Chapter Forty-Eight
Millie
I wake in my bed at Roisin's, and for a moment, I lay still, the memories of the day that no longer was passing across my eyelids like frames of a film. When I finally pull myself up, my arms wrapping around my knees, I stare at the wall, at the ducks scattered across the wallpaper, remembering the times I'd woken in this room. The thoughts and fears that had greeted me after I'd opened my eyes to a new day. The black days after Mum died, the lost days after the funeral, those silver-shaded days after I'd met Jackson.
This is my last day on earth.
I know Jackson had argued and pleaded more with Death. In my numbed state, Lucius had gently taken me by the elbow, tugging me away as I turned back to stare at Jackson's face. He'd nodded, his soft smile almost but not quite masking the pain in his eyes. I needed his smile in that moment, that calming lightness, the essence of Jackson. I needed it to stop the weight of truth from pressing down on me, crushing me against that marble floor. Jeanette and Lucius gently explained what would happen next. Their words barely registering, but I took in enough. How I would die peacefully. No crunching metal or shriek of breaks. No lonely death by the side of the road as originally planned. Death had granted me a kind death as well as a short life—lucky me. Jackson debated with him on the other side of the room. Hushed words of anger hissed in bitter tones. I heard phrases like 'make her a reaper' and mutterings of a 'keep us in a time loop'. Whatever Jackson had pleaded for, Death hadn't granted it. I was still fated to die.
Finally, after what felt like hours or maybe seconds of standing in that atrium, my pulse pounding in my ears, Death had lifted his scythe as Jackson held my hand, and the day was reset.
And here I was.
I want to cry, to scream, to slam my fist into the faces of these Ethereal's with their shears and scythes of death, cutting and slicing at our lives. Those with immortality and all the power of life and death at their fingertips, but with all the dysfunction of a reality TV family. Those who have the power over whether I live or die.
I pick up my phone, look and watch as a second passes by. Fear drives the air from my lungs as another second passes, another moment wasted. My phone vibrates, and I read the message without hesitation, without needing to check who it's from.
Jackson: Do what you need to do, then find me. I'm here. I'm waiting. I love you.
I smile, clutching my phone like a lifeline.
You have one day, Millie. Make it count.
The twins giggle as I flip the pancake. It lands in a slimy heap on the counter. Roisin walks in, laughing as she sees the three of us in the kitchen.
“Well, someone is in a good mood on her birthday.”
Smiling, I feel that dull ache, that weight in my belly. I want to cry. I want to wrap my arms around my godmother's neck and take the comfort I know she would be more than willing to give me. I want to tell her everything that I know I can't.
Everything is the same, including her outfit. The boys rushed down for breakfast at the same time. What's different is me. It's knowing that I will never do this again, that I did it a thousand times and never really took in the details, the wonder of it all.
The first time I lived this day, I didn't make breakfast for the boys. I ate cornflakes and sat, scrolling on my phone whilst they watched morning cartoons, bickering as they waited for their mum. I barely glanced at them once. When Roisin came down the stairs, I'm not sure if I even said 'good morning'.
Roisin walks to me and smiles, putting an arm around me and kissing my cheek.
“Happy twenty-first birthday, my gorgeous girl!”
I laugh and pull her into a deeper hug. She chuckles in surprise as I draw her close. The comforting smell of her, her rose perfume and strawberry shampoo soothes a ragged piece of my soul.
“Aw, sweetheart, are you OK?”
She pulls away and looks at me, her smile broad, but her eyes narrowed in concern.
“I'm fine, just trying to enjoy today.”
She nods, backing away and tucking a loose wave behind my ear. Her lips tighten slightly.
“I know it's hard, your first birthday without your mum, but I'm so glad you're trying. That's all we can ever do, you know?”
Swallowing hard, a lump grows in my throat that I try to ignore. I can't cry right now. I can't.
“I miss Mum, and it hurts. I thought the hurt would grow less, but it doesn't. It's more like … the rest of my life is growing around that hurt. I can be happy and still miss Mum. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, of course it does. After everything you've been through … you're finally coming back to life.”
Her words are lovely and true, and maybe that's why dying hurts so much. She grins, turns around, and shakes her hips a little.
“Presents time!”
“Roisin?” I call, as she walks away. My throat goes dry, and I realise I don't have the words to express how grateful I am, how much she's done for me. She smiles at me, just nodding, and my body relaxes.
She knows. And that's enough.
The morning slipped through my fingers like liquid. I opened my birthday present, a joint gift arranged between them before her death, from Mum and Roisin. Seeing Mum's messy handwriting on the envelope still made something tighten in me. Feigning surprise and delight for tickets I knew I'd receive, for a trip to Scandinavia I’d never take. I blew out the candles on a cake covered in chocolate icing, smiling widely at Archie and Simon even as the eggshells they'd left in the mixture caught between my teeth. I hugged them in thanks. My heart split as I felt the warmth of their sleepy morning bodies against mine.
