Consequences

I wish I wasn’t dying.

It’s always funny to see people’s reactions when I say I’m dying. The look of ‘Oh shit! Do I say sorry? Do I ignore it? What do I say or do?’

I’ve been doing it on purpose recently. It’s odd though, looking around. Watching people go about their daily lives, stressing about work commitments, picking up the children from school. And what to cook for dinner because of course, it has to be: fat free, gluten free, no added sugars, low carb and Jamie Oliver approved… so – an ice cube! And then there’s me. I should be worrying about every moment in my life, but I’m not. I’m numb to it all. Sure, I should be focused on my son and my husband, handing in my notice at work, my funeral plans, who will do the house work when I’m gone. I don’t want to die. I want to watch my baby grow into a beautiful young man but there’s nothing I can do. Oh! I must remember to tell Tim I want Burn Baby Burn played at my funeral.

On the way to the doctors now. They said they have important news. What could be important now? I’m dying. The only thing important to me now is hoping that there is no such place as hell. Especially with what I’ve been up to recently…

Nearly a month ago since my last appointment and I was told:

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this Mrs Pollitt, but you only have weeks to live. We’ve done everything we can, but the cancer has spread.”

Well, what is a person to do but break down and cry? I remember Tim wrapping his arms around me and kissing my head. Telling me everything was going to be okay. How? How was it possibly going to be okay? I didn’t speak for the rest of the evening. Caelius wanted me to feed him, but I let Tim do it. I feel bad now, but I hadn’t processed things at that point.

The smart thing to do would be to begin writing a will, so not everything goes to the government. So of course, I decided to do three things I was always too scared to do growing up and through my short adult life; who needs a will anyway? I’ll do the boring stuff later. I want to die knowing I have lived my life to the full. No regrets.

I thought about taking up smoking and becoming an alcoholic – may as well go out in style, like the great Erik Satie or Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. But, I still had to look after my Caelius and be a good mother to him while I had the chance.

Then I remembered how at school I had the ‘Rebecca’s Hate List.’ It was basically a book with all the names of the people I didn’t like. I changed the name a little and wrote a death list; this time, it was a list of things I wanted to do before I died that I was too scared to do before. First? Kiss Mr Andrews. Then, finally hit back at the bully that broke my arm and left me with cigarette burns. And lastly, for the big finale, run naked along Blackpool promenade in the pouring rain. All this with no consequences.

‘This dying lark may not be so bad after all!’ I remember thinking to myself.

Two weeks ago, I ticked off my first point on the list…

Mr Andrews. The tall, sexy, rocking music teacher that I fancied from day one. He was perfect. I was a late starter in secondary school; starting in year eight. Music was my very first lesson and I was sheepish as hell, especially not knowing anyone. Mr Andrews was in the corner of the classroom, tuning his guitar – I didn’t think of it then but that finger work was stunning. From that day, I had butterflies every lesson. Thanks to Mr Andrews, I can play around five instruments – all because I loved the private lessons after school where we’d spend hours in one another’s company learning almost every kind of music. Apart from the music of love sadly. We would’ve played finely in tune with one another. We could’ve made sweet music. Ouch, these stretched puns are even making me cringe now.

With him being my teacher, I couldn’t do anything about my undying love – well, crush on him. Now, with the knowledge that in a month or so I’ll be dead, I didn’t see any problem in kissing him.

It’s only a kiss.

Trying to enter the school didn’t occur to me until I got there. Considering its 2016 and with everything that’s happening, it was very easy to get in. I walked straight up the flight of stairs in front of me. The corridors still smelt the same. I kept hoping he was still there. I loved his lessons for more than just the educational side. He really cared what students thought and he listened to us, unlike some others I don’t care to mention. My type of man came from him. Tim even looks like him.

As well as an easy entry, as I passed the students, no one seemed to question who I was. I went to the second floor, first classroom on the right, and entered. It smelt exactly the same too! Neon Neon. Mr Andrews’ aftershave.

He was still teaching there!

Those same butterflies were re-living their past. I was already nervous anyway, but smelling that old familiar smell made it even worse. I sat in his chair by the window and waited.

‘God I want to – oh… he’s coming. He still scuffs his feet along the corridor! Act normal, act normal!’ I told myself, feeling my cheeks illuminate as he walked into the room.

“What the? Rebecca Pollitt! How long has it been?”

Unexpectedly, he was smiling. Not a single question to ask me how or why I was there. He looked exactly the same. Time had been on his side for sure. His hair was still long and black, flicking up at the bottom like a crow’s feather, and those cat-like eyes looked straight into mine.

