The First Last Kiss (52 page)

The rest of the boys freeze in mid-disrobing of their jackets. Ryan just won’t deal well with this weird, subdued atmosphere. I’m going to have to warn him. Or knock some sense into them before they go in.

‘I’m sorry boys, but you really need to try and be upbeat. I know it’s hard, but Ryan won’t let you be miserable around him. Just tell him all your news, treat him like you always would and don’t freak out if he makes bad jokes, it’s just his way of coping.’

No one answers for a moment. None of them seems able to look at me. Then Carl looks up.

‘No, it isn’t,’ he says slowly. ‘He just can’t tell good ones. Never could.’ A flicker of a smile flashes across his weary, sunken face. I touch him on the arm. He seems so much smaller than usual; like a child-size version of himself. No more Carl the beefy builder. Now he’s Carl the kid in the wetsuit grinning next to his little brother, but with the added knowledge that one day he’ll have to go to the beach on his own.

‘That’s it, Carl,’ I smile. ‘I knew you could do it. Now, in you go.’ They all look at each other, take a deep breath and sweep in, all chattering at the tops of their voices. I nod and lean against the wall for a moment’s support, and then follow them.

I’m in the kitchen, getting bottles of beer, pouring tortilla chips into bowls and cutting lime wedges. I’m enjoying hearing the banter and laughter from the lounge as they all watch the football together.

I turn around, holding the bowls of tortillas and dips and see Carl standing in the kitchen, he’s crying silently, big fat tears falling down his cheeks and onto his T-shirt. I put the bowls down hurriedly and open my arms, and he sobs into my shoulder. ‘My brother,’ he keeps saying, ‘my baby brother.’ Then he sniffs and wipes his eyes and pulls a packet of Kodak photos out of his back pocket.

‘I just want to say Molly, thank you for doing what you’re doing for him. You’re his world and we all know how hard . . . ’ he pauses as his voice cracks ‘ . . . how hard this is on you.’ He hands me the envelope. ‘Me and the boys, and Mum and Dad, we’ve gone through all our photos and wanted you to have these . . . for your blog. We are all reading it. Mum especially. It’s a beautiful thing, Molly babe, it really is.’

‘Thank you,’ I whisper, and I wipe my hands on a tea towel and open the envelope. Inside are dozens of photos of Ryan and me kissing: on holiday with the Coopers in Portugal, on nights out in Southend, at Carl and Lydia’s wedding, at our wedding, on various birthdays, New Year’s Eves and Christmases. It is all here. Practically our entire relationship in photos. Some of them I’ve never even seen before.

I take Carl in my arms and I let him cry for his little brother, for himself, for his mum and dad and his son, and for me. I pull away to wipe his eyes and a photo drops onto the floor between us.

‘Where did you get this?’ I gasp as I kneel down on the kitchen floor to pick it up. It is Ryan and me, as teenagers, at The Grand. He’s all pouty lips and floppy hair, like a young River Phoenix and I . . . look quite pretty actually. That long slip dress and T-shirt combo was really cute and I’d hidden my terrible self-cut hair by scraping it back into a bun. Funny how ugly I always felt. Now I can almost see what Ryan saw in me. Carl smiles as he looks at it. ‘We were trying to catch his big moment on camera. Shame it didn’t go quite to plan though, he was well embarrassed when he saw his shitty snogging technique caught on camera,’ Carl laughs and sniffs simultaneously, swiping his face with one hand quickly and rubbing his thumb and forefinger under his eyes.

I nod through my tears as I look at the photo. The look of horror on my face as Ryan enthusiastically covers me with his entire mouth and attempts to suck my face.

‘I reckon he practised on his arm for months before he tried that on anyone again. I remember him telling me he was determined to make it up to you one day. Give you a kiss to remember . . . ’

‘Well, he definitely did that,’ I say quietly.

‘Molly!’ Ry’s voice is raspy and I jump, my heart thumping with the panic I feel every time he calls. Or doesn’t call. Carl puts his arm around me and I pick up the chips and dips and walk back into the lounge, where Ryan is surrounded by his mates, empty beer bottles and his favourite sport blaring away on the TV.

‘You OK?’ I smile.

‘I will be when you come over here,’ he says.

I sit on the floor in front of him and he strokes my hair. I tilt my head up and smile.

