LAURIE ELLINGHAM lives in a small village on the Suffolk/Essex border with her two children, husband and cockerpoo Rodney. She has a first-class honors degree in Psychology and a background in public relations, but her main love is writing and disappearing into the fictional world of her characters, preferably with a large coffee and a Twix (or two) to hand.

For Andy

CONTENTS

COVER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

PART I

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

PART II

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

PART III

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

CHAPTER 66

CHAPTER 67

CHAPTER 68

CHAPTER 69

CHAPTER 70

CHAPTER 71

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

COPYRIGHT

PART I

CHAPTER 1
Day 1

Lizzie

The sweet unnatural fragrance of hairspray and deodorant clung to the air in the windowless dressing room. The scents clawed at the back of Lizzie’s throat. She drew in a shallow breath and stared into the camera. ‘My name is Lizzie Appleton, I’m twenty-nine years old, and I have three months to live.’

Lizzie’s words hung in the silence, bringing the enormity of her situation crashing down on her, and with it a fusion of colours that blurred the edges of her vision; blobs of reds and blues floating next to purples and yellows as if she was looking down the barrel of a kaleidoscope. Her head began to pound. What was she doing? Three months. 90 days. It wasn’t enough.

‘That was great, Lizzie.’ Caroline clasped her hands together from behind the camera tripod. ‘Let’s try it one more time with a bit more feeling, OK?’ Caroline pushed her glasses further up her thin nose as she bent over to watch Lizzie through the small, digital screen poking out from one side of the camera. ‘Remember that this is for the advert, so we really need to grab the viewers’ attention.’

‘More feeling? Are you serious?’ Lizzie asked, pulling at the black wool of her dress where it prickled her skin and wondering, not the first time, how it had come to this.

‘Just think of something that makes you sad,’ Caroline said with her usual pursed lip smile.

‘Because dying isn’t sad enough?’ Lizzie narrowed her dark-blue eyes and waited for the documentary producer to squirm inside her grey trouser suit. The producer had been an almost-permanent fixture in Lizzie’s life for the past seven days, and Lizzie was looking forward to saying goodbye to her at the airport in a few hours’ time. In the meantime, any payback Lizzie could give for the hours of listening to Caroline’s voice – which was always a notch higher than it needed to be as she encouraged and chided all in one breath – was worth it. Smile, but not at the camera. Be yourself, but without that sarcasm of yours. Wear comfortable clothes, but be presentable.

But Caroline didn’t squirm or flinch. Instead, she pushed her glasses onto the top of her nest of dark curls and returned the stare. ‘The sooner we get this done, the sooner I’ll be out of your way.’

Lizzie sighed. After their week together, her sarcasm no longer seemed to goad the producer. Lizzie tried to focus; she squared her shoulders, fixed her gaze on the camera, and stared at her reflection in the circular glass of the lens: the button nose and high cheek bones she’d inherited from her mother; the dark-blue eyes; and brown hair of her father, now cut short to accommodate the bare patch at the nape of her neck – a parting gift from the radiotherapy.

The throbbing in her head intensified. Images of her parents from the previous evening bombarded her thoughts. The shaking hand of her father, Peter, and the watery-grey eyes of her mother, Evelyn, which had begged the words her mum had been unable to voice: Don’t go, Lizzie. Stay here with us.

Both her parents looked ten years older than their sixty-one years, and had the lines on their faces of people who’d spent so much of their lives worrying. She’d done that to them. An ache spread across her chest. They deserved so much better than the hand they’d been dealt. But, then again, so did she.

‘Ready?’ Caroline asked, pulling her glasses back into place and brushing off an imaginary fleck of lint from her jacket.

Lizzie nodded. ‘My name is Lizzie Appleton, I’m twenty-nine years old, and I have three months to live.’

‘How does it make you feel?’

Lizzie’s eyes shot to Caroline. ‘I didn’t know you were going to ask me that. We … we haven’t practised that one.’

‘I didn’t want you to practise it,’ Caroline said, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows. ‘I want to know how you feel. The viewers will want to know – how does it feel to know you only have three months to live?’

Panic swept through her body. What was she supposed to say? What did people want to hear?

‘It’s a mixture,’ she said, making herself look into the camera once more. Her voice sounded echoey and strange over the drumming of her heartbeat in her ears. ‘Relief and fear.’

Carline lifted her hand and drew circles with her index finger. ‘Keep going,’ she mouthed.

Lizzie thought of Little Women, and Beth giving her dying speech to Jo. She’d read the book once, maybe twice, but it was the film Lizzie was thinking of. Claire Danes and her shaking voice telling Winona Ryder that she was doing something first for once. She was the one having the adventure. If Lizzie could remember that speech, then maybe she could say that, but her mind blanked.

‘There’s a relief in knowing you’re going to die. Well, there is for me anyway,’ Lizzie said after a pause. ‘I’ve been dodging death all my life. I’ve survived brain tumours I wasn’t supposed to survive. It’s felt kind of like I’ve been on borrowed time, and now that time is up. But I don’t have to waste another second of my life in a hospital, or a waiting room. I don’t have to have any more treatments. I can live my life, and there’s a relief in that.

‘But if you’re asking me what it feels like to know that I’m never going to see another Christmas. That the trees are going to blossom this year, and I’m not going to see it. I’m never going to look out of another window and see a world of white and think it’s a late snowstorm, before realising it’s blossom flying off the trees. Or what it feels like to know that my brother is going to be competing in the next Olympics –’ Lizzie’s voice cracked, she swallowed hard ‘– the actual Olympics, and I’m not going to be there cheering him on. That fills me with a fear beyond words. So, I’m trying very hard not to think about that, and just to focus on the first part. The relief that I can live my life.’

