‘So now we know why he got involved in doing all this kind of thing,’ said TJ after William and Eleanor had gone.

The morning rush had faded and the hall had grown quiet. I felt all mixed up inside and judging by the looks on the other’s faces, the general mood was gloom. I was beginning to wish that I’d never got involved in doing volunteer work. It stirred up too many weird feelings and made me think about stuff I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Illness, death. I felt so helpless.

‘I just can’t believe it,’ said Izzie. ‘Eleanor Lewis. She’s so beautiful . . .’

‘Beautiful people get ill too,’ said Lucy.

‘But to know that you’re going to die so young, I can’t imagine it,’ I said.

‘It seems so unfair. She had such a brilliant future,’ said Izzie.

‘So does anyone who gets ill at her age,’ said TJ. ‘She’s what? Seventeen, eighteen?’

‘Just turned nineteen,’ said Mrs Owen who had been quietly sitting at one end of the table listening. ‘She’s been through a lot that one. She’s a brave girl.’

‘Do you know the family?’ I asked

Mrs Owen nodded. ‘I’ve known William, Olivia and Eleanor all their lives. I live on the same street and used to babysit them when they were young.’

‘So what’s going to happen to her?’ I asked. ‘I mean, how long has she got?’

‘A year. Maybe two,’ replied Mrs Owen. ‘You can never tell. Sometimes it’s very quick and sometimes people outlive all expectations.’

Poor, poor Eleanor, I thought. Poor, poor William. Poor Olivia. And their mum and dad. What must his parents be going through? I wondered.

‘This is what this is all about,’ said Mrs Owen, indicating the hall with a sweep of her hands. ‘These jumble sales, the shop. All the money goes to help the younger people with terminal cancer.’

‘Help them how?’ I asked. ‘Eleanor said that there was no more anyone could do.’

‘We can make them as comfortable as possible when they have to go through their treatment and . . . and at the end. All the proceeds of this sale will go to the Lotus Hospice.’

‘Is that like a special hospital?’ asked Lucy.

Mrs Owen nodded. ‘It certainly has all the equipment needed there and the drugs for pain relief like a hospital but it’s more than that. We try to make it as much like home as possible so that in their last weeks or days, they don’t feel like they’re in a hospital ward. They can get the care and medical attention they need but they can also have their family around them should they wish, eat together, spend time together. That’s the aim. A small wing with a kitchen, a living area and spare beds so that family or friends can stay over and they can bring in all their things – books, posters, whatever, and make it their own for their time there. William’s been a star and so has Olivia. Both of them have worked harder than anyone to raise funds because although we have one living area like that, we need another – sometimes more than one family has a need for the place at the same time. It can be so hard for family members to stand by and know that there’s nothing that they can do to save their loved one. At least with this, William can feel he is doing something.’

And I’d accused him of doing it to pull girls. And he’d probably heard. He must think that I am the worst person in the world.

‘There’s nothing else for it,’ I said turning to Lucy. ‘I have to apologise to William.’

Lucy nodded. ‘I think you should. And you have to cheer him up. Eleanor said so.’

‘Do you know if William will be back today?’ I asked Mrs Owen.

‘Later,’ she replied. ‘He’s gone to drop Eleanor home and then he’ll be back.’

Right, I thought. Apologise and commence Mission Cheer Up William. How in the world was I going to do that? I had no idea. I tried to put myself in his shoes and imagine that it was Tony who was ill, or one of my mates. I don’t think I could bear it, I thought as my eyes filled with tears at the very idea of anything happening to any of them.

Mrs Owen noticed my long face. ‘Hey come on, Nesta. No use in you getting all gloomy. It doesn’t help. My old dad always used to say that the birds of doom may fly overhead but there’s no need to let them nest in your hair. He was right. So. You know what you can do? Be happy. Enjoy your life to the best of your ability.’

‘It’s weird. Why are some people so well and have everything whilst others have such a hard time?’

‘Big question,’ said Mrs Owen. ‘Which is exactly why you should enjoy your life while you are well. All of it. Including all the trivialities of life. Be glad that you can.’

I nodded back at her, and attempted a smile.

Then the afternoon bargain hunters appeared through the doors, including one face that was very familiar. It was Miss Watkins, our PSHE teacher. No surprise there, I thought as she began to sift through one of the tables by the door. She always looks as if she dressed from the jumble in mismatched outfits that don’t really suit her. She’s a funny old bird. Strict as hell when she wants to be, but supportive and kind when she sees someone making an effort. Shame she doesn’t make an effort with her appearance. She has that wiry grey hair that seems to have a life of its own but I’m sure could look halfway decent if she had it blow dried. And she wears really old-fashioned glasses that make her look permanently shocked.

