Page 74 of While I’m Still Here

He laughs and tries to hand the notebook back, but I don't take it.

“Seven years you were supposedly pining for me, and apparently you were shagging your way through interesting architecture. Was it the Eiffel Tower? The Tower of Pisa?” I gasp. “If it was Big Ben, we’re breaking up.”

“Those things aren't mutually exclusive.”

I stare at him, but Colin's laughter gets worse. “You're a slut.”

“Thank you.”

Eventually, I reclaim the notebook and look at the rest of the list. “It's not really about having sex somewhere interesting.”

“Shame.”

“I mean it. Look at this.” I point towards the red dress, the tattoo, the weekend with Mum. “I've been waiting for a better version of myself to live my own life. I'll wear the dress when I'm thinner. I'll travel when I've got more money. I'll say what I actually think when I'm more confident. I'll do the stupid thing when I'm brave enough. There's always some imaginary future Bea who apparently gets everything I want because present Bea is too busy being sensible.”

Colin's expression softens, and he takes the pen from my hand. Without asking, he draws a line through the heading and writes another beneath it.

THINGS I WANT TO DO.

I look at him. “That's disgustingly emotionally healthy.”

“I have my moments.”

“You've ruined my theme.”

“Your theme was bullshit.”

“My theme was later.”

“Exactly.” He gives me the pen back, but I keep looking at the new heading. Colin nudges his knee against mine. “You don't need cancer's permission to want any of this, Bea. And you don't have to turn the next year into some frantic bucket list either. Wear the dress because you like the dress. Get the tattoo because you've wanted it for three years. Take your mum away because you love her. None of it needs to become meaningful just because you have cancer.”

“And the sex?”

His mouth curves. “Have it because you want it.”

Something about the ease of that answer makes me look at him more closely. “What if something I want makes you jealous?”

We've discussed this before, when other people were hypothetical shapes in the distance. Now I think of Danny without meaning to, and the question suddenly has a face. “Then I'll be jealous,” Colin says.

“And?”

“And I'll tell you.”

“You wouldn't try to stop me?”

“I'm your boyfriend, Bea, not your parole officer.” He leans his head back against the cupboard. “I told you before, loving you doesn't mean I get to decide what you do. It also doesn't mean I'm going to become some enlightened monk who never feels threatened or jealous. If something hurts, I'll tell you it hurts. Then we work out what to do with it.”

I stare down at the list. “And if I want two contradictory things?”

“Then presumably we'll have a more complicated conversation.”

I smile slightly. “Annoyingly reasonable.”

“Give me time.”

I lean across and kiss him because there are certain moments when Colin becomes so decent that words feel inadequate. His hand settles against my jaw, the kiss lingering until my notebook begins sliding from my lap and I have to catch it. When we separate, he glances down at the final entry. “Still think we should prioritise that one.”

“Of course you do.”