Page 111 of The Last Kiss

He flicks to the page with dreams and aspiration.

“It seems you planned to have a busy few remaining months.” He skims my stupid words. “It also seems you found someone to help you with your plans.”

“It’s not what it looks like.” I lift my hand from the bed and hold it out for him to give it back.

“You were never going to tell me about your illness, were you? I was just a means to an end. You planned to leave at the end of your week here and not even tell me. I would have come to London, knocked on your door only to find someone else living in your grey cube. Or even worse, you would have left it for Olivia to tell me.”

He watches me with splintering brutality. “No?”

“No!” But my lie stains my cheeks pink. “I so wanted to see you one more time, but I didn’t know how to tell you. When the doctor told me this was it, all I could think of was you. That you hadn’t been back, that I might never…” I run out of steam, my heart is giving warning pulses in my chest, sharp shooting pains run down my arms.

“Ah yes.” His gaze drops to the open pages. “You needed sex in the sea, correct?”

“No. That’s not true. Everything on that list I’ve written since we’ve done it. In hindsight, not as a wish.”

He stares at me and it’s like we are planets operating from different sides of the universe.

“Come back to London with me, Henri. It’s not going to be long. Please. For me. That diary.” I stab my finger at it, but it’s a pathetic effort. I’m pathetic. Broken, useless. “Everything in there is the highlight of my life.” I can’t say anything more, my throat tightens, eyesight flickering with my familiar black spots.

“I can’t watch you die, Julianna.” I can only just hear him around the whooshing in my ears. With all my effort, I lift my hand and reposition the oxygen under my nostrils, inhaling greedily at the cold shoot of air. “I just can’t.”

I nod, no effort left. “I understand.”

On fluid and strong legs, he gets up and slides my book under my hand before bending and kissing my forehead. “Goodbye, Julianna Brown.”

I can’t say goodbye. Just won’t.

I watch him leave and just hope to hell the end comes quick, because life now really doesn’t seem worth existing in at all.

29

London Calling

The trip back is numb. Empty. A private ambulance speeding the superior French roads, taking the Eurostar. There’s been much discussion about what was the quickest and safest way. Discussion I’d tried to doze through, torn between no longer caring, but also petrified of what might happen if I did fall asleep.

What if the black and endless depth of sleep never ended?

Liv squeezes my hand. Face pale and drawn. I’m hurting people left, right, and centre without even trying. “Not long now.”

I shrug. Tout français.

This was for the best. What was I thinking? Did I really want Henri to see me like this? No, I didn’t. I must have been high on that hospital bed to even consider it.

I need to find a way to get Liv to leave my side when the end comes. I don’t want her to forever see that either. If she’s a pain, I’ll have to send her for a bag of Maltesers or something.

Just like that I’m making an evil master plan for dying. Keeps a girl busy, I guess.

“I’m assuming Dickweed Darren has the kids?” I murmur, rousing myself from my drowsy fog.

“He says he can have them as long as I need.”

“No need at all. You can tell him you’ll have them back today.”

“Jules!”

“No, really, you won’t be able to stay at the hospital anyway.”

Through the pained fog I see her bite her lip. “I’ve been looking at hospices. I hope you don’t mind.”