‘Happy?’ I murmur.

He nods and I take a mental photo of his expression, the way his eyes are lit up, his contented smile. I pick up a tortilla chip and pop it in his mouth and turn round to watch as a striker attempts to shoot a goal.

‘OFFSIDE, Ref! Come on, are you BLIND?!’ I yell at the TV and the entire room shudders into silence. ‘What?’ I gaze around at the awestruck room, who all look like they have been paused, some with bottles of beer halfway to their mouths, Ryan is mid-crunch of his tortilla chip. ‘You think a girl can’t pick up the offside rule after six years with a football-fanatic PE teacher?’

Ryan is in bed and I’m just finishing tidying up after the boys’ afternoon visit turned into a takeaway-curry-and-movie night. Once they’d relaxed I could see they enjoyed being here. And Ryan had loved it.

I put away the last of the dishes and turn off the lights. As I walk towards our bedroom I realize that I can hear him crying. I slip into the room, crawl onto the bed and gather him up in my arms. I stroke my hands down his poor, ailing body, softly and methodically until his breathing slows, and then I lie next to him, my body lightly touching his. And we lie here just crying and cuddling until Ryan whispers that he wants to make love to me. I nod my admission, petrified of hurting him but desperate to feel him one more time. Maybe one last time . . .

It was the worst and best moment since his diagnosis. I hated seeing him so scared and at first we were both like nervous new lovers; there were lots of ‘Is this OK?’, ‘It doesn’t hurt, does it?’ and tentative caresses. I ran my hands over his body, lightly touching every part of him, my fingers stroking his excision scars and the toffee-Revel mole on his chest. It felt like I was reading a Braille version of him. A frail version of him. Afterwards, as we cried ourselves to a kind of climax, we just lay in each other’s arms, our breath melting into each other’s, bodies rising and falling together, hands clasped tightly, feet tangled together like wool. It was maybe an hour before we spoke. And when we did, we talked about
everything
. The moment we first met, how we felt about each other when we were teenagers, our terrible first kiss, Ryan’s proposal, our incredible wedding day, our meeting on the
Bembridge
when I was back from uni, our honeymoon, our first holiday to Ibiza . . .

‘Molly,’ he mumbles, closing his eyes, ‘I think it’s time to go home. I want to go home now.’ Ryan weaves his fingers through mine and sighs as he falls into a slumber.

‘Whatever you say,’ I whisper, squeezing his hand gently.

After he goes to sleep I slip out of bed and into the lounge. Shivering in my stripy pyjamas, despite the warmth of the night, I email my letter to Christie, which I’ve had drafted for weeks, telling her that I won’t be in the office for the foreseeable future and that as of now I’ll be starting my extended leave of absence.

After I send it I notice a new email in my inbox.

It’s from Casey. I look at it for a moment, unsure whether I want to deal with whatever is inside.

I furrow my brow as I read the subject head. It says ‘The Real First Kiss’ and I can see that there is a jpeg attached.

Dear Molly,

I know you don’t want to hear from me but I had to get in contact so I could give you this photograph. I took it on our last night in Ibiza; I followed you and Ryan when you went for your moonlit stroll. I’ve never shown you it before because I was so ashamed of myself. I convinced myself I wasn’t spying, just ‘looking out for you’. And I had my camera with me anyway to take pictures of our last night. I was so jealous Molly . . . but I don’t want this email to be about me and my fuck-ups, I just want you to have this for your blog. It is the kiss you should always remember, your real first kiss. It looked so perfect from where I was standing. I guess that was the problem . . .

I’m so sorry, Molly, not just for what I have done but for what you’re going through now. I hate not seeing you, but I’ll always be here for you. I am here for you, if you ever need me.

C xxx

I read it without blinking, save the photo attachment to my desktop, and then log on to my blog and I start to type.

The Real First Kiss . . . and The Last

I wasn’t going to post a picture today. Not because I have run out of kisses – far from it. But I do feel it is time to stop the relentless PDAs. I’m sure there’s only so many photos of Ry and me slobbering all over each other that you guys can take!

But then, today, I was given the most wonderful selection of pictures of Ry and I from the people that we love. This one in particular meant the most as it is our first real kiss. I thought we were having a private moment, but it turns out someone else witnessed it. She saw the moment my life changed forever – and she desperately wanted hers to as well.

