you broke all the school records… again.”
I smirk. “I would never be anything less than one hundred per cent focussed in a race… even in the school pool.”
“That’s the spirit.” She claps me on the back as I make my way to the blocks.
I’m just glad people are treating me normally again. The first week was awful. Everyone acted like I was the one who was sick. Like I was fragile.I hated it.
I head around the side of the pool, trying desperately not to think about all the ways my life has shifted. Kath passed her driving test two months after my mum’s diagnosis. I’ve never seen her so determined about anything—and that’s saying a lot. I studied for GCSEs with her, and I’m pretty sure she produced enough flashcards to qualify as a small stationery shop. But it was nothing compared to the driving theory notes and the number of times she dragged her mum out for practice drives between hospital shifts.
I keep telling her how grateful I am, but she just shrugs it off like it’s nothing. It’s not nothing though. It’s made life immeasurably easier. It means Dad can take Mum to her increasingly frequent doctor’s appointments. It means Mum can rest instead of driving me places. And she does a lot of resting, far more than I expected. I know she’s in pain, even if she never says it. I miss driving to practice with her though. When she would grill me about my life in a space where she knew I couldn’t run away. We would talk about everything, my nerves about a science test, the book she’d picked up for me from the library, how I was feeling about training. Now we just have scattered moments of that at home.
I still can’t imagine her being gone. Not having someone to talk to about everything. I shake my head and try to focus on the race I’m about to start.