‘Oh well done, girls,’ she said coming over after she’d had a good browse round. ‘So good to see some of our pupils here. How’s it going?’

‘Good,’ said Lucy.

‘Yes, in fact Lucy’s set herself up as a style queen,’ I interrupted. ‘She could recommend a whole new image for you if you like.’

Lucy looked at me as if she’d like to kill me but I thought it was a brilliant idea.

‘New image? Me? Oh no, I’m quite happy,’ said Miss Watkins, causing Lucy to sigh with relief. Wacko Watkins has never been her favourite teacher.

‘And we were just saying that we thought that our school should do some fundraising,’ said TJ.

Miss Watkins chortled. ‘What planet are you on, Theresa Watts?’ she asked. ‘We do. Of course we do.’

‘No, we mean for charities,’ continued Lucy. ‘We know we do loads of fundraising for the school . . .’

‘But we do,’ Miss Watkins repeated. ‘And this is one of the main charities we support.’

‘Really?’ said Izzie. ‘How come we never knew about it?’

Miss Watkins gave us all her ‘how stupid can you get look’ (a look that she has clearly perfected through the years). ‘How come you never knew about it? Hmm. Maybe you weren’t listening. People often only hear what they want to hear. But oh yes, we do fundraising. Not that we couldn’t do a lot more. The meeting is on Monday nights after school. You’re all very welcome as we could do with some fresh blood.’

Lucy, Izzie, TJ and I looked at each other then we all nodded.

‘We’re in,’ said TJ.

‘Excellent,’ said Miss Watkins. ‘Now. What bargains have you got to show me?’

William came back at about two-thirty just as all the volunteers were beginning to pack up. He came straight over to me and pulled me to one side.

‘Thanks for . . . before, with Eleanor,’ he said. ‘She said she really appreciated being talked to like a normal human being for change. It really is true what she said before – about people not knowing how to deal with her so they avoid her or the subject of her illness. They talk about anything else but what’s happening.’

‘But it must be so hard,’ I replied, ‘for you too. If there’s anything I can do or if you want to talk . . .’

William’s expression grew hard for a moment. ‘Eleanor may want to talk, but not me. No. Last thing I want,’ he said. ‘What good would that do? Like there’s anything you could say to make it better.’

He looked so intense and I remembered that I was supposed to be cheering him up. I quickly scanned my brain for something I could say to help.

‘I could try and say something to make you laugh . . .’

‘Don’t bother.’

‘Look. I’m really really sorry about . . . um, whatever I said before. About you being . . . um annoying and stuff . . .’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said William. ‘I probably am.’

He looked so sad as he stood there. Like a little boy who was desperately trying to be brave. He needed distracting. And fast.

‘Er . . . OK,’ I said and pointed to the back of the church hall. ‘See that screen over there?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Come behind it with me and I’ll snog you.’

William burst out laughing.

‘See,’ I said. ‘I told you I could make you laugh.’

The amused look that had been annoying me so much lately appeared back on his face. ‘Ah . . . but did you mean it?’ he asked.

Time for a little practice flirting, I thought and glanced back at him in a coy way. ‘Why? Do you want me to have meant it?’

‘Depends. Do you want me to take you up on it?’

I looked at his mouth. It was a very nice mouth, wide with a bottom lip that plumped out in the middle like a tiny soft cushion. I glanced up into his eyes and a shiver of anticipation went through me. For a moment, it was as if we were locked together. Suddenly he grabbed my hand. We quickly walked over behind the screen where we were out of sight and he pulled me close to him and kissed me. Properly. Like, not a peck. I mean, properly. Then we pulled apart and both burst out laughing.

‘Better than talking,’ he said, grinning.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Yes. Good.’ I felt weak at the knees from the kiss. I hadn’t imagined for a moment that he would take me up on my offer. I’d said it to make him laugh. His response had taken me unexpectedly and on the kissing scale, he was a ten out of ten.

He gazed into my eyes and I felt myself turning to jelly. He pulled me close again and once more, we kissed. I could have stayed there forever if we hadn’t heard Izzie and Lucy sniggering a short distance away. I opened my eyes.

They were doing that smirking thing again.