Before We Say Goodbye

Chapter Seven - Sophie

“…most embarrassing day of my life,” she concludes.

“Not really,” Mark argues. “You made it look sexy.”

“Dude, I work everything. I can make socks and sandals look sexy. Me looking sexy is beside the point. The point is, you have no idea how many bin jokes are going to be made after this,” Livi says depressively. 

I laugh. “It sounds fun, though,” I say, smiling.

“Trust me, modelling a bin bag dress designed and made by Ava Lafton is far from fun,” Livi informs me darkly.

“Actually, she looked awesome,” Mark insists. “Basically, they got the bin bag, and ripped a big hole in the bottom which Livi put her head through. Then she put her arms through the sides, and tied a belt round her waist. And they did this weird thing to the bottom – you know, the opening…so technically, it was the top, they just put the bag on upside down – ”

“Stop! You’re confusing me,” I laugh.

“Sorry, Soph. So yeah, they bunched up the bottom with safety pins. Oh, and it was like, off the shoulder, I think it’s called…”

He looks to Livi for clarification. She nods curtly.

“Yeah, so, she looked pretty hot in the end.”

“Should I be offended that you think I look hot in a bin bag?”

“Nope. You look hot in anything.” He winks. “She could’ve totally worn it to a party,” he adds to me, stage whispering.

“You sound like a girl when you say totally,” I reply.

He scowls. “Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Break it up, break it up!” Livi clamps a hand over each of our mouths. “I hate the bickering, guys! I came here to get away from my sisters, and I don’t need you two at it!”

I’m sitting up against the bedstead, in my pyjamas. I was listening to music until Livi and Mark appeared, ready to tell me all about the bin bag Livi was forced to wear as part of an RS project.

“Livi, could you get me some water?” I ask, noticing a throbbing in my head.

“Yup,” she replies, looking down at me sympathetically.

She leaves the room, taking the glass from my bedside table with her.

Mark pats my shoulder awkwardly. He looks quite cute, with his tousled black hair sticking up in messy tufts, and his green eyes darting around uncomfortably.

I grin. “It’s okay, Mark. Just pretend I’m fine.”

“How do I do that?” he asks incredulously. “You’ve got cancer for crying out loud! What was it? Leukaemia of some kind, right?”

I bite my lip, tears filling my eyes.

I won’t cry.

“Sorry, I…” I say quietly,

“You’re my best friend, Sophie! I don’t want you to die! I’m not going to pretend you’re okay, because then I’d take you for granted! I can’t do that when we’ve got God knows how long left!”

I whimper.

“So how do I pretend like you’re fine when you’re dying, oh shit, you’re dying, and I don’t know what – ”

“Shut up, Mark!”

He stops mid-rant, and turns around.

Livi stands in the doorway, glass of water in one hand, looking positively furious. “Get out, Mark!”

He blanches. “I’m so sorry, Sophie, I wasn’t thinking straight, I just – ”

“Are you death, you mother-stinker?”

I laugh softly to myself at Livi’s use of our made up swear word. I used to hate swearing, so I managed to talk Livi into keeping her mouth clean. Subsequently, we ended up making up some substitutes.

Why does it sound so funny to me today? Another bubble of laughter escapes my lips.

“Get out and go home,” Livi hisses.

Mark bows his head and leaves the room. “Sorry, Sophie,” he throws over his shoulder, looking back at me with regretful eyes.

I can feel the sincerity in his words.

Livi gives him the finger.

As soon as he leaves, she spins around, puts the glass on the bedside table, and throws herself down next to me.

“How are you feeling, Soph?” she asks carefully.

“My head’s banging,” I say, reaching out for the water and avoiding her real question.

“No. How are you feeling about Mark’s freak out?”

I take a sip of the water, stalling for time.

“You can tell me, Sophie. I’m listening.”