‘Of course.’
‘Great!’ She gave Olivia’s shoulder a little squeeze, lowering her voice to a half-whisper. ‘You do whatever you feel is right with your friend, but just remember … life is too short for games. Say it with me. Life is too short for what?’
‘Games.’
‘Exactly!’ Cece beamed.
Life may be too short for games, Olivia thought, watching her friend disappear, but what happens when someone’s whole life is based on one?
Jacob
It took three days of total bedrest for Jacob to feel like a human being again. Everyone in the internet cafe had been extremely concerned after his rather dramatic fainting episode. So much so that it took a good fifteen minutes to convince the owner that he didn’t need to call an ambulance, and he was fine to leave unaccompanied. Luckily, his hostel wasn’t far, and he just about managed to crawl back to his room before passing out once more, sleeping solidly for twelve hours straight.
Thankfully, he had curated a little stash of snacks in his room, so in between bouts of sleep, he forced himself to eat a packet of nuts or munch on a dry cereal bar, his stomach still rolling with nausea and his body so weak that, even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he could manage anything more substantial. All he was good for was rest.
By the morning of day four, the fog finally began to lift. The shooting pains across his forehead had lessened to a pulsating ache, and the flashing lights in front of his eyes had almost cleared completely. He was feeling fragile, but only from lack of food, something he knew could easily be rectified as soonas he dragged his sorry self out of bed and into the shower. In fact, on the whole, he felt good. The only thing he couldn’t shake quite yet were the final thoughts he’d had before he’d fallen unconscious.
Mum.
I want Mum.
The urge for her was still as strong. Her face interrupted both his sleeping and waking thoughts, the image so clear it was as though she were standing right in front of him, close enough for him to reach out and touch her, to feel her soft, powdery skin against his and smell the heavy, floral scent of her perfume. The woman who was there for him every single day of his life, until he left her behind without a second glance. How on earth could he face speaking to her now? After all this time, out of the blue, simply because he was sick and needed comfort? Maybe his dad was right; maybe he really was that selfish.
The thought of his dad was enough to drive him from his bed. He couldn’t spend another day wallowing in self-pity. He had to get up and he had to eat. And if he happened to swing by the internet cafe on his travels and ended up sending a few emails, so what?
Excitement gathered in the base of his throat. Maybe, just maybe, Olivia would have replied to him by now. Not that he should want that. Not that he should even deserve that. But there was no denying it: a part of him was still hopeful. And he knew, more than anyone, that hope was the most dangerous emotion of them all.
*
‘For my time the other day’ – Jacob slapped down a handful of coins on the sticky counter and placed a cup of steamingchai by the pile of money – ‘and a thank you for looking after me.’
The owner of the cafe looked at him, and then, without so much as a word, pushed both gifts back towards Jacob. ‘I won’t let you pay for being sick.’ He offered a fatherly smile. ‘And, my friend, I think you need the chai more than I do.’
‘Do I still look that rough?’
‘I’ve seen worse.’ The man twiddled his thick, bushy moustache. ‘Now, are you staying or going? I have only one free space left.’
Jacob cast his eyes around the little space. It was surprisingly busy for a midweek morning; rows of hunched bodies were crammed in next to each other, eyes glued to screens and fingers flying across keyboards. It was strange, he thought, how this had become the new way to connect with people. In a dark, soulless room, hidden behind a machine. It didn’t make any sense, and yet here he was, about to do the very same thing.
‘Yeah, I might as well since I’m already here.’ Jacob shoved a few of his coins back across the counter and picked his way through to the one empty desk in the corner.
His fingers were filled with nervous energy, almost tripping over themselves in anticipation.
He logged on to his emails and found the last message she’d sent him, dated on his birthday and still unread.
From:[email protected]
Subject:Another year older and hopefully a little wiser …
Hi darling, it’s me, Mum.
He couldn’t help but laugh at her opening sentence. Why did parents insist on announcing their identity in every form of communication they had with their children?
I just wanted to send a quick message to wish you a happy birthday! I’ve sent quite a few texts, but they don’t seem to be getting through any more – perhaps you’ve lost your phone or changed numbers? Either way, just let me know you’re safe.
Guilt pulled his heart down into his stomach.
In my head I like to picture you on a beautiful beach somewhere, sunning yourself by the ocean. I’ll never forget what you said to me once – life’s too short to be anywhere but by the sea! You always were my little water baby. But wherever you are, my darling boy, know that I love you. I think about you every day, and even though it breaks my heart you’re not here, I am so proud of the life you chose to make for yourself.