Lizzie stopped talking and tried to smile. She glanced at Caroline and wished she’d been able to remember the speech in Little Women, rather than the jumble of confusion she’d just spoken. If Caroline asked her to do it again, she’d have to think of something better to say.

‘That was perfect, Lizzie, well done,’ Caroline said, flicking a switch on the camera and stepping out from behind the tripod.

Lizzie sighed and slouched against the back of the chair.

‘Now onto the breakfast interview,’ Caroline continued. ‘In a few minutes, you’ll be called into the studio and positioned on the sofa with Samantha and Jaddi. Try to remember some of the answers we’ve practised, and, I know I’ve said this before, but I’m going to say it again anyway – please don’t be sarcastic. It really doesn’t play well on camera.’

‘You do know it’s not exact, don’t you?’ Lizzie asked. ‘I might live longer. I might live three and a half months, or maybe even five.’ Who was she trying to convince? Caroline, or herself?

Caroline exhaled through the small gap in her front teeth, creating a low whistling noise. The sound reminded Lizzie of the times she was little, sitting in the dips of the sand dunes near her house on the Suffolk coast, cushioned between her mum and dad, and Aaron just a bundle of blankets on her mum’s lap. The wind had howled around the dunes and the North Sea had smashed on the shore below them.

Long days spent on the beach. Bonfires, barbeques and the sideways glances assessing her. Was she all right? Was she ill? Was that a limp in her run? A tremor in her hand? Followed by the forced cheer and smiles. ‘Who needs to go abroad when we have so many treasures on our doorstep?’ her mum liked to say in her chirping voice, glossing over the real reason for another year without a holiday – the infection risk, the hospital appointments, the cost. Her father losing his job as an engineer after the weeks, sometimes months, when she’d been in hospital.

Her life was like a large pebble thrown past the waves into the calm of the sea, dropping into the water with a plop and sending the ripples outwards, affecting those closest to her. She’d played along; she’d tried to make it easier for them. She’d always done as she was told, without question or complaint. Until now, anyway.

The whistling stopped and Caroline set her gaze on Lizzie. A decision had been made. ‘Ninety days or under would be better.’

A sudden urge to laugh propelled its way up Lizzie’s body, like the bubbles in a glass of Prosecco dancing to the top. The sound exploded out of her, alien and unwelcome, rebounding off of the dressing-room walls. ‘Well, Caroline, I’ll do my best.’

Caroline threw her hands to her mouth and shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant from an audience-viewing perspective. Obviously, nobody wants you to die; it’s just that the documentary is called The Girl with Three Months to Live, and as you are going to …’ Caroline’s voice trailed off.

‘Ninety days or under would be better,’ Lizzie finished for her as the desire to laugh evaporated, leaving a hollow void inside. She’d finally managed to rattle the producer, but had shaken herself up in the process. Lizzie stood up and stepped towards the door. The small room had an oppressive quality, clouding her thoughts so that she couldn’t think straight.

Before she could reach it, the door swung open, bringing with it a fresh wave of fragrances: honeysuckle and roses, the scents that surrounded Jaddi like an aura.

Jaddi grinned as she stepped into the dressing room, flashing a row of perfect white teeth. Her sleek black hair brushed the middle of her back and shone under the bright bulbs surrounding the mirror in the centre of the room.

‘Did you get what you needed?’ Jaddi said.

‘Yes. Perfect timing, Jaddi,’ Caroline replied. ‘I need to check everything is in place for our cameras. Where’s Samantha?’

Jaddi stepped in front of the mirror and dabbed a finger along the sheen of gloss on her lips. ‘In the toilet throwing up.’

A line formed on Caroline’s brow. She caught Jaddi’s eye in the reflection of the mirror. ‘Is she going to be all right for the interview?’

‘Don’t worry –’ Jaddi smiled ‘– she’ll be fine. She was exactly the same before her final exams at uni, and that assessment-centre thing she did last year, wasn’t she, Lizzie? And she aced them.’

‘I’ll tell the producer to make sure she isn’t asked any direct questions, just to be on the safe side,’ Caroline said, the crease on her forehead disappearing. ‘Stay here and one of the production team will come to collect you in a few minutes.’

Caroline scooped up her leather organiser and smiled at Lizzie and Jaddi.

‘You’ll do fine this morning. Try to enjoy it.’

‘Thanks.’ Lizzie smiled. ‘Not for this –’ she waved her hand around the room ‘– but for making our dream happen.’ The two words didn’t seem enough, didn’t seem right, either, but she felt like she should say them. ‘Thank you.’

Caroline nodded. If Lizzie didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn a tear glistened in the producer’s eye. ‘My pleasure,’ Caroline said, before walking out of the room.

Jaddi turned to Lizzie with another wide grin. ‘Ready?’

‘No.’ Lizzie shook her head and fiddled with the ends of her hair where it tickled the tops of her ears. She wasn’t ready. She’d never be ready, for the interview, or for everything after it.

‘You’ll be fine, Lizzie. It’s just two people talking to us on a sofa. It’s no big deal.’

‘It’s OK for you, “Miss Beauty Pageant winner two years running”.’ She’d meant it to sound funny, but it hadn’t. That was one of the problems she’d discovered since her final round of radiotherapy, since Dr Habibi had sat her down and shown her the brain scans: the things she was supposed to find funny, the things other people laughed at with light-hearted ease, washed over her. And yet, she laughed all the time, maybe more than before, but always at inappropriate moments, always a hollow noise echoing in a silent room. It was the same for jokes. She’d lost whatever knack she’d had for telling them. ‘Besides, those two people you mentioned are actually famous TV presenters, and you seem to be forgetting all the people who’ll be watching.’

