Page 108 of To Hell With It
‘It was,’ Tim said, and then as if the mountains had opened up his heart, Tim poured his out to me.
* * *
I found out that Tim had moved from the UK to New Zealand when he was ten and had gone to school with his wife. They dated from the age of twelve to fifteen and then again from seventeen to nineteen, and then they went their separate ways until their paths crossed again at the age of twenty-nine and he proposed a year later.
Nicola sounded like a lovely person and by the time I was back at the shuttle bus, I felt as though I’d known her all my life. For example, I knew she liked to go for a run every morning on the beach and then jump into the sea afterwards, where she’d swim with dolphins. She did it with a bald head, from the chemotherapy, but she didn’t care – she wanted to feel alive. The dolphins would actually come to the same spot every morning at the same time as if they knew she’d be there.
She also made a bucket list of all her fears so that she could face them before she died. Most dying people make a bucket list of things they want to do, not what they don’t, so I admired Nicola all the more for it.
She did a talk in her town hall about dying because she had a fear of public speaking. She danced around her supermarket because she had a fear of people looking at her bald head. She would sing every day, no matter what mood she was in because it would lift her. She even sang the day she died, but I didn’t ask Tim what song and I don’t think he wanted to tell me anyway.
She held a snake around her neck because she hated snakes and sat in the passenger seat of a racing car because she’d had a car accident when she was younger. And she camped outside on her own, with no tent, because she had always been scared of the dark. By the time Tim had told me everything I felt like I was grieving for Nicola too.
Tim told me he’d toyed with the idea of scattering her ashes in the sea but the thought of them being eaten by fish had put him off, and I could understand that, because who would want their other half turned into fish food?
‘Will you be OK from here?’ Tim asked once I’d hobbled onto the bus that was empty, thank God.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Make sure you keep the ice pack on it and put a fresh one on in the morning, but it should be all right in a day or two.’
‘Thanks, Tim.’
‘Safe travels.’
‘You too,’ I said. ‘I hope it all goes OK up there.’ I nodded to his bag and we both knew what I meant.
He smiled back and then the bus doors closed like in the films, and I watched as he became a small dot again and then completely disappeared.
And I hoped that Tim’s wife, wherever she was, would leave him a sign once he’d got to the top.
ChapterFifty-One
Ithought about what Tim had said the whole way back: about his wife, her swimming with dolphins, her singing and dancing, her outlook on life in general, even when things had got really bad, even when she knew she was going to die. I thought about it all and when I stood up to get off the bus, I did something I had never done before.
I reached for the bell (instead of standing up to tell the bus driver that I was getting off at the next stop to avoid touching it). I counted to ten. I thought of the big, bushy broccoli trees and rivers and turquoise lakes with islands and mountains and glaciers. I thought of Roy’s Peak, of Tim’s wife swimming with the dolphins, of her dancing in the aisles with her bald head, of Bunty’sto hell with it, and I pressed the bell.
Then I put my hand back inside my pocket without sanitising and made my way to Irish Eyes Lodge where I collapsed on the bed and slept for the rest of the day.
When I woke up again, it was dark, but I could see Niall’s message flash up on the screen.
How was Roy’s Peak?
Emotional.
Did you get to the top?
Not exactly.
Did you do any of it?
I started to. I got about half an hour up but then I tripped and hurt my ankle and had to come down again.
Oh no, sorry to hear that. Are you OK?
My ankle is a bit sore but I’m OK, thanks. Luckily I had Tim to help me.
Tim?
