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Before You Say Goodbye Chapter 10 56%
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Chapter 10

When they brought Bowie home from hospital, everything was different, both physically and emotionally. The moments of high energy and happiness he’d enjoyed before had gone and he was barely able to walk across the room. Marley had broken a couple of his brother’s ribs in his effort to save him, but that was the least of Bowie’s issues. His entire body was swollen and bruised, his backache was ten times worse than it had been and his headaches had increased in severity. His pain was no longer sporadic, it was constant and unbearable. Bowie made it very clear that he held them all responsible. Every time he writhed in agony, he glared at whoever was nearest to him. He barely spoke to anyone except to snap at them all. Even Autumn and Maddie, the only people he permitted to touch him, were not immune to his rage. He had warned Autumn once that he was ungracious when he was ill. She knew now what he’d meant. At times he was so rude, ungrateful and selfish that she didn’t like him very much at all. He took every twinge out on the people around him and the Whittles retreated into themselves in a way Autumn hadn’t thought they would ever do. She found herself wishing he’d accepted the palliative care he’d been offered by the doctor. They were out of their depths here — drowning in a sea of despair — but when she dared broach the subject with him, he snapped at her. He didn’t want strangers in his home. He didn’t want anyone he didn’t know to see him like this.

Maddie feigned strength in Bowie’s presence but, when he wasn’t in the room, she sat alone and cried. Sometimes Ben tried to comfort her, but she would push him away. She was almost as angry as Bowie at their parents for going against his wishes, and even angrier that they still — despite the state of him — couldn’t see that what they had done had been wrong.

Everyone else was different too. Bluebell barely acknowledged anyone. She stayed close to Bowie and tried to help him as best she could but, mostly, he ignored her. Eventually, she took the hint and stopped trying altogether. Still, she spent her days close by, usually staring at the television screen and watching him out of the corner of her eye.

Marley barely came out of his bedroom. He’d tried, earnestly, early on, to get his brother to talk to him but Bowie constantly ordered him to leave him alone. Pip and Marley were sharing a bed, because Marley cried so violently in the night that Pip was afraid that he might get up and attempt to take his own life.

Autumn was greatly concerned for her friends and their mental states, but she didn’t have any time or energy to attempt to help them. She was far too busy trying to lift Bowie’s spirits all by herself.

He was awake all night almost every night. He’d curl into a ball in their bed and clutch his chest or grab his head in his hands, trying to concentrate his way through waves of pain. One night, a violent spasm took him so much by surprise that he bit through his lip until it bled everywhere. Autumn did everything she could think of to help him. She stroked him wherever he hurt, tried to distract him with stories or aimless chatter, let him squeeze her hand a little too hard when he needed to. His mood swung unpredictably between desperately frightened and terribly sad. When she wasn’t there, he called for her constantly, shooing away anyone else when they tried to tend to him instead. He never said it, but she knew he had grown afraid of being alone. Even when they were sleeping next to one another, Bowie would wake her up as soon as he was conscious, just so that he wouldn’t be by himself. There was nothing Autumn could do to help him, but she would rush to be beside him whenever he called. It was terrifying. His cancer was taking him out piece by piece. His body would either survive it or it wouldn’t. All they could do was wait.

When things got really bad, Bowie would ask Autumn to kill him. Those were the worst times. It was always during the night, when she was feeling at her most fragile, and nobody was around to stop her if she gave in to him. He would hold her body close to his and beg her, sometimes for hours at a time, to end his suffering for him.

“I can feel it, it’s in my head. Please find a way to help me die, Autumn. Please.”

Autumn would largely ignore his requests, hushing and soothing him with meaningless words. She felt so terribly sad for him, so unbelievably sickened by it all, that some nights she would start to think about it. On those occasions, Bowie would sense her self-doubt and latch on to it.

“You could smother me,” he’d say. “Just knock me out with alcohol and smother me in my sleep.”

“I’d get caught,” she would reply. “Do you want me to spend the rest of my life in prison?”

