Paper Chains (25 page)

When the driver let him out on the main street it was teeming with rain. Simon strode straight into a pub across the road and over to the bartender. ‘Hi, can you tell me which way to Gingin Brook?’

‘Ah sure, but it’s probably better to take a look at the river in the day . . . and maybe when it’s not pouring rain.’ He was tall and pot-bellied, with a friendly face.

‘I’m sure it would be, but I need to find someone. She used to live by the river and I’m hoping to track her down.’

The bartender frowned. ‘You realise it’s past midnight, son?’

Simon kept his irritation in check; he didn’t want to look like some sort of crazy stalker. ‘I know, but I just flew here from Sydney and it’s important I find her straight away. She’s sick.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘India . . . well, but her name used to be Lily; she grew up here with her grandmother.’

The bartender raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Lily Calder? I know who she is, but she left here almost a year ago, a little while after her grandmother Caitlin passed away. Poor kid must have been devastated to lose her. Just took off. I haven’t seen her back though. But if you really think she’s here, just head down Clara Street and you’ll come to the river. Turn left, follow it along for about a k or so and the first house you come to was theirs. Just been sitting there empty since she left. Little redbrick cottage.’

Simon grinned. ‘Thank you,’ he said, turning to leave.

‘You want to borrow an umbrella?’ the bartender called after him.

‘Nope, I’m good,’ Simon yelled back as he disappeared out the door.

He headed down Clara Street at a jog, dismayed to realise that the bartender had failed to mention that Clara Street was in fact several kilometres long. God, how could he be so close and still so damn far from her? He was terrified of losing her again. What was he going to do if she wasn’t there? He finally reached the river and turned left. He picked up the pace now he was getting closer.

When he saw the redbrick cottage up ahead, he broke into a sprint.

India stood up from the white wicker chair and stepped down the stairs from the veranda, towards the river. The rain had slowed to a soft patter and she wanted to stand in it for a few minutes before she went inside to bed. Coming back here had been the right choice. Each moment she spent here made her feel more and more at peace with herself, with her destiny. It was right to die here, in her home, and not in some strange country where she had no connections to anyone or anything.

Simon reached the front door and started knocking. He could see just one light on inside, but no movement. No one answered. He paused to draw in some ragged breaths; his run here had taken it out of him. Then he stepped back from the front door and jogged around the side to check the back of the house, near the river. She had to be here,
had
to.

India spread her arms out, closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sky, enjoying the sensation of the rain on her skin, savouring the peace around her. She had a feeling she had only just made it back home in time.

‘India!’ At the sound of her name, India’s eyes flew open.

That sounded like . . . It couldn’t be. Could it?

Simon?

When Simon saw her she was standing in the rain, her arms thrown out wide and her eyes closed, her face tilted to the sky. He stopped to gaze at her.

God, you’re beautiful, India.

Then he called out her name.

When she saw him, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How was this possible? How had he found her? But then again,
who cared
? She let her arms fall by her side and smiled at his rain-soaked form. ‘Simon,’ she whispered. ‘You got my letter, didn’t you?’

He nodded and stepped towards her. ‘Of course I did,’ he replied, reaching a hand up to wipe raindrops from her face. Then he cupped her face in his hands, leaned in and kissed her gently.

They stood in the rain, kissing for several minutes, until eventually a crack of thunder interrupted them and they finally broke apart, laughing. India took Simon by the hand and led him up the stairs, inside the house and straight to her old bedroom.

That night they made love, and it was slow and tender and intense. And then they slept together, wrapped up in one another’s arms.

The following morning, Simon couldn’t wake India up.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Simon was sitting in the hospital waiting room, his head resting in his hands. The image of India’s face when he had woken that morning crept into his mind again and he tried to shut it out. Tried to remember her how she had looked the previous night instead, standing out in the rain.

When he’d seen her that morning, he had known almost straight away that something wasn’t right. She was too pale. Too still. He’d woken up, and before opening his eyes, he’d taken a second to relish the moment. He had found her. They were together at last. And he was going to convince her to fight for her life; they were going to fight together. Then he had rolled over, opened his eyes, and seen her face. Blue tinged lips. When he touched her, her skin felt cool.

‘India? India!’ He’d gripped her by the shoulders and tried to wake her. But her head just lolled to the side. Was she breathing? Was there a heartbeat? He didn’t know. He needed to calm himself enough so he could check. He needed to stop his own heartbeat from drumming in his ears. He leaned in close; she was breathing, but it was fast and shallow.