‘You do realise that I haven’t done beauty pageants since I was sixteen?’ Jaddi said. ‘My mum practically forced me to do them. It was just something to add to my Indian marriage CV.’ Jaddi smoothed a wrinkle in her charcoal-grey dress.

Lizzie sighed. ‘All I know is that you are so much better at all of this than I am.’

‘You’ll be fine, I promise. You look lovely, by the way.’ Jaddi turned away from the mirror and took Lizzie’s hand. ‘Your hair really suits you that length.’

A pressure built inside Lizzie. She clamped her fingers around Jaddi’s wrist. ‘Seriously,’ Lizzie said, dropping her voice to a whisper. ‘What we’re doing is … is insane.’ A brief moment of relief washed over her. Finally, she began to voice the fears that had been haunting her for weeks.

Jaddi pulled her hand out from Lizzie’s grip and touched her arm. ‘It’s a bit late to put the lid back on that can of worms, don’t you think? I know it feels out of control, but if you think about it, nothing has really changed. You’re worrying about the breakfast interview, that’s all.’

‘What about Samantha?’

Jaddi’s shoulders dropped. For a moment, the bravado her friend wore like perfume was gone. ‘You know as well as I do that this was the only way we—’

The door to the dressing room flew open.

‘Only way we what?’ Samantha asked.

CHAPTER 2

Samantha

Samantha’s mobile buzzed in her hand, almost slipping out of her grip as it vibrated against the layer of sweat forming on her palms.

Jaddi mumbled a reply to her question, but Samantha didn’t hear the words. The dressing room and her friends fell away as her concentration fixed on the incom ing message and its sender.

My flat. 1pm. We’re all set xxx

The words so simple, so normal, but there was nothing normal about it.

‘Sam? Are you OK?’ Lizzie said, tugging Samantha’s thoughts back. ‘You look sort of pale, honey. Maybe you should sit down.’ Lizzie pulled out a stool from under the make-up counter and motioned for Samantha to sit.

Samantha stared at her friends as they waited for her response. She wanted to tell them everything, but how could she? How could she tell them what David, the love of her life, and the only man that had ever made her feel smart and beautiful, had planned for her later that day, when she couldn’t contemplate it herself? She forced David and his message to the back of her mind. There were so many other things to worry about before 1pm.

‘Why am I the only one being sick?’ Samantha asked instead. ‘This is national television.’ She turned to the mirror, raking her fingers through her limp, blonde hair and pulling a face at her reflection. No amount of make-up could mask the grey sheen that seeped out from every pore. She didn’t like having her photo taken let alone being filmed for a documentary for the next three months. And before she even got to that, she had to take part in a television interview, which had an average of 950,000 viewers every day. She’d looked it up at 4am when she’d been unable to sleep. Almost a million people would be watching her, listening to her, judging her. Nausea burnt at the back of her throat. This is their dream, Samantha reminded herself, willing the sickness to pass.

‘Hey, don’t worry,’ Jaddi said, her face appearing behind Samantha’s in the mirror. ‘It will be over before you know it, and we’ll be right there next to you. We’re in this together, remember?’

Samantha nodded and fiddled with the fabric clinging to the curve of her hips. ‘I should have gone for the green dress,’ she said, trying to block the reflection of Jaddi’s figure from view. Comparing her curves and wobbly bingo wings to Jaddi’s beauty, not to mention Jaddi’s svelte figure, was the quickest way into a pit of misery and crash dieting.

Samantha sighed. ‘How did I not realise that my dress is the exact same colour as the sofa? No one will see me. I’ll be a floating head.’

Lizzie’s smiling face appeared behind her in the mirror. ‘When,’ Lizzie asked, resting her head on Samantha’s shoulder, ‘are you going to see how gorgeous you are? Not to mention intelligent. You will not be a floating head, you’ll be perfect.’

Samantha smiled at Lizzie’s pale face and the dark smudges under her eyes. The unfairness of it all washed over her just like the nausea had done an hour ago. Why did it have to be Lizzie? Of all the millions of people in the world who smoked, took drugs, lived life on the edge, who killed, and hurt others, the millions of people that, without question, deserved to die, why did it have to be kind, loving Lizzie going through this? It was a question Samantha had asked herself at least once a day for the past few months, more than once on the nights she couldn’t sleep, mulling the question over in her mind with dozens of others she didn’t have the answers to.

Jaddi stepped away from the mirror. ‘So,’ she said, placing her hands on her hips as Samantha and Lizzie turned to face her, ‘you know I love you, don’t you? We’re like family. So you know when I say things, I say them for your own good, right? Well, I need to tell you that the two of you need to pull yourselves together. It’s natural to feel nervous, but this is our chance. We’ve talked about travelling the world since university. I know it’s scary, but we can’t focus on how we got here or why we’re doing it, or it’ll make it too hard. We have to live in the here and now.’

Samantha listened for a quiver in Jaddi’s voice, any sign of the fear and sadness that clouded Samantha’s head, but there wasn’t any. Jaddi sounded just like Caroline, forthright and self-assured in a way that only people confident with their own place in the world could be. No amount of education, elocution, or expensive clothes could make a person that way. It was in the way Jaddi and Lizzie were raised, something middle-class that Samantha tried to emulate, but so often failed.

She’d seen the looks from her peers at the Home Office. They knew just by looking at her that she was different. The first-class degree, the hours she spent at her desk long after everyone else had made their way to a back-street pub or home, how she knew parts of the law inside and out; none of it wiped out her upbringing in their eyes.

