Page 111 of The Edge of Always

Chapter Twenty-Eight

NOW

The Rubicon: Oil on canvas. Believed to be close to Spencer’s final work, this is his most pared-back piece, evoking silence and stillness. Yet the colour of the door is still rich and varied, with elements of texture. There’s a sense of calm here and acceptance. c. 2008

All I remember are the blue lights – the rapid French, the whirling of the helicopter and the lurch as it left the ground. When I come to, fully, in a bright white side room, there are three things that I know to be true.

I’m alone.

I’m home.

The end will be here, and soon.

I don’t press any button to let them know I’m awake. My limbs are heavy, but I’m surprisingly alert, like my brain knows that our time is almost up, and it’s decided to really take in every sound, every colour, every speck of dust that the sunlight captures. Perhaps this is what Earl meant, all those years ago, when he said that before we die, he imagined that we experienced an explosion of technicolour. I’m seeing the world in high definition at last.

I sit. Feeling the steady beat of my heart. Letting the weight of Emmett’s absence settle over me. He lied to me about the painting. I was lying to him too, of course, just like I did all those years ago. The sex. I don’t suppose any of it matters now. He must know how unwell I am. There are no secrets. Not anymore.

There’s a print on the wall. A David Hockney. Beneath it there’s a quote:

The world is very, very beautiful, if you look at it.

The door opens, and I turn my head as Dr Dave comes in, smiling.

‘Ah, Luna, you’re awake,’ he says as Emmett follows him into the room and my poor, battered heart squeezes, just for a second.

‘Where’s Mae?’ I ask, eyes darting between the pair of them.

‘She’s in the waiting room. I’ll tell her you’ve come round in a moment.’ Dave sits on the edge of the bed. He’s about to tell me I’m going to die, I know it. And Emmett will hear it too and oh…

‘It’s okay, Luna,’ Emmett says. ‘It’s okay.’

What’s okay? Our fight, the fact that I’m about to die? None of that is okay.

‘Emmett tells me that you had a bit of a funny turn in Paris,’ Dave says, looking down at some notes.

I clear my throat. ‘Yes, I, er, I fainted. I hadn’t felt well for a few days.’

I look away guiltily from Emmett, where he stands by the door.

‘And you’d been taking your meds?’

‘Yes, but not always at the right time. I was too caught up in Paris, you see.’

‘Paris does tend to have that effect on people.’ Surely, Dave isn’t going to round off this conversation with, ‘And by the way, you have two days left to live,’ is he? That would be odd, even for his cheery disposition.

‘You had an infection – we’re giving you antibiotics. We’ll keep you in for a couple of days of observation but with rest and fluids, you should be able to go home early next week.’

‘Home,’ I respond dumbly.

‘Yes, home. I presume you don’t want to live at the hospital.’

‘No, definitely not. Thank you, Dr Dave. I thought you were going to tell me that… you know…’

He smiles. ‘No. Though obviously, the situation remains serious.’

I look guiltily over at Emmett as he manages a faint smile.

‘But you’re not going anywhere quite yet. A heart might well become available.’