“Then buy me some strong painkillers. Leave them by the bed and I’ll take them myself.”

“No.”

“Autumn—”

“No, Bowie!”

For the first few days after Bowie was discharged, she felt as though she was managing quite well, but — after a fortnight — when Autumn realised she hadn’t showered for four days, eaten in twenty-four hours or slept for any period longer than an hour for almost a week, she started crying in the shower one afternoon and found she couldn’t stop. She tried everything, but every time she quelled her sobs for more than a few seconds, they returned more obvious and violent than ever.

In the end she gave in, resolving that the family would have to see her cry today. It would be the first time since Bowie’s heart attack that she’d let any of them see her being emotional. She’d pretended to everyone, thus far, that she was coping just fine.

She wrapped her hair in a towel and pulled on a dressing gown, preparing herself for concerned conversations about the state she was in. As she padded down the corridor, relieved to feel at least clean at last, she heard Bowie calling for her from the bedroom and froze, realising she wasn’t going to be able to go to him. She couldn’t take another day of it. She was sick of the same four walls, of the endless cups of tea, of the crying and sobbing and screaming. Autumn willed her legs to take her into their bedroom, but she felt paralysed.

Her reluctant feet turned left into the living room instead of right towards their bedroom. Emma and Ben were sitting, still and silent, on the sofa. Autumn marched past them and out of the front door. She tore her towel turban from her head and threw it down on the grass. She didn’t know where she was going, she only knew that she needed to be out of there and on her own.

She tore barefoot and shivering across the garden and into the shrubbery that surrounded it. Distraught, she sat against the trunk of an oak tree in a wooded area at the front of the house, as far away from the bedroom she shared with Bowie as she could get without leaving the grounds. She pulled her dressing gown around herself, put her head in her hands, and wailed. For the first time in a very long time, although she knew she could completely surround herself with people if she wanted to, she felt totally on her own. She stayed there for hours, well aware that Bowie would be upset by her disappearance. He would be forced to accept help from people he was angry at for their betrayal. But she couldn’t bring herself to go back to him.

It was dark when Marley came looking for her. He headed straight to where she was sitting. Autumn fathomed there were security cameras somewhere she didn’t know about. She bet they had been watching her. She didn’t care. Maybe it would do them good to see what they were doing to her.

He sat down next to her, saying nothing. Autumn hid her head in her hands, feigning indifference. They stayed that way for almost an hour. He listened to her crying without a word and she felt supported by the heat of his body beside her. Eventually, she collapsed in on herself and sought his comfort. Marley wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, Autumn,” he whispered.

His voice was kind and his arms protective and strong. She realised nobody had held her in weeks. Marley smelt and felt the same way Bowie did, so she wound her hand in his jumper and closed her eyes, pretending it was Bowie’s chest she was nestled into instead. Marley rested his chin on her head, the way Bowie sometimes did in bed. He let her hold on to him until she stopped crying. She wondered, guiltily, if he knew she was pretending he was his brother. If he did, he didn’t say. He let her rest against him until she’d stopped crying, then encouraged her to look up into his eyes by cupping her face in his hand.

“Done?” he asked softly. She nodded. “OK, then. The family wants to talk to you. When you’re ready.”

Autumn was gripped by sudden fear. She remembered their very early conversations in the apartment in New York, when Emma had warned her that she’d need to act like part of the family — she’d need to put her own feelings to one side and let them focus on Bowie’s care — or else she wouldn’t be welcome to stay with them. She knew Bowie would never let them make her leave, but she was still worried she’d lose their blessing to be here, and now, though she’d wanted nothing more than space all day, she wanted nothing except to be back in the arms of their family as night approached.

“Are you going to send me home?” she asked Marley.

“Autumn . . .” He laughed gently, shaking his head. “You already are home.”

* * *

For the first time since Bowie had left the hospital, the Whittles were all sitting together in the living room. Autumn searched for Bowie, who was propped up in an armchair in the corner. He held his arms out to her when he saw her and pulled her down onto his knee. She protested at first — she knew Bowie’s hips and back were causing him great pain even without the weight of her pushing them out of position — but he was insistent. He held her tightly to him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her neck. She returned his embrace and he winced. She wasn’t sure if that was because he was hurting physically or because she didn’t tell him it was OK.