And I don’t blame her, not any more. Life’s too short, right?

This blog has been an incredible support to me during the worst time of my life. You have all become my friends and your kind comments and words of advice have truly made me stronger and able to deal with each day as it came. But now I feel like Ryan and I only have today. There’s no more time to look back. I want to focus all my energy on the here and now. I hope you understand.

Molly x

I close down my computer and then I pick up the phone to Ryan’s parents so I can tell them Ryan’s coming home. We’re coming home.

The Keep On Moving Kiss

I promised Ry no more lists, and myself no more blog (I just don’t have the emotional strength) but Charlie said if writing stuff down was helping, I should continue doing it for myself. And I do find I need to mark these moments with Ry somehow. So my camera is still my constant companion and now, so is my laptop.

FF>> 27/06/07>

Next time they come they are ready for us. I open the front door to a doorway full of grinning boys, looking utterly ridiculous but grinning widely anyway.

‘What d’you reckon, Moll?’ Carl smiles, gesturing at himself and then the guys. They are all wearing dungarees, are topless underneath and have one strap undone and hanging down in true Take That ‘Do What U Like’ video-style (minus the jelly). Gaz is still wearing his pork-pie hat, but the rest are wearing baseball caps facing backwards.

‘What the hell have you come as?’ I snigger.

‘Take
Flat
, your Essex boy-band-style removal service!’

I put my hand over my mouth and call up the stairs. ‘Ry, wait till you see this!’

They bundle through the door and bound up the stairs to where Ryan is. Laughing, I follow them up just as they start doing a choreographed dance in front of him and finish with a flourish by lifting him up on the couch.

I watch him chuckling and feel thankful again for our brilliant friends. I know he’s been in equal parts looking forward to and dreading this day. He’s ready to move – we both are, we haven’t been out of this flat in days, and I know Ryan dreams of lying in a garden, or seeing the sea and being near his family. But he has also been dreading it, not just because we’re saying goodbye to our home, but because he hasn’t been able to do anything to help. In retrospect, we should have done this weeks ago, the drive is going to be hard for him, being up for any length of time is impossible for him now, but at least he’s looking forward to going home. Jackie and Dave are beside themselves; they’ve bought top-of-the-range wheelchairs and stairlifts and all sorts to make him as comfortable as possible. As much as it’s been hard for me looking after him on my own, I think it’s been harder for them not being able to help.

I look around at our flat that is still bursting at the seams with our life, despite me packing what feels like a hundred boxes.

‘So where do you want us to start, boss?’ Alex says, as they lower Ry back down.

I open my mouth to answer them but Ryan interrupts me.

‘Hey, how do you know they weren’t talking to me?’ he protests sulkily. ‘I could totally be the boss.’

Everyone bursts out laughing. ‘Yeah right, Ry, like you’ve
ever
been the boss of her!’ Carl ruffles Ry’s head.

‘I’ve got cancer, you know,’ Ry pouts. ‘You’re all meant to be constantly stroking my ego and telling me I’m brilliant.’

I lean down. ‘You’re handsome and brilliant and you have
always
been the boss of me,’ I say.

‘Oh, do you really mean it, Molly?’ he says with dramatic effusiveness.

‘Nope.’ I wink and I kiss his hands and then clap mine officiously and turn around. ‘Now boys, are you going to get to work or what? We’ve got a move to get underway. Can you start with the boxes in the bedroom please? The ones marked “S” are for storage and the ones marked “J&D” are for Jackie and Dave’s. They need to go in the little van with Ryan and me. There aren’t many but can you make sure the bedding is all laid over the top please? I want us to be able to make up Ry’s bed as soon as we get to their house. And make sure the box in the bathroom marked “Meds” comes with us too. There’s a “J&D” marked on it, too, but it needs to go in the car last so I know where it is. Then can you . . . uh . . . ’

My voice trails off as I realize that my mind has gone blank. I think about the list of things I’ve memorized in my head. Shit, this is no time for my brain to freeze. What was I going to say next? Shit shit shit. I rub my forehead and resist the urge to scream in frustration. Then I feel Ryan squeeze my hand. I turn around and he is holding up a piece of paper in front of me. I look at him quizzically.