‘It was nine years ago that we first planned this trip,’ Jaddi continued. ‘Nine years. That’s almost a decade. And we’re finally doing it.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ Samantha said. ‘Having a cameraman tagging along is all well and good when you’re tall, thin and drop-dead gorgeous. I, personally, don’t relish the thought of half of Britain seeing my gigantic bottom climbing up a mountain. Not to mention –’ a lump lodged in Samantha’s throat forcing her voice into a whisper ‘– Lizzie’s tumour.’

Just then, a woman wearing a headset appeared in the doorway. ‘We’ve gone to adverts. Three minutes and you’re on,’ she said before disappearing again.

‘Was she talking to us?’ Samantha turned to Lizzie as wasp-like panic swarmed in her stomach.

‘Who else?’ Jaddi grinned.

‘I … I can’t do this. Lizzie, I’m so, so sorry. I’ve tried to hold it together. I love you so much and I’ve tried to support you through this …’ Samantha could hear the rupture in her voice, but she couldn’t stop now. ‘You’re dying.’

‘We’re all going to die at some point,’ Lizzie shrugged, a weak smile touching her face.

‘But not in three months. We can’t just up and leave as if everything is normal.’ Tears spilled from Samantha’s eyes. ‘Everything is not normal. What about your parents? They’re devastated, we all are. And what if you get ill whilst we’re in the middle of nowhere? Then what? We can’t go, we just can’t.’ A sob escaped Samantha’s mouth.

Silence grew between them. Samantha tried to read Lizzie’s wide-eyed stare, but all she could see was her own fear reflected back in her friend’s face. Then Lizzie’s gaze turned to Jaddi, causing frustration to surge inside Samantha. Sometimes, just sometimes, she hated how they both deferred to Jaddi, as if they were still standing in the kitchen of their houseshare, total strangers on their first day at university. Jaddi had oozed self-assurance. She’d chosen the pubs they’d gone to, the boys they’d spoken to, the clubs they’d joined. Back then it had seemed as if Jaddi had had a magic wand that could alter the course of their destinies.

Samantha let the thought go. This wasn’t another one of Jaddi’s daredevil plans. This trip belonged to all of them. It was a shared dream that had kept them going through exams and dissertations, and long days slugging it at work followed by evenings in the dingy one-bed flat they had shared in East London. Their reasons for travelling might be different – Jaddi wanted adventure; Lizzie wanted new experiences; and Samantha had wanted to escape (or she had once anyway) – but the dream was the same and they’d clung to that. Just not like this.

Jaddi stepped towards Samantha and pulled her into a tight embrace. Part of Samantha wanted to push Jaddi away, but she didn’t. Jaddi’s cool confidence had a way of rubbing off on the people around her, Samantha included. The knots in her stomach began to unravel.

‘I’m scared too, Sam. But Lizzie can’t stay here waiting for it to happen,’ Jaddi said. ‘There is so much she hasn’t seen or done. There is nothing anyone can do for her here. It shouldn’t end like that for anyone, especially not Lizzie.’

Samantha nodded, dabbing her fingers under her eyes in an attempt to wipe away the tears without smearing any more of her make-up. ‘I know. I’m sorry, you’re right.’ She drew in a long breath. ‘I’m panicking about this interview, but I’ll keep it together.’

Lizzie’s arms wrapped around them. ‘I don’t think I’ve said thank you to both of you, for doing this with me,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t do it without you.’

‘You don’t need to say thanks, Lizzie,’ Samantha said. ‘You know we’d follow you anywhere. Except off a cliff, of course.’

‘You two had better not be getting tears on my dress,’ Jaddi said a moment later, making them all laugh in a shaky uncertain sort of way and releasing the sadness that hovered over them.

Jaddi squeezed Samantha a little tighter before letting go and spinning on the points of her heels. ‘Let’s go then.’

CHAPTER 3

Lizzie

Bright white lights on tall metal frames emitted heat like the summer sun, causing a bead of sweat to trickle down Lizzie’s back as she stepped into the studio.

Jaddi’s hand touched her arm, shepherding her forward quicker than her feet wanted to move.

A dozen people in dirty jeans and baggy T-shirts stood in clusters around screens and laptops, speaking over each other in rushed voices. Wires covered the floor around her feet, held in place by strips of silver tape. They looked like a bed of snakes about to slither over her body and squeeze the breath right out of her.

Like the eye of the storm, the blue sofa sat serenely amidst the wires, equipment and people. The breakfast-show presenters were huddled over a clipboard in two armchairs opposite the sofa. They looked up and smiled as Lizzie approached. Adrenaline pumped through her veins.

When they reached the sofa, Jaddi tugged her arm, pulling Lizzie down next to her. Samantha sat on the other side of Jaddi, her gaze fixed straight ahead as if she was about to be interrogated by MI5, rather than interviewed by Britain’s most likable breakfast duo. Guilt stabbed the pit of Lizzie’s stomach. Lizzie thought of the pebble dropping into the sea again and the ripples it caused.

‘OK, people,’ someone shouted from behind her. ‘We’re back in five, four, three.’

The studio fell silent as if a mute button had been pressed.

‘Welcome back to Channel 6 Breakfast. I’m Frankie Scott,’ the female presenter said, flashing a row of white veneers.

‘And I’m Tim Reynolds.’

‘We’re joined on the sofa now by Lizzie Appleton and her two friends, Jaddi Patel and Samantha Jeffrey,’ Frankie said in a mellifluous voice.

Lizzie turned towards the cameras and stared at the screen of writing moving along underneath. She could see Caroline’s head just beyond the cameras. The producer gestured a ‘don’t forget to smile’ U-shape with her hands.

‘I don’t think there can be many people out there who don’t know Lizzie’s harrowing story. She was diagnosed with a brain tumour three months ago, and after the radiotherapy failed, Lizzie was given the damning news that there was nothing more her doctors could do. With just months to live, Lizzie’s lifelong dream to travel the world seemed impossible. Until her best friend and flatmate, Jaddi, created a website and asked for people to donate money for their trip.’