Marley perched on the arm of the sofa beside his mother, who patted his leg affectionately. Ben poured Autumn a glass of wine, winking away the apology she tried to offer as he did so. They were all making eye contact with one another again, and Autumn knew that they’d been talking through their issues while she’d been in the garden. The air felt lighter already.

“Right . . .” Emma began, clapping her hands together gently.

“Mum, I don’t think you’re the best person to lead this,” Pip said. Emma clamped her mouth shut, a dejected expression on her face, but she didn’t object.

“This is Bowie’s meeting really.” Marley gestured towards his brother. Their gazes lingered on one another and Autumn knew they were communicating love and hurt, apology, concern and betrayal all at once. Bowie turned away first, leaving a wounded-looking Marley bereft.

Bowie sighed, rubbing his free hand across his face. He looked so tired. Autumn wanted to wrap him in a blanket and cradle him to her chest. He was frail and she noticed with a start just how much this disease had taken a toll on his appearance. He’d lost weight, and his hair looked dull and unhealthily coarse. His skin was pasty and clammy. There were new lines on his brow, formed by constant frowning. The sparkle in his eyes was still there, though. Overcome with love, Autumn kissed him lightly on the cheek. He turned to smile at her, leaning in to peck her gently on the lips. For a moment it was just the two of them there in consciousness, and they were happy and problem-free. A moment later, Bowie cleared his throat, turning to his family.

“Dad and I called this family meeting because we want to sort things out. I don’t think any of us have been enjoying the way things have been lately. I love you all . . .”

His eyes met Marley’s once more and his words stuck in his throat. Bowie buried his head in Autumn’s shoulder, taking a minute or so to compose himself. When he spoke again, he was breathless with rage.

“I love you all, but I’m so fucking angry. Every time I feel a twinge of pain I feel furious with all of you. I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be feeling this, and—”

Emma tried to interject, but he snapped at her.

“I know why,” he hissed in her direction.

“Bowie . . .” Ben said warningly.

Instantly contrite, Bowie took a deep breath and held his hands up. “I’m sorry, Mum.”

It was the first hint of restraint Autumn had seen in him for weeks. Bowie had spat much harsher words at his mother in the days following his resuscitation. Autumn smiled subtly and knowingly at Ben, who nodded poignantly in reply. Ben hated it when any of his children insulted their mother. He’d allowed Bowie a grace period for his anger, but that was over now. There was no way he would let his son speak to Emma like that any longer. She was their mother, she had created them and was their most ardent supporter. Her unwavering love for them demanded their respect as far as Ben was concerned and Bowie would obey his father because he valued Ben’s opinion probably more than he valued anyone else’s.

Emma smiled meekly and apologised for interrupting Bowie. He took another deep breath and continued.

“I can’t put myself in your position. If I were losing any of you, I know I’d probably be exactly the same. But I do need you to put yourselves in my position because I’m the one who’s going through this. I know you all have visions of me slipping away peacefully while you sit around my bed and hold my hand, but it might not be like that. It might be as ugly as what happened a fortnight ago. You’re still going to have to let me go.”

“I will, Bowie,” Pip blurted. Emma glared accusingly at her youngest son, but he ignored her. “I’ll throw myself on top of you to stop them next time if I have to.”

Bowie nodded sadly at his little brother and Pip looked relieved. Autumn relaxed a little bit. Pip and his feelings were often overlooked because Marley and Emma were so expressive about losing Bowie and how it made them feel, but the youngest Whittle had confided in her several days before that Bowie’s anger at him was destroying him and he was too afraid to apologise in case Bowie refused to listen. His brother rejecting him would break Pip’s sensitive heart.

“So will I,” Marley said. His voice sounded strangely strangled, as though he was physically squeezing the words out past his vocal cords. “You know I don’t want you to die, bro, but I don’t want to see you like this either. What we did was wrong. If you collapse like that again, I, for one, am prepared to let you go.”