“Hi sir.”

I could feel my cheeks burning like they did when I was going through the radiotherapy. I can’t really remember what happened after that. The next thing I recall was me pushing him to the wall and forcing my lips to his. Our bodies seemed to fit perfectly. It felt so right being in his arms. He held my waist and kissed me back. He lingered there for a while before I pulled away, got lost in his eyes one last time, then ran away before he could say anything.

I ran to the old corner shop I went to as a teenager. Cherryade and Strawberry Laces, a taste I hadn’t experienced in years. Nothing tasted like it used to. I could still feel Mr Andrews’ lips. How could a man fifteen years older than me be so attractive? I wondered how different my life would’ve been if I would’ve become Mrs Rebecca Andrews.

Then my phone rang. It brought me back down to the real world and I didn’t give Mr Andrews another thought.

“No I have not been mis-sold flaming PPI!” – where do these people even get my number? I wouldn’t mind, but I’ve never actually brought a property. Tim and I rent. Where are we? Damn, still not near the doctors.

Why do people feel the need to get so close to you on the bus? This stupid cow is virtually sitting on my lap - if she wants an affair all she has to do is ask.

Next thing on ‘Rebecca’s Death List’, was to beat up, I mean get revenge, I mean, I didn’t even really know what I meant, just something to get my bully back for all the years she tormented me.

The psycho bitch. The twisted little creep. The vile Dee Chahal.

Even now her name makes my stomach churn. I knew where she lived, not through some obsessive stalking, but because she lived next door to my brother-in-law. He always wondered why I refused to go there for Christmas. Anyway, put it this way, after what I did, I have a pending court date. But it’s in three months.

I waited outside on the bench for her to get home from work. I followed her into the building. I walked up the stairs in front of her so she didn’t see it was me at first. I wanted to savour the look on her face. When she put the key in the door and opened it, I pushed her in and followed behind her, slamming the door shut to make sure we weren’t disturbed. She got up and looked at me, before realising who I was. I couldn’t hold back, that smug grin and those malicious eyes were driving me into a crazed frenzy,

“I heard what happened, are you okay?” She asked, her voice like nails on a chalkboard, but even that is too kind.

The brother-in-law had obviously told her what had happened. My fists clenched as she approached me,

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what you’re going through…” and she put her hand on my arm.

‘She touched me! That’s the last time!’ I remember thinking. I gritted my teeth and I lost control. I grabbed her hair in one handful and yanked on it until she fell to her knees and screamed like a banshee. It didn’t bother me. I yanked harder, forcing her to kiss the floor as she lay helplessly at my feet, before kicking her stomach in and she howled in pain. I kept kicking her head into the floor like I was scrupulously trying to hide the bones of a corpse into the earth. I could hear her bones shattering with every heavy hit.

It was like sweet music to my ears.

There was a knock at her door.

“Dee, is everything okay?” a voice shook. She didn’t respond, she couldn’t with all the blood in her mouth. I’m glad he interrupted in a way, or else, she wouldn’t have been able to reply for a different reason. Oh well. The bitch got what she deserved. Broken ribs, a fractured skull and a burst eardrum. The idiot called the police and within minutes, I could see the flashing lights – sure… now they decided to be quick; Mrs Fromant had to wait half an hour for the police to turn up when her place was being done over by a local druggie. I regret nothing though. And the pending court case, that really is nothing to worry about.

I try not to laugh as I think back.

At last! She’s getting off – I can finally breathe again. Should be there in about ten minutes, traffic permitting. Still don’t see the point.

Anyway, my third and final thing to do – run naked along Blackpool promenade in the rain. It was the middle of October; so, perfect timing. It was notorious for raining in Blackpool at that time of year. I’m blessed in the sense that I don’t feel the cold at all – which is horrible in summer. Tim however, he’s always been the cold one. Poor man. I always push him off in the night because I’m boiling, but he’ll be there shivering in the minus two centigrade - man up Timothy.

Tim and I went to Blackpool, leaving Caelius to stay with his nan (best get him used to it). I’d let Tim in on this part of the list and he offered to do it with me, so we waited until the early hours of the morning.