Frankie turned her gaze to the sofa. ‘Lizzie, first of all, thank you for joining us.’

Lizzie forced her mouth into a smile. Her heartbeat quickened. ‘Thank you for having me.’

‘Can you tell us what’s been happening since Jaddi first set up the fundraising page?’

Blobs of colour threatened Lizzie’s vision again. She blinked until her focus returned, drew in a deep breath and tried to remember the lines she’d practised with Caroline. ‘It’s been a whirlwind. Jaddi set up the website overnight. I didn’t know anything about it until the next morning, by which time my brother, Aaron, had shared it on Twitter, and things have been pretty crazy ever since.’

‘For those at home who don’t know,’ Tim said, staring into the camera, ‘Lizzie’s brother is Aaron Appleton, British gymnastics champion, and arguably one of our best hopes for Olympic gold in the next games.’

The mention of Aaron caused an ache to radiate from Lizzie’s chest. Her brother had been too young to remember her stays in hospital growing up. He hadn’t even been born the first two times. Until recently, Aaron had been oblivious to the burden of waiting. Waiting to hear a diagnosis. Waiting to hear if the treatment had worked. Waiting to see if the tumour would come back.

Aaron had insisted on coming with them for her last hospital appointment. Lizzie had known what Dr Habibi was going to say the moment he’d clipped her CT scans onto the viewing screen and flicked on the light behind it. There it was, the kidney-shaped blob at the base of her brain. No bigger, but no smaller either. Months of treatment wasted. The neurologist had launched straight to the point – ‘Unfortunately, the radiotherapy hasn’t been successful …’ – but Lizzie had only been half listening. It felt as if she was watching an out-ofcontrol car skidding on ice, spinning straight towards a lamp post on the other side of the road. She gazed at her parents, then at Aaron, powerless to alter the course of the scene unfolding in front of them. The anguish on their faces would haunt her forever.

‘I guess he has a lot of followers,’ Tim said, dragging Lizzie’s thoughts back to the interview.

She nodded and smiled. ‘Just a few hundred thousand more than me, I’d say. A lot of his followers shared the link and then the donations started coming in.’

‘When I saw the website for the first time, about a month ago,’ Tim said, ‘it was the helplessness of your situation, Lizzie, that really touched me. The fact that there is just nothing more you can do must be tough to accept. I don’t know how I’d cope in your shoes, and from the comments people made when they donated, I’d say I’m not the only one who feels that way. How did it make you feel when the donations began to pour in?’ Tim asked.

‘I was completely overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity. People we didn’t know were giving us money to go backpacking. It didn’t seem real. It still doesn’t.’

‘But it didn’t stop there?’ Frankie said.

‘No, it didn’t. The story started appearing in the local news and in some of the national papers. Then Jaddi got a call from a producer at Channel 6, offering to pay for the rest of the trip, if we agreed to be part of a documentary covering the last few months of my life. So here we are. We’re all packed and leave for Thailand tonight.’

‘That is truly awe-inspiring,’ Frankie said, before turning her gaze to Jaddi. ‘Jaddi, did you have any idea that your website would become so popular? That you’d be able to fulfil Lizzie’s dream?’

Lizzie looked at Jaddi, who grinned back before focusing on Frankie. ‘It was a long shot, but I had to do something. When Lizzie came home from the hospital and told me the radiotherapy had failed, I felt so helpless. I guess setting up the page was my way of coping. The fact that we’ve made it here, is just as Lizzie said … overwhelming.’

‘I remember going to Thailand some years ago,’ Tim began, ‘and getting a visa was a nightmare. With the speed at which this has all happened, have you found that side of things a problem?’

Jaddi laughed. ‘Thankfully, that’s not been a problem, Tim. Samantha is the most organised person I’ve ever met in my life. She even colour codes her socks. She and Caroline have made sure we have all the visas and vaccinations we need.

Samantha’s cheeks glowed red, but she managed to smile. ‘Well, I have to be organised living with these two.’

Samantha’s comment sent a spattering of laughter across the studio.

‘Caroline has upgraded our phones so we can access the internet anywhere we have signal,’ Jaddi said, turning her head a fraction and staring into the camera. ‘So feel free to post messages on our Facebook page and tweet us.’

‘So, girls,’ Tim said, ‘can you tell us and the audience at home a little about yourselves? I gather from the website that you’ve been good friends for a while?’

Lizzie looked at Jaddi, then Samantha. ‘We’ve been best friends since university.’ She smiled. ‘Our halls of residence preference forms got lost and we ended up getting put together in a student house.’

For the smallest of moments, the urgency and the fear lifted as Lizzie thought about that first afternoon when they’d dragged their boxes and suitcases into the kitchen and met for the first time, Jaddi, hands on hips, insisting a trip to the nearest pub, and Samantha, picking at her fingers, suggesting they unpack first.

‘We moved to London together after university and still live together now,’ Jaddi added. ‘Samantha works in the Home Office, writing policy documents or something else extremely important that I don’t understand. She’s the brains behind us. I work in public relations for a confectionary company.’

‘So we have a lot of chocolate kicking about,’ Samantha chipped in.

Jaddi grinned. ‘It never lasts long though, does it? And Lizzie, she …’ Jaddi faltered. The smile remained on her face, but the glow behind it had gone.

Another ripple, Lizzie thought with a pang in her chest. She slipped her hand inside Jaddi’s. ‘I was working as an office administrator up until last summer,’ Lizzie said, ‘whilst I figured out what it was that I wanted to do. I’d just started teacher training when I got ill again.’