Bowie raised his eyes to meet his twin’s.

“I promise,” Marley added. Autumn felt the tension seep from the room. Bowie nodded.

Ben spoke next.

“We are sorry, Bowie. We weren’t as strong as you needed us to be. You’re right, it wasn’t how we’d imagined the end. We couldn’t cope with how it was happening. We were wrong, son.”

Bowie closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them to look at Bluebell.

“What about you?”

She was hugging her knees to her chest and rocking backwards and forwards on the floor. Her eyes darted uncomfortably between them all.

“I’ll do the same thing I did last time. Nothing. Don’t ask me to do anything more, Bowie. I’m not strong enough to do anything to help you die, but I won’t try to stop it if it happens.”

Autumn had not yet acknowledged that Bluebell’s lack of involvement that evening had not been panic or frozen trauma, but an attempt to protect Bowie’s wishes. Suddenly she knew why her friend had been unable to sit in his hospital room and listen to their family berate her sister for trying to do what Bowie had asked of them by letting him die. The words they’d hurled at Maddie might as well have been meant for Bluebell, too. Bowie nodded again, then looked at his mother. She was trying hard not to meet anyone’s eye.

“Mum?” She folded and unfolded her arms, swallowing anxiously and nervously shaking her head. Bowie sighed. “I need you to say it, Mum. I can’t stand the idea that they’ll be wrestling you off me. You have to accept that this is what I want. Please. Let me go.”

He stopped and stared up at the ceiling. He was blinking back frustrated tears. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again. I thought you were better than this.”

“Why can’t you just fight a little longer for us?” Emma whispered.

Bowie spoke through gritted teeth. “Because I don’t want to. And it’s my choice.”

“Bowie . . .” Ben said. Bowie waved his father’s warning away irritably, but relaxed his jaw.

“You have Autumn now,” Emma said. “Why can’t you fight for more time with her?”

Before Autumn could react, before she could tell them that Bowie in pain for longer on her behalf wasn’t what she wanted, Bowie protectively pulled her closer to him.

“That has nothing to do with anything,” he said. “I’ve had enough, Mum. I woke up in the night, knew what was coming, and locked myself in that bathroom, away from Autumn and everyone else, because I wanted to die. You must have known that, when you had to break down the door? I’m sick of being in pain. I’m tired of waiting for the next horrible thing I have to go through. Do you know what that’s like? Can you imagine how it feels to be constantly waiting for something traumatic to happen to you? You know it’s coming but you don’t know when, and there’s nothing you can do but hope it isn’t that really awful terrible thing you’d been dreading, that it’s something else instead. I was lying on that floor for what felt like hours and I was hurting everywhere but I was still relieved. I thought it was all about to be over. Now, because of you, I’m going to have to go through something horrendous again. I’m terrified all the time. I’m all on my own in this. None of you can go through it with me. At the end of the day, every time something happens, I’m the only one who really feels it. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Emma lowered her head into her hands and sobbed. Marley and Ben wrapped their arms around her. Bowie gave them a minute for her to calm down. He let his head fall against Autumn, closing his eyes. Autumn thought he might fall asleep, but he rested there until he heard his mother’s cries quieten, and then he spoke again. This time, his voice was much softer.

“I want us to go back to the way things were between us when I thought you all knew how I feel and would do what I want when the time comes. I can only do that if I know everyone understands this time.” He opened his eyes and looked directly at Marley. “I need you to really, actually, understand — not just try to make me feel better.”

Marley nodded gravely. Autumn’s heart broke. She still felt as though Marley should be excused. His love for Bowie ran deeper than an ordinary sibling bond. Standing by and watching Bowie die would always be too much for him to cope with. It was too much to ask of him and she knew he would never be able to control himself when it came to Bowie. Autumn could tell that he truly believed it when he said he would let Bowie go, but she didn’t think it was true. Not for a second.