He had sprinted to the phone and dialled triple zero. The wait for the ambulance had been agony. He cursed himself for not knowing any first aid. As he waited, he begged her to wake up, a poor replacement for CPR.

When the ambulance arrived, he did his best to explain her situation, but he didn’t know enough about her condition. He felt inadequate, like he was failing her in her time of need.

At the hospital, it took hours before someone would speak to him. And even then he had to lie and say that they were engaged for them to agree to discuss her with him – but they needed to do tests before they could really tell him what was going on.

A nurse stepped in front of him. ‘You can go back in now,’ she said, not unkindly.

Simon tried to give her a smile, but the expression felt more like a grimace so he just nodded and followed the nurse to India’s room. He scrubbed his hands outside her door and then headed inside. The sight of her pale face, the tubes criss-crossing around her, her slack jaw, made his stomach lurch and he had to turn away and jam his fist against his mouth. When his stomach had settled again, he walked over to her bedside and pulled a chair close. He gently took hold of her hand and then he began to talk.

‘Hey, Indi, how’s it going? Is that okay by the way? Me calling you Indi? Sometimes you used to call me Si, but I never used a nickname for you, did I? Don’t know what made me call you Indi just now. It kind of just came to me. You ever watch Indiana Jones as a kid? One of my favourite movie series. Indiana Jones, awesome guy, right? Anyway, he had Indi as a nickname. Thought it was kind of cool. Do you like it? I like Lily by the way. Didn’t get the chance to tell you that the other night. But it suits you – just as much as India does. India-Lily, beautiful name.’

Simon paused to self-consciously wipe his cheeks; he hadn’t realised that tears had started to fall.

Later that night, a doctor came to give him a rundown on India’s condition. She had been hit by an infection that any healthy person would have easily fought off, but because her body was weakened by cancer, it had completely knocked her out. She was being pumped with antibiotics that should bring her around, but the doctor warned that long term, the prognosis wasn’t good. Simon resolutely ignored this part of the doctor’s speech. This doctor didn’t know India, didn’t know how strong she was. When she woke up, Simon was going to work everything out. He would convince her to start treatment again. They would fight the cancer together. This time she would win.

When India opened her eyes she had to blink several times – the lights up above were so bright. Slowly she became aware of the feel of tubes, so many tubes – coming out of her nose, pinned to the back of her hand, constricting her breath. She had to think hard to figure out where she was, to remember what had happened last. It came back in pieces. Standing out in the rain. Seeing Simon. Kissing Simon. And then . . . what? Was that a dream? Surely it must have been, because it was impossible that he could have found her. But then she realised that there was a hand in hers, and she squeezed it hard, almost in fright. Who was that? Where was she?

And then Simon’s face was above her.

‘It’s okay, India. You’re in hospital, you got sick . . . but you’re going to get better. I’m here for you, okay?’

India tried to respond, but her throat was dry and she couldn’t form the words. Two or three people had come rushing into the room then, doctors and nurses, and as they gathered around her, Simon pulled back and she couldn’t see his face any more. From there things seemed to happen in flashes as she kept drifting in and out of consciousness.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed when she finally woke again, but sunlight was streaming in through the window. Gingerly she rolled her head sideways and she saw Simon sitting in a chair by her bed, arms folded, head lolling to the side as he slept. She tried her voice again, and this time it came out in a dry croak. She coughed to clear her throat and spoke again.

‘Simon?’ she said.

His eyelids flickered as he woke up, then he sat forward eagerly. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You’re awake again. That’s good.’

‘What happened?’ she croaked.

‘You’re in the hospital . . .’ Simon began.

‘No,’ she interrupted. ‘Before. How’d you find me?’

‘Oh.’ Simon smiled. ‘It was Hannah,’ he said.

India listened as Simon explained everything to her, and then he moved on, began to talk about how when she was better from this infection, they were going to get her started on treatment again, how they would fight the cancer together, how he was going to be right by her side, and as he spoke, India began to shake her head and eventually, when she realised his eyes were focused on his hands and he wasn’t watching her, she pushed herself to speak again.

‘No,’ she said quietly.

‘. . . and there’s always clinical trials, things like that we could try.’ He hadn’t heard her.

‘NO,’ she said, louder this time.

Simon looked up at her. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

‘It’s too late for all of that,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sorry, Simon. I’m dying.’

‘But,’ he tried desperately, ‘how do you know? How do you know if you don’t try?’ and he was crying now as he reached out to grasp her hand.

