By the 27th Mum is ready to come home. I watch as Dr Singh takes Margot off into a little room behind the nurses’ station. I don’t have to be psychic to tell what they’re saying. Margot’s head falls forward for a moment, her eyes full of awfulness, before she pulls it high, trying extra-hard to be strong.
It’s now a matter of days.
The word ‘hospice’ has been mentioned.
Meh. The farm is basically a hospice. We came here so she could die in peace. What difference does it make if she’s surrounded by other sick people.
Mantra time: It’ll be a release, it’ll be a relief, she’ll be free, she’ll be at peace.
It doesn’t help that when I ask how she is, she’s just says, ‘I’m fine, don’t worry about me.’ It’s like two squirming ferrets wrestling at the bottom of my tummy. One just wants Mum to live forever, selfishly, to keep me happy. The other knows she’s in pain and that death is the ultimate painkiller. All the ferrety tumbling is making me feel nauseous.
I look thinner. Not in a good way. A bit gaunt and haggard if I’m honest.
I see Dr Singh slip Margot some pamphlets. I wonder, is it Living With Loss, How to Explain Death to Your Stroppy Teen or just a brochure for a local hospice? Margot tucks them in her handbag and leads the way out of the office. ‘Are we ready?’
‘We are,’ Mum says. She hoists herself up, now using two sticks to support herself. She’s trying so hard, sinking her teeth into life, and it makes me want to cry. But I can’t. I gotta be strong. Maybe this is how it happens – the hardening, the scar tissue around the heart – just like Margot warned it would.
The next day is the first time everyone can rehearse. Stepz looks like a proper dance studio now that I’ve cleared all the crap into one corner and hidden it under a mildewed dustsheet. ‘What the bloody hell are you dressed as?’ I ask Danny. ‘It’s not Fame.’
‘What? If this is the only time I get to do a dance number I want to do it right.’ He’s wearing a vest, some very short shorts with leggings underneath and neon pink leg warmers. More The Kids from Lame than Fame.
‘Danny Chung, I love you very much,’ I say.
‘Mwah!’ He blows me a kiss.
‘You shouldn’t really need to warm up,’ I tell them, ‘but maybe stretch a little bit or something.’
Bronwyn takes me to one side. ‘Look at this,’ she says, pulling up her sleeve to reveal a charm bracelet. ‘Robin gave it to me on Christmas Eve.’
‘Oh, Bronwyn,’ I breathe, ‘that’s lovely.’ The charms are so cute – a little alien, a book, a star, a telescope.
‘I know! But what do I do next?’
‘Don’t ask me! It’s the blind leading the blind. I tried to make out with a librarian, remember.’
She laughs. ‘Do you think I should, like, ask him out or something?’
‘Yes. Feminism – why not? I think he’s sent you a fairly unequivocal message with the bracelet. Just don’t be too full-on.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I dunno, don’t show up in a wedding dress. Ooh … go to the cinema. Easy date … you don’t even have to talk.’
Her eyes light up. ‘Genius. You’re an actual genius. Starship Troopers is out next week.’
‘Nothing says romance like big alien bugs.’
‘Oh. You think I should suggest that Jennifer Aniston one?’
‘Not unless you want your first date to be your last.’
I explain how the routine will work and play them “This Woman’s Work” from start to end. ‘I love that song,’ Robin says. Sophie is already weeping. ‘Sophie, I need you to get through this without crying.’
‘It’s … just … so … sad.’
‘I know. But you’ll be fine.’
‘Sophie, get it together, babes.’ Danny passes her a Handy Andie and rolls his eyes.
We rehearse as much as we can. The problem is that we can only do the ‘big finish’ once, so have to imagine how much of the song it will take up. The track is only 3.38 long and there’s a lot to squish into that time. It’s going to be tight and, if I’m honest, Sophie and Bronwyn have two left feet. Robin is the surprise; his lanky frame is oddly graceful, it turns out. I subtly suggest he comes to the front.
I bust out the turkey-and-stuffing sandwiches I made for everyone. We had a very late Christmas dinner yesterday at the farm. Mum even managed a tiny bit of solid food. ‘Thank you so much for doing this,’ I say as we sit in a circle on the studio floor. This is torture: the sandwiches smell so good and I’m stuck with grated cheese and pickle. ‘I think it’s gonna look really elegant and cool.’
‘I am in total awe,’ Danny says. ‘I had no idea you could dance like that.’
I shrug. ‘I started when I was three.’
‘Three?’
‘Yeah. It … It feels good to be dancing again.’
‘It’s part of who you are,’ Robin says quietly in his low, monotone voice. I don’t fancy him, he’s not my type, but suddenly understand what it is Bronwyn sees in him.