“OK,” Emma whispered, looking Bowie right in the eye. Tears were running off her jaw and into her lap, but she ignored them, her full attention on her oldest son. “Next time something happens, I swear, I’ll let you go, Bowie. I’ll let you go.”

* * *

Unlike other families, when the Whittles agreed to put something behind them, they really did put it behind them. The atmosphere got better almost immediately. Ben poured more wine for those who wanted it and the living room erupted into conversation. Marley and Emma moved to sit with Bowie, perching themselves on an arm each of his chair. Autumn got up to give them the space they needed. They both kissed him and stroked their hands over him as though they hadn’t seen him in months.

Autumn stepped out of the front door by herself, leaving him to his family. It was July and warm enough — even at nighttime — that she didn’t need to put on shoes or a jacket. She took herself to sit on the double swing at the bottom of the garden and rocked back and forth for close to an hour, staring absently at the discarded towel she’d thrown on the lawn earlier. She felt cool, but her skin was hot to the touch, anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. She was still a nervous wreck.

She heard the door open and shut and recognised Bluebell’s delicate form on the porch, her pretty eyes peering out into the dark, searching for her. Autumn waved.

“I bet you regret the day you ever met me,” Bluebell said, sitting down beside her. Autumn laughed. She would have said the same if she were her.

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” she said. It was all so hard, but so worth it. Bluebell held her hand out to Autumn, and the two friends, so different than they had been just a few months ago, worlds away from the party girls who had fallen into platonic love, interlaced their fingers, resting their foreheads together. They had barely spoken for weeks. Autumn had missed her.

“You’re my family,” she murmured.

“We are.” Bluebell smiled. “I don’t know how you’re doing this. I don’t even know how we’re doing it and we’re tied to him.”

“I love him,” Autumn said.

“Naw, now that’s a loser thing to say,” Bluebell said teasingly. Autumn laughed again. It felt good to admit her feelings to her friend. She and Bowie had not said those words to one another since the first time over breakfast in the café, but how Autumn felt about him had not changed. If anything, they’d become even closer throughout his ordeal. She loved him more now than ever. Bowie was her darling, her sweetheart, her whole heart, he was everything to her. She stopped short of revealing quite that much detail to Bluebell, though. There were some things a sister didn’t need to know. A comfortable silence fell between the two of them. They rocked the swing together. Apart from the tiny squeak it made each time it reached the top, the garden was silent. Autumn felt the sweet call of slumber and nodded off for a moment.

“You don’t hate my mum, do you?” Bluebell asked Autumn, shattering her peace and making her gasp.

“Why on earth would you ever think that?”

“I don’t. She does. Mum’s worried that you’re upset because of what they did to Bowie.”

Autumn pondered. She was upset with them all, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see why they’d done what they had. She certainly didn’t hate them for it. Perhaps she’d been a little preoccupied and detached from them these past couple of weeks. She could see how that might look.

“I have been cold, haven’t I?” she asked. Bluebell nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it right.”

“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Bluebell said. “Because what they actually did was save his life. That’s usually a good thing.”

“Apart from the fact that he doesn’t want to live anymore,” Autumn said. Her words sounded sterner than she’d meant them to, and she realised she was disappointed that Bluebell was defending their parents. She had hoped they agreed on this. It had given her relief.

“Well, yes,” Bluebell said. “But he could live longer, if he wanted to. If we keep saving him the way we have been, who’s to say he wouldn’t have another twenty years before it actually got him? That’s what Mum and Dad struggle with. If it were me, I would want them to keep resuscitating me and treating me until they couldn’t do it anymore.”

“You don’t know that. Look at the pain he’s in, Bluebell. Not only physically, but mentally, too. We can’t know what he’s going through,” Autumn said.

“He was happy though, Autumn,” Bluebell said. “Before the heart attack. We’d never seen him so happy. He has to recover now, but he could get back to that again. You two could have more time together.”

“It’s his decision, Bluebell . . .”

“I know that,” Bluebell said. “And I’d never go against what he wants. That doesn’t mean I have to agree with him, though. And I don’t.”