I say my goodbyes casually as I wrap a scarf around my neck and slip into my warmest coat. The boys are already back in front of the TV, barely noticing as I leave. Roisin smiles, waving, eyes half on the mess in the kitchen she's cleaning up, unaware that this will be the final time she sees me. As I step out the door for the last time, I turn and gaze at them, leaving a small part of myself behind with them.
The world is a bright blue, and everything is coated in icy glitter. My breath is a white froth gliding in front of my lips as I walk. My phone rings, distracting me from the tears that are already flowing. I answer Chloe's call as I walk slowly towards Mum's grave. I buy fresh flowers and listen to Chloe singing Happy Birthday to me before launching into stories about her boyfriend, her feud with Marnie, and her happiness at the direction her life has taken. I listen and enjoy the sound of my childhood, her sing-song voice talking almost too rapidly for me to follow—chatting about the same dilemmas and dramas faced by most people our age, problems that were no longer mine, that had never been mine, really.
As Chloe talks, I take in the world around me: the frost crunching under my boots, the chill that kisses my cheeks pink, the smell of petrol, the footsteps of children on their way to school, music blaring from a car radio. The scents, sounds and sights, the ones you find in every city, every day. They're not special, but I think I'll miss them all the same.
When I reach Mum's grave, new and gleaming in the morning sun, the last touches of dawn mist soften the edges of the graveyard. I sit on a bench nearby as Chloe talks. The world is peaceful here, quiet. A few other families visit graves, and birds coo lightly from the trees above.
“Wow, I have literally just prattled on for twenty minutes! It's your day. Come on, tell me what you're doing for the rest of it?”
I swallow. That's right. Nearly half my day was over.
“I'm spending it with Jackson,” I whisper.
“So it's really serious between you two?” she says, ending with a giggle.
“Yeah, it's … I love him.”
“Awww, I'm so happy for you, honestly. And if I especially enjoy the fact that Marnie wanted to get her claws in him … that's OK, right?”
“That is definitely OK.” I laugh.
I hear a crunching on the grass nearby, and when I look up, the white light burning my eyes, I see Jackson's outline. His broad shoulders block out the light, those unruly onyx strands flickering into the silver of his eyes. He sinks onto the bench next to me, flowers in his hand. The heady perfume of the flowers can't hide the darker, spicy smell of him.
“OK, well, I'm going to let you enjoy your day. Let me know about hitting up Worship next weekend! Think your boy can get us on the VIP list?”
“Absolutely.” I lie, my throat sore. “See you at Uni.”
I hang up and turn to Jackson. He looks good, he always looks good, but I can tell he's made more effort than usual. Gray fitted shirt, a dark coat skimming his thighs, only the slightly red and shiny skin of his eyes betray him.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers, his voice coarse.
“I was thinking something similar about you.” I smile. “And thank you.”
He leans his forehead against mine, resting there for a moment as we share the same breath. He presses his mouth softly against mine, his lips gently parting mine. The kiss that follows is aching and charged. I feel it in the way I cling to the collar of his shirt, pulling him close. How his fingers dig almost painfully into my waist. It's an eternity before I force myself to pull away, feeling his absence like a hole in my chest. I give myself a moment to gaze into his eyes, into the molten silver, the colour of stars, the colour of sunlight skimming across water. Eyes that mirrored the light still flickering inside me, even though I thought Mum's death had blown every flame of life out. I take his hand, and slowly I stand, walking closer to Mum's grave.
“Thank you for coming with me.”
“You're more than welcome.”
“Do you think … do you think I'll see her? Wherever I go?”
He looks at the ground, his eyes growing wet.
“Yes. I don't know what's on the other side, but you'll be together. I believe that.”
I pull closer to him, let him wrap an arm around my waist, resting my head on his chest. I feel his heart beating sure and strong under my cheek. I turn to look at the flowers in his arms, bright shades of blue and purple mixed with orchids of pure black. He follows my gaze.
“I got the impression Eva Nightingale would want something cooler than white lilies,” he says with a grin.
“Damn right.”
I bend down and start tidying the grave, a quiet ritual. One that's always brought me comfort. Jackson meets my eye in question, and after I nod, he joins me. Together, we remove the dying flowers, the growing weeds, and the dirt gathered on top of her stone and add in the fresh, blooming flowers. I stand above her grave, looking down at the words etched in stone. I sense her here, even if it's just a feeling, a tiny piece of comfort.
“What do you want to do now?”
Smiling, a hundred thoughts have gone through my mind, but really, there was only one way I wanted to spend my last day.
“With you. In your flat. I want to watch you cook and argue about what music to listen to. I want you to tell me more stories about Paris and eat your food. I want one last chance to be us.”
His lips part, but he says nothing. His eyes are full of things unsaid. I see them written in the flecks of metal. I see the words he cannot find. But in the end, his mouth closes and he just nods. Smiling gently, he takes my hand, leading me away from the dead for one last chance to live.