Callie
In the week following Joel’s dream I struggle to maintain normality. Instead of joining Fiona and Liam in the yard at lunchtimes, I make my way down to the river and climb the old willow alone. Conversations with my colleagues have already assumed a different color—it’s hard to chip in to discussions about last night’s TV, or the rise of the discount supermarkets, when Joel and I are spending our evenings blighted by discord over the date of my death.
On Friday night, flagging from hours of pushing an industrial mower through meadows, I climb the tree, then remove my boots and socks. Blending in with the branches as walkers pass beneath the bare soles of my feet, I feel the pleasing sensation of blood rushing through my calves to my toes. Dragonflies buzz by, tiny shiny helicopters, and from the marsh on the opposite bank comes the primal ache of calling cattle. All day the air has been warm and still, static with summer, save for the hot popping of exploding seed heads.
I can only think of Joel—warm-blooded and full-hearted, his self-contained demeanor masking a fever of agonies within. I try to imagine him telling me what he knows, the seismic repercussions as the groundswell passes through him to me. I consider the ways in which our lives would change, and what we would become.
There’s no knowing who I’d turn into, whether the information wouldbe toxic, alter me entirely. It’s no accident, surely, that we’re biologically programmed to be ignorant of this stuff.
I envisage weighing out my days, how the chemistry of every experience would change. Perhaps I’d jettison everything dear to me, and all the while, the end would be drawing near, winding ever closer like the dark finger of a tornado.
I just don’t know how Joel and I could hope to build a life for ourselves, with so much to fear.
But Joel carries all that with him already, and he has nowhere to stow it. If I truly loved him, maybe I’d be encouraging him to say what’s in his heart, agreeing to share the load. Because love isn’t only about the easy choices, the simple solutions—it’s about the hard graft and the tough calls, the sacrifices you don’t actually want to make.Nothing worth having ever comes easy, my dad always says.
I stare down at the furrow of my initial next to Grace’s in the tree bark before scrabbling for my phone and dialing her, waiting for the beep.
“I’m just in our tree, thinking about you. Well, thinking about Joel, actually. I wish I could talk to you, Grace. I’m pretty sure you’d know what to do—or, at least, you’d know what to say. I think you’d tell me to stay blissfully ignorant and keep living for the moment. Am I right?
“You always said you wanted to die doing something you loved. Well, I’m sorry you didn’t get to do that. But you died without knowing it was coming, which has to be the next best thing, at least.” I shut my eyes. “Look, Grace, just give me a sign or something, will you? Just something—anything—so I know what I’m supposed to do... You’d have adored him—Joel. I know you would have loved to see how happy he makes me. It would have made you happy too, I think.
“So, don’t forget, all right? Just... give me a sign.”
Pressing end call, I lean back against the rigid spine of willow bark for a few more moments. Stupidly, I’m already looking out for it—the signal from my friend to let me know she’s heard me. But the air remains quiet, and the river stays still.
58.
Joel
A fortnight since my dream. Two weeks of paralysis. I’ve been turning the pages of Callie and me over in my mind, like a book I was always afraid to open. I know I’m at risk of losing her, but I can’t just wait for the tide to take her. I have to try everything.
Steve’s out of breath when he answers the phone. “Joel?”
I’m walking Bruno. It’s only now I think to check my watch, and it’s nearly nine p.m. “Sorry, mate, were you—”
“Just some push-ups before bed.” He punches out excess breath like an army sergeant. “You’re alive, then.”
“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been—”
“Ignoring my messages.”
I feel momentarily like a client he’s chastising for dropping out of boot camp. “I think I’m ready to see Diana.”
“That was a long time coming.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“And you’re serious?”
“Very.”
“How’s the—you know—dreaming been?”
“As bad as it could possibly be.”
He goes quiet for a few seconds. “This to do with Callie?”
“I can’t explain right now. Just... can you set it up for me?”