There wasn’t anything Autumn could say to that. Nobody could force Bluebell to support Bowie’s decision and Autumn couldn’t criticise her so long as she was conceding to let him decide for himself. Still, she was surprised. Bowie could do nothing wrong in Bluebell’s eyes usually. Autumn had expected his sister to find it within herself to agree with him completely.

“We thought he might change his mind when he met you,” Bluebell went on. “About not having treatment. We thought you may have given him enough reason to try to go on living.”

The words stabbed at Autumn. Not only did they make her feel as though she had failed at something she’d never signed up for, they revealed a harsh truth, one that made her feel uncomfortable. Apart from their initial attempt to intervene in her relationship with Bowie when she’d first met them, the Whittles had been surprisingly and extraordinarily supportive of Autumn being in a relationship with their terminally ill son. They had accepted Autumn for everything she was and welcomed her into their family. They’d promised her a home with them for ever, if she wanted it. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wondered why. It all made sense to her now. They’d believed she might be Bowie’s saviour. She wondered if everything they’d ever done for her had been based on that. She guessed she would find out when he was gone. For now, she would continue to fight for Bowie and his rights.

“Bluebell, doesn’t that tell you all you need to know?” she said. “He’s so happy, but he still doesn’t want to live like this anymore. Imagine the pain he must be in.”

Bluebell swallowed, nodding. Autumn could tell that she’d changed Bluebell’s perspective, if only by a fraction. They held on to one another a little tighter and fell silent, their inertia driven by the weight of their bodies, the swing rocking them backwards and forwards until they’d almost fallen asleep. They rose when they grew cold and wandered dizzily, hand in hand, back to the house. All was quiet. Everyone else had gone to bed.

Autumn hugged Bluebell goodnight and opened her bedroom door, expecting to find Bowie lying anxiously awake and waiting for her. Instead, she found him sleeping in their bed beside Marley. They faced each other on top of the duvet, fully dressed and holding forearms. Sleep, it seemed, had caught them unawares. She stood in the doorway, watching them for a while. They looked so sweet together. So peaceful. Autumn hadn’t seen Bowie look so restful in the entire time she’d known him. She realised in that moment that Bowie never felt totally complete when he wasn’t with Marley. He was fidgety when his brother wasn’t there. Anxious. His sleep was frequently disturbed, something she’d put down to pain until now. They were two halves of one whole. The missing piece of each other. They were never really happy if they were without the other. A lesser partner might have been jealous, but Autumn understood. She couldn’t begin to comprehend the bond they shared, she knew that. Perhaps it was the kind of love that only came with growing in a womb together. No wonder they couldn’t see life without one another. She watched them sigh simultaneously and shuffle closer together. Her heart ached.

She thought about covering them with a blanket, but was worried Marley might wake up and feel as though he had to leave. They’d missed out on so many precious hours together these last few weeks. It was important for them to have this time together, she knew, so she tiptoed back into the hallway, closing the door softly behind her.

She knocked gently on Pip’s bedroom door and — in an attempt to avoid worrying him — entered the dark room without waiting for a response. It didn’t work. Pip jumped out of bed and bolted towards her in a panic. Autumn held her hands out to calm him.

“Autumn, what’s happened!”

“It’s OK,” she whispered, holding him by his shaking arms. “Marley’s fallen asleep in our bed with Bowie. Can I sleep in here with you?”

Pip sighed with relief, nodding. He stumbled back to bed. Autumn let him settle in, then slipped beneath Marley’s duvet and wrapped herself in it contentedly. She knew she’d fall asleep quickly for the first time in weeks. All felt right with the world again, plus it had been a while since she’d had a bed to herself and she was really comfortable. Her heart fluttered happily. She hoped they might all leave her to sleep for as long as she needed to tomorrow. She definitely had some catching up to do.

She drew in a deep breath, turning her nose to the pillow to chase the faint smell of tea tree oil, and instead catching the unmistakable scent of Marley.

She allowed it to comfort her.

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