Tim nodded. ‘Can you tell us about your tumour, Lizzie? I must admit I wasn’t expecting you to look so well.’

‘Thank you.’ Caroline’s words echoed around her head. Speak slowly, be clear, no medical jargon. ‘My tumour is called a benign low-grade meningioma, which doesn’t mean much, except that it’s slow-growing and it’s not cancerous. Generally speaking, these tumours are relatively easy to treat with either surgery or radiotherapy, or both. I should know as this is my fourth one. But it’s a problem this time because of its position in the brainstem.’ Lizzie paused and touched the nape of her neck. Her fingers brushed the prickles of hair that had started to grow back.

Should she describe the radiotherapy? How she’d been bolted to a table by a white mesh mask, the claustrophobia so overwhelming that it had stolen the breath from her lungs. How she’d wanted to scream but couldn’t because the mask was fixed so tightly to her face that she couldn’t open her mouth. Did people want to hear that? She guessed not.

‘The brainstem is the part of my brain which controls my breathing and tells my heart to beat. Any surgery to remove the tumour would destroy the brainstem. Something the tumour will do itself in a few months.’

Frankie touched her ear. ‘My producer is telling me that we’re almost out of time. So I just have one more question for you, Lizzie. As you mentioned, your story has reached many of the national newspapers. How does it feel to be considered a role model to others suffering with terminal illness?’

Role model? Lizzie pulled in a sharp intake of air and tried not to wince from the explosion of pain in her head. The only answer teetering on the tip of her tongue was the truth. ‘I’m not a role model. The truth is that I …’ Her eyes felt drawn to the camera. She stared into the screen and imagined the people sat on their sofas watching her, her parents and Aaron included. ‘I feel lucky,’ she stammered.

Frankie smiled. ‘It’s clear this must be very difficult for you to talk about, Lizzie, but I don’t think any of our viewers would use the word lucky to describe your situation.’

‘Oh, I’m very lucky. This is my fourth brain tumour. The first one, when I was three, was removed by surgery. The second one, when I was nine, was shrunk down to the size of a speck of dust. The third, when I was sixteen was also removed. Most of my life has been about having treatments and operations, and scans. Lots and lots of brain scans. But now … now I’ve been given the opportunity to live.

‘There will be people out there right now, walking down the street, thinking they’ve got years ahead of them. When bam, a bus hits them, and it’s over. I’ve been given a chance to live my dreams. I’ll always be grateful for that, and for all of the people who’ve helped me get here.’

‘Well, you might not see yourself as a role model, Lizzie, but you’re certainly an inspiration. Good luck on your adventures,’ Frankie said, before turning to face the camera. ‘The first episode of Lizzie’s documentary – The Girl with Three Months to Live – will be right here on Channel 6 at nine o’clock this Saturday evening.’

‘Now,’ Tim began, ‘have you ever thought about starting your own business? Up next on the blue sofa, we’ll be chatting with entrepreneur, Anne Thornton-Smith, about how to make your business a success, and more.’

‘We’re out,’ a voice shouted from somewhere behind the cameras.

Four women holding make-up pots and hairbrushes rushed forward, crowding around the presenters like fans vying for an autograph.

‘Well done, girls,’ Caroline said with a smile, ushering them off of the sofa and back to the dressing room.

‘Samantha, Jaddi, you’ve got the day to yourselves. I’ll be waiting at Heathrow check-in at six-thirty to introduce you to your cameraman and to say goodbye. Lizzie, we’ve got some magazine interviews lined up this morning. You’ll get a bit of time to yourself this afternoon.’

A caustic remark lingered, but for once Lizzie didn’t voice it. The final question from the presenter had staggered her. For weeks she’d been swept along in Jaddi’s plans, like a guppy caught in a current, unable to change direction or simply stop, and when she’d been given an opportunity to explain herself, she hadn’t taken it. She could no longer blame Jaddi for whatever lay ahead.

CHAPTER 4

Jaddi

Jaddi stepped through the opening in the revolving doors and instantly found herself barricaded between the glass panels as they jolted to a stop.

‘It’s your backpack,’ a man in a rumpled suit said from the other side of the glass. He raised his eyebrows and muttered something under his breath. Jaddi nodded and moved forwards. The automatic doors whirred back into life for a second before dying once again as her foot nudged the glass in front of her. Bloody hell, why would anyone install revolving doors at an airport? Jaddi pictured the airport security team, sipping cups of tea on their breaks whilst sniggering at her incompetence.

‘You can’t touch the doors,’ the man she’d trapped shouted, throwing his arms in the air.

Jaddi resisted the urge to give him the finger, flashed an apologetic smile, and twisted her body sideways, taking crab-like steps until the opening into the terminal appeared and she moved into the throng.

Voices, laughter and the distant beat of music echoed around the terminal. The whir of suitcase wheels rattled on the floor as men and women in black suits wheeling miniature cases strode purposefully around her. Groups of people sat in huddles on the floor, their luggage strewn around them as they ate sandwiches and salads out of plastic packets.

A movement from her left caught her eye. As she turned, the wheel of a luggage trolley clipped the side of her ankle sending a searing pain up her leg.

‘Sorry, did I get you?’ a red-faced man in a dark polo shirt asked before turning away. ‘Kids, calm down, please.’

‘It’s fine,’ she said, rubbing a spot at the bottom of her combat trousers where the pain had already started to dull.

Jaddi watched the father with the overflowing trolley of suitcases take the path of least resistance through the airport as three young children danced and skipped around his legs.

She should be feeling that child-like buzz. Tomorrow she would be in Thailand, absorbing a culture and a history she’d dreamed about since her eleventh birthday, when her uncle Prem had given her a light-up, plastic globe. She’d loved spinning the sphere on its axis until the greens and blues had blurred into one, then stopping it with a jab and reading the tiny place name under her finger. She would go to bed every night dreaming of adventures and undiscovered lands.

