Page 67 of One Last Thing
‘Sounds like you’re already very well-read on the subject.’
‘I just need to sit here until it’s over. I don’t need any wisdom.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of giving you any wisdom. I’m not sure I have any to give.’
I press my forehead against my knee. The basket wobbles a little and I emit a small sob, repeating frantically out loud to myself, ‘I can do this, I can do this.’
Mum sits quietly listening to me for a while until she suggests, ‘Perhaps it would be better if we talked about something that might take your mind of it.’
‘I don’t think there’s anything big enough to achieve that.’
‘I might be able to think of something,’ she muses.
‘What?’
‘I wasn’t planning on telling you this, although I suppose I was at some point, I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to present itself. The two of us here together, floating in a basket in the air, might work nicely now I think about it.’
‘Don’t say floating,’ I instruct.
‘Sorry. Flying in a basket?’
‘Just don’t remind me we’re in a basket in the air!’ I say through gritted teeth.
‘Got it. As I was saying, now is as good a time as any to tell you that I have MS.’
I lift my head and open my eyes, turning to stare at her in disbelief. ‘W-what?’
‘I have multiple sclerosis, Megan,’ she says, and then she calmly looks away as though she’s just told me she has biscuits in her purse.
22
DAWN
There’s no escaping a hot air balloon. I think that’s why I’ve decided to tell her now. We have to talk about it. Both of us. I’m not just trying to pen her in to face it, I think I’m forcing myself to face it, too. This is happening.
‘What?’ Megan repeats, her face ashen from both the height and my news. ‘Are . . . are you serious? You have MS?’
‘Yes, I was diagnosed with it almost two years ago,’ I say, unable to look at her, which I forgive myself for becauseone step at a time.
‘Two years,’ she splutters. ‘You’ve known this almost two years?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you didn’t tell me?’
‘I didn’t tell anyone. Except your father. He knew.’
‘Dad knew. Dad knew and he didn’t tell me either. Oh my god.’
Out of the corner of my eye I see her clamp her hands at the side of her head, her fingers digging into her skull. I feel terrible about causing her any kind of distress. This girl has lost her father, been forced into an air balloon and now learnt that her mum has a degenerative disease. I wouldn’t blame her if she lost her—
‘Are you okay?’ she asks.
I turn to see her looking at me wide-eyed and worried, like she used to when she was a child, needing my reassurance.
‘Yes, I’m okay,’ I say, smiling at her. ‘I’m sorry for not telling you, Megan. I knew I needed to, but it never felt like the right time.’
She scoffs. ‘But now in a hot air balloon feels like the right time.’