I was panting with excitement as Tim signalled a passing taxi and we retreated into the passenger’s seats, where he began removing my clothes. He whined like an eager puppy as I did the same. Almost worryingly, the cabby didn’t seem to care – but then again, this is Blackpool. As we arrived at North Shore, Tim tipped the driver and we ran out; stark naked. I almost forgot how much I missed Tim’s body against mine. Since Caelius, we’ve had our priorities… on the contrary, that’s not to say he hasn’t been a wonderful support. Just with having a baby, then finding out I have cancer, the radiotherapy – we just had no time for us. How many partners do you know that would offer to run naked with their other half, in October, in the rain, in a public place? The cold wind hit me hard like needles pricking my skin…I’d never felt so alive! Or so cold.

There weren’t many people around at 2am. Apart from the typical stags and hens that like to hug the pavements until the bin men clear them off at sun rise. After doing what most would consider stupid, but to me was an act of delirious love, Tim held my hand and we casually walked into the nearest 24-hour B&B. He was playing it cool as ever while I burned with humiliation as the adrenaline wore off. But he was unperturbed, as he walked to the front desk. The receptionist couldn't help but look down… between Tim's legs, and he could only stutter. To be fair, so could I as I stared unabashedly. Admiring the little beauty spot on his—

"I need a room for two please. One night, double bed,” he smiled.

"I'm sorry but I've left my wallet and things in the back of a cab. If you want I can call the cab company and see if they have it?"

He spoke politely and I had to bite my lip to stop from giggling, still unconcerned that he had no clothes on. The receptionist was red in the face as he dialled the number and spoke to the company, all the while completely avoiding Tim's gaze. What a waste of a perfect opportunity.

"It seems they do have your belongings sir, they said they can deliver it tomorrow."

"Brilliant! So is it alright if—" But the receptionist handed him a key before he could finish the question. Again, not looking at Tim - shoving the key into his hand like she wanted to get rid of us. I can’t think why.

"Thank you," Tim replied with a cheeky smirk as I stood there astounded. How did he get away with that? People still amaze me...

We ran up the stairs with the lights off. We got half way up before Tim entrapped me in his arms and kissed me sweet. I forgot how much I’d missed him.

"We're going to get through this," he whispered and held me tightly, in his safe and strong embrace. I could only whimper as we arrived at the room, that was the last thing he said before our two glacial bodies melted on impact. He always was an amazing lover, and this time was no different.

I was so used to people treating me differently when they found out that I had cancer. People were suddenly a lot nicer, and sometimes, they would actually distance themselves from me and Tim. He was more loving now. He’d tell me every day that he loved me. But when we made love in Blackpool, it was like nothing had changed. For me, that was the most erotic part. We were just Timothy and Rebecca again.

No cancer. No baby. No worries.

He held my hand tightly and run his fingers through mine. Feeling his breath on my neck somehow made me feel alive. With all the treatment and operations I’d had, I was disgusted with my body.

‘So vile!’ I’d remind myself every morning. But Tim kissed every imperfection.

“Your scars are just another part of you for me to love baby,” Tim whispered.

It was bliss, pure perfection, absolutely – oh! My stop! Looks like rain. Tim was right, I did need my jacket. Hmmm.

Finally at the doctors, I wonder what he wants? I still don’t see the point, but that’s doctors for you - when you want an appointment you can’t get one and a receptionist always thinks she’s a doctor and tells you her opinion even though you didn’t ask for it. But when you don’t really need to go, they’ve got all the time in the world to see you and the receptionist makes you a cup of tea and can’t seem to offer you enough biscuits.

Ah, out of date magazines. Great! I’ll know what happened in the news three months ago. Oops, I’ll pretend this happily newlywed celebrity couple aren’t actually going through a messy divorce at the current time.

“Rebecca Pollitt, room six.”

Ugh. Here goes nothing. Why is everything so overly clean? It would make a 1950s-housewife blush in shame. Why is he offering me a seat? I want to go. I know they don’t normally, but if he talks about funeral plans, I’m gonna— oh! These seats are comfortable.

“Mrs Pollitt. I’m not sure how to tell you this. I, erm, I have another patient, also R Pollitt, and my PA mixed up your scan results. I’m happy to tell you that the radiotherapy has worked and you are currently in remission. There are still chances of the cancer returning and I will go through each stage with you after your next scan, but I am so sorry for the mix up.”

Here I am, in the same chair that I was sitting in when I was told I had cancer, and now I’m being told I’m clear. Yes! Oh wow. I’m not going to die! This is amazing. Caelius will have a mummy growing up, Tim and I can actually live out our lives. I might be able to have another child, or maybe adopt, I can… wait… fuck! I— Dee and the police, the court case and…

I have to face everything.

I have to tell Tim about the kiss with Mr Andrews. Oh God. I can’t. What have I done? I… I don’t know what to do.

I wish I was dying.