Instead, all she could think about was Suk, and their argument. If she could still call it that. Did it count as a fight if they’d repeated the same words over and over for the past year? It had started with raised voices and accusations, but after so long, and with no resolution in sight, their tones had mellowed.

‘We really should get married,’ Suk had said, nuzzling her neck as they’d sat behind the black-tinted glass of one of her father’s town cars.

‘Are we going to do this again, now? When I’m about to get on a plane and leave for three months?’ Jaddi touched Suk’s leg, hoping to cause a distraction.

‘You know it makes sense.’ Suk sighed. ‘If we leave it much longer then you know our parents will decide for us, and I’ll probably end up in India.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m not ready to get married.’ Jaddi slipped her hand inside Suk’s. The warmth of their touch spread through Jaddi’s body. ‘Things are great between us right now. Why can’t we carry on as we are?’

‘Because I’m sick of living with my parents and working for your dad’s car service.’ Suk shifted away from Jaddi and leaned against the door. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, your family are a lot more relaxed than mine. We’ve been seeing each other off and on for twelve years. We need to settle down before one of our families find out. Unless this is just a game to you?’

Frustration and hurt wound through Jaddi. ‘How can you even suggest that? Do you know how hard it is for me to lie to Lizzie and Samantha? They are my best friends; they deserve my honesty. Instead they think I hook up with a different guy every week, when really I’m seeing you. I’m the one that wants to tell them. Come with me now if you don’t believe me. We can still keep it a secret from our families, but wouldn’t it be nice to be a proper couple—’

‘Don’t speak like that,’ Suk cut in. ‘Don’t even think it. No one can know. If we tell even one person, our families will find out. Marriage is the only way to decide our future for ourselves.’

‘I have to go, I’m late as it is,’ Jaddi said, staring into Suk’s dark eyes. Her heartbeat ramped up a notch. One lie on top of another. What would happen when the three months were up? Jaddi shook her head; she couldn’t think like that. This had been her idea, and she had to make it worth it. Live in the here and now, that’s what she’d said to Lizzie and Samantha, and that’s what she had to do.

‘Here,’ Jaddi said, holding out her door keys, ‘take these.’

‘Why?’ Suk asked.

‘I don’t know, just have them. Our flat is going to be sitting empty for three months. I’ll probably just lose them if I drag them around in my backpack with me.’

Suk nodded. ‘Will you … promise me you won’t … you know.’

Jaddi laughed, her smile widening as a rush of love covered her fears. ‘I’ve been with someone else once, Suk. Once, in twelve years. I was away at uni. We’d had a huge fight and you’d broken up with me, remember? You really should come and meet Samantha. She’ll tell you how drunk I was that night.’

‘Why would Samantha—’

‘Because she never lets me forget it, and the fact that he was someone she liked.’ Jaddi shook her head. ‘I love you, that’s what matters. I always have, and no one will get in the way of that.’

She slid across the smooth leather seats towards Suk until their bodies touched. They kissed, tentative and slow as the remnants of their fight hung between them, then faster as desire took hold. Jaddi could still feel the pressure of Suk’s lips on hers as she weaved through the terminal.

Jaddi caught sight of Samantha, shifting from foot to foot, by the check-in desk. Samantha had yet to shake the blanched pallor from the breakfast interview.

Had she pushed Lizzie and Sam too far this time?

Lizzie’s eyes caught hers and she waved. Pushing the thought aside, Jaddi bounced towards them with a wide grin. She’d get a drink into Samantha after take-off; that would cheer her up.

‘Here she is,’ Samantha said. ‘I told you she’d be late.’

Jaddi laughed. ‘Of course I’m late. I’m always late.’

Lizzie leant forward and pulled Jaddi into a tight embrace. ‘I thought for a minute you might not make it,’ she said in a quiet voice. Jaddi drew back as the pinch of Lizzie’s nails dug into her back.

‘I’m here now,’ Jaddi said, staring into Lizzie’s wide, blue eyes and willing her to relax. Tomorrow they would be in Thailand and it would all be worth it. It had to be.

‘Jaddi,’ Caroline said from behind her. ‘Now that you’re here, I’d like to introduce you to the cameraman.’ Jaddi let go of Lizzie and spun around.

‘Ouch,’ Samantha cried out as Jaddi’s backpack caught her arm. ‘Watch it.’

‘Sorry, Sam, are you OK?’ Jaddi shrugged her backpack away from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor before she could do anymore damage.

Samantha rolled her eyes as she rubbed at her arm. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, the hint of a smile twitching on her lips.

‘Jaddi,’ Caroline said, ‘I’d like you to meet Sherlock. He’ll be your cameraman for the next three months.’

‘Sherlock?’ Jaddi turned to face the man towering over Caroline. He was tall, with cropped, brown hair, cut short to a bristly number one and almost enough dark stubble on his face to be considered a beard. The arms protruding from his navy T-shirt weren’t the toned biceps of someone who spent hours in the gym, but his shoulders were broad and muscular.

‘Ben Holmes,’ he said, pushing his black-framed glasses closer to his eyes before offering a hand to Jaddi. ‘Sherlock is a nickname.’

‘It’s nice to meet you.’ She grinned as his hand wrapped around hers.

‘I was just explaining to the others that you’ll need to tell me whenever you plan to go anywhere. Even if it’s the middle of the night and you decide to go out for a bottle of water, I need to know,’ he said.

Jaddi nodded. ‘Yep, sure. No problem.’

Lizzie mumbled something inaudible under her breath, causing Ben to glance at her with narrowed eyes before directing his focus back to Jaddi. Jaddi had the distinct impression that she’d just walked into the middle of an argument between Lizzie and their new travel companion.