‘I saw a doctor a few days ago, when I first got back to WA. I’ve got a few weeks, maybe a month.’

‘But . . . but you don’t even seem that sick – I mean, you’ve been travelling around the world. A person who’s only got weeks to live wouldn’t be able to do that. They must have it wrong.’

‘They’re not wrong, Simon. I just hide it well. I’ve been increasing my painkillers more and more over the last few weeks. And I’ve been becoming weaker; I just don’t like to show it. But I’m not going to spend the small amount of time I have left racing around trying to find a cure that doesn’t exist. I’m going to spend it living.’ She waited a moment, needing a deep breath to continue speaking, and then she spoke again. ‘I understand if you don’t want to stay with me . . . if it’s too hard.’

But instead of responding, Simon just climbed onto the bed next to her and held her tight. India didn’t cry often. Now though, the tears were streaming down her cheeks.
It’s not fair
, she thought,
I would have married this guy if I’d had the chance.

It was difficult over the next few days. Once India was able to leave the hospital, he couldn’t stop asking her questions. How was she feeling? Was she okay? Did she need a jumper? A hot drink? What did she want to do? Where should he take her?

‘Do you want to travel more? Are there things that you still want to see?’ Simon asked one afternoon, as they sat out on her veranda, watching Gingin Brook rushing past.

‘I’ve done enough travelling,’ she replied. ‘But I would like to spend some time by the beach. Maybe we could take a few days to head out to Rottnest Island?’

‘Whatever you want,’ Simon replied quickly.

‘Don’t do that,’ India said quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You have to stop treating me like that. You have to stop giving me anything I want. You have to stop looking at me with those puppy dog eyes, like you’d do anything for me. If you want to spend these last few weeks with me, then you’re going to have to snap out of it. I want to experience a real relationship. Let’s have fights! Let’s make up. Let’s have normal, mediocre days and days where I get to make a cup of tea for
you
, for God’s sake.’

Simon nodded. ‘You want a whole relationship in the space of a few weeks?’ He turned to look at her. ‘Careful what you wish for, babe.’ Then he stood up and headed inside.

‘Where are you going?’ India called after him.

‘You’ll see,’ he yelled back.

Inside, Simon hesitated by the phone. He had an idea, but he needed some help to make it happen. Before he could bring himself to make the call though, he had to take a minute to gather himself. Ever since that day at the hospital, when India had finally been able to convince him that this really was it, that he wasn’t going to be able to save her, he had at least four or five moments like this each day. Moments where he wanted to punch a wall. Moments where he wanted to scream and cry all at once. Why couldn’t he have met her sooner? Why couldn’t she have beaten the cancer with that first treatment? And sometimes, still, there was that edge of resentment. Why wouldn’t she just try again? For him? He knew that seemed selfish – but he couldn’t bloody help it. He was finally with the girl of his dreams and there was a time limit to their relationship, as though a ticking clock was hanging above them each night as they slept.

He waited until the need to smash his fist through the wall had dissipated and then he picked up the phone and dialled his step-sister’s number. When she picked up he spoke quietly into the phone. ‘Hannah, I need a favour.’

India was finding Simon to be annoyingly secretive. It was late afternoon and they were on board the ferry on their way over to Rottnest Island. A cold wind was giving her goose bumps all over her arms and legs. Lately he kept creeping away to make phone calls or ducking out on ‘errands’ – honestly, who actually
ran
errands? What sort of errands?

‘What’s going on with you?’ she asked him for what must have been the fifteenth time.

He shrugged. ‘No idea what you mean.’

‘Bullshit.’ She stood still for a moment, staring at him as though trying to wear him down, and then she swung around. ‘Oh forget it, there’s a couple over there who are fighting. I’m going to go and fix them,’ she announced.

‘Hang on, put a jumper on first,’ Simon instructed her. India responded by poking out her tongue at him, but then she relented and pulled her hooded top on, just to please him, before striding over to the couple to introduce herself.

When they arrived at the island and found their villa, Simon vanished – off to ‘sort something out’ – leaving India on her own in the room, feeling irritable. Being independent for so long meant it was hard for her to get used to this whole partnership thing, and she wondered if it had been a good idea to decide to spend every waking minute of her last few weeks in this world with a guy that she had, in truth, only known for about five minutes. But then she remembered how good it felt to fall asleep each night with his body curled protectively around hers, how nice it was to kiss a man who sent fireworks shooting through her veins each time his lips touched hers – and she thought,
Yeah, I’m doing the right thing
.