‘Here’s your microphone pack,’ he said, holding a small, black box with a wire wrapped around it. ‘The battery clips on your waistband at the back, and the lavalier – this bit,’ he said, tapping the small, black head, ‘clips onto your collar or the top of your vest. I’ve got a monitor which will tell me when the batteries are running low, and I’ll swap them when necessary.

‘All you need to do is wear it and make sure it’s switched on at all times.’ He flicked a switch on the side of the box and handed it to Jaddi. ‘Starting now.’

‘Great, thanks, Ben,’ she said with a another grin, taking the microphone. ‘Or do you prefer Sherlock?’

‘Ben’s fine,’ he said, already unzipping a side pocket on a large leather holdall hooked over his shoulder. ‘I’ve also got a smaller camera here for you to take, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘For your video diaries. Apart from mine, it’s the only camera we’re taking with us, so please look after it.’

‘What video diaries?’ Lizzie asked, ignoring the object in Ben’s outstretched hand.

Ben turned to Caroline and raised his eyebrows. ‘You haven’t told her?’

‘I’m sure I mentioned it,’ Caroline said with an airy laugh. ‘It’s not a big deal, Lizzie. We thought you could do a video diary before you go to sleep each night. Just a few minutes talking about your day and how you feel. A way to get the audience into your head and make them feel part of your journey.’

‘The camera has Bluetooth and Wi-Fi,’ Ben said. ‘Once you’ve pressed ‘save’ it will automatically send the file to my laptop. If we’re not in a signal area, I’ll take the camera and load the video manually. Then I’ll edit it, along with the other footage, and send it on to the Channel 6 studio.’

‘We’re breaking ground in documentary-making here,’ Caroline said. ‘Due to the … er … sensitive timeframe and current media coverage surrounding you, Lizzie, we’ll be airing your travels weekly, as they happen.’

‘Well, if you’re breaking ground,’ Lizzie said, her tone biting, ‘then by all means, yes, I’d be more than happy to share my inner most feelings with the world.’ Lizzie grabbed the camera and dropped it into her satchel.

‘Look—’ Ben said, glaring at Lizzie.

‘Shall we go then?’ Jaddi flashed a smile at Ben and hooked an arm around Lizzie. He would learn soon enough to let Lizzie’s sarcasm wash over him. The last thing they needed was to start their trip with a falling-out.

‘Are you all right with this?’ Jaddi asked Lizzie, as they scooped up their backpacks.

Lizzie shrugged. ‘It doesn’t feel like I have a choice. I just want it be us, that’s all.’

‘I second that,’ Samantha said, moving closer. ‘How can we be ourselves with a cameraman tagging along?’

‘It will be us. We’ll get used to the camera in no time, that’s what they always say on those reality shows, but look, we’re in this together. If you don’t want to do it, if you want to go home, figure something else out, then say the word and we can.’

Jaddi could sense Caroline’s panic as she hovered behind them and willed the producer not to jump in. This had to be Lizzie’s choice.

‘Promise it’ll feel like it’s just us?’ Lizzie asked, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

‘I promise.’ Jaddi smiled, wrapping her arms around them both and dipping her head forward. She hoped it was a promise she could keep. Lizzie and Samantha did the same, their three foreheads touching. They stayed like that for several seconds, their fears passing between them without needing to be voiced.

A commotion from across the terminal caught Jaddi’s attention. They stepped out of each other’s arms and turned to watch as a figure ran towards them, darting in and out of people, jumping over suitcases and waving his arms in the air.

‘Lizzie!’ a voice shouted, as a head jumped up above a queue of people next to them.

Lizzie gasped as the athletic frame of her younger brother sprinted into view. ‘Aaron, what on earth are you doing here?’

‘I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,’ he said, gulping in long mouthfuls of air. ‘My train was delayed. I thought I’d missed you.’

Without a word, Ben unzipped his shoulder bag and pulled out a camera the size of two shoe boxes. He pressed a button and lifted it with ease onto his right shoulder, obscuring half of his face as one eye stared down a black scope.

Lizzie pulled her brother towards her and wrapped her arms around him. ‘You didn’t need to come all this way. We said goodbye last night.’ She looked up, her eyes scanning the terminal. ‘Are Mum and Dad with you?’

Aaron shook his head. ‘They didn’t want to make it harder for you. They do understand what you’re doing. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but they do. We all do.’

Tears filled Lizzie’s eyes as she continued to hold onto Aaron.

‘How are you going to get home?’ Lizzie asked him, stepping away and tilting her head up a fraction to meet his gaze.

Aaron laughed. ‘Oh, you know, I thought I’d hitchhike back to Aldeburgh. There’s bound to be some lorries heading that way.’

‘Hey, doofus –’ Lizzie punched him on the arm ‘– I was being serious.’

Aaron sighed and ran a hand through the short waves of his brown hair. ‘I’m not eight-years-old anymore. I’m more than capable of using public transport, you know?’

Lizzie smiled. ‘I know, I know. but you’ll always be my little brother, no matter how old you are.’

It took another few minutes before the watch-tapping prompts from the man behind the check-in desk became too frequent to ignore.

As Aaron turned to leave he touched Jaddi’s arm and leaned closer. ‘Look after her.’

He had the same piercing blue eyes as Lizzie. They stared into hers with a fierceness she’d have expected from Lizzie’s father, not a cute eighteen-year-old with nothing but a bright future ahead of him.

‘You know I will.’ She smiled through the pang of guilt radiating out from the pit of her stomach. For the first time since she’d created the website, Jaddi wondered how much of what she’d done was for Lizzie, and how much of it was for herself.

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