One Endless Summer: Heartwarming and uplifting the perfect holiday read

CHAPTER 3

Lizzie

Bright white lights on tall metal frames emitted heat like the summer sun, causing a bead of sweat to trickle down Lizzie’s back as she stepped into the studio.

Jaddi’s hand touched her arm, shepherding her forward quicker than her feet wanted to move.

A dozen people in dirty jeans and baggy T-shirts stood in clusters around screens and laptops, speaking over each other in rushed voices. Wires covered the floor around her feet, held in place by strips of silver tape. They looked like a bed of snakes about to slither over her body and squeeze the breath right out of her.

Like the eye of the storm, the blue sofa sat serenely amidst the wires, equipment and people. The breakfast-show presenters were huddled over a clipboard in two armchairs opposite the sofa. They looked up and smiled as Lizzie approached. Adrenaline pumped through her veins.

When they reached the sofa, Jaddi tugged her arm, pulling Lizzie down next to her. Samantha sat on the other side of Jaddi, her gaze fixed straight ahead as if she was about to be interrogated by MI5, rather than interviewed by Britain’s most likable breakfast duo. Guilt stabbed the pit of Lizzie’s stomach. Lizzie thought of the pebble dropping into the sea again and the ripples it caused.

‘OK, people,’ someone shouted from behind her. ‘We’re back in five, four, three.’

The studio fell silent as if a mute button had been pressed.

‘Welcome back to Channel 6 Breakfast. I’m Frankie Scott,’ the female presenter said, flashing a row of white veneers.

‘And I’m Tim Reynolds.’

‘We’re joined on the sofa now by Lizzie Appleton and her two friends, Jaddi Patel and Samantha Jeffrey,’ Frankie said in a mellifluous voice.

Lizzie turned towards the cameras and stared at the screen of writing moving along underneath. She could see Caroline’s head just beyond the cameras. The producer gestured a ‘don’t forget to smile’ U-shape with her hands.

‘I don’t think there can be many people out there who don’t know Lizzie’s harrowing story. She was diagnosed with a brain tumour three months ago, and after the radiotherapy failed, Lizzie was given the damning news that there was nothing more her doctors could do. With just months to live, Lizzie’s lifelong dream to travel the world seemed impossible. Until her best friend and flatmate, Jaddi, created a website and asked for people to donate money for their trip.’

Frankie turned her gaze to the sofa. ‘Lizzie, first of all, thank you for joining us.’

Lizzie forced her mouth into a smile. Her heartbeat quickened. ‘Thank you for having me.’

‘Can you tell us what’s been happening since Jaddi first set up the fundraising page?’

Blobs of colour threatened Lizzie’s vision again. She blinked until her focus returned, drew in a deep breath and tried to remember the lines she’d practised with Caroline. ‘It’s been a whirlwind. Jaddi set up the website overnight. I didn’t know anything about it until the next morning, by which time my brother, Aaron, had shared it on Twitter, and things have been pretty crazy ever since.’

‘For those at home who don’t know,’ Tim said, staring into the camera, ‘Lizzie’s brother is Aaron Appleton, British gymnastics champion, and arguably one of our best hopes for Olympic gold in the next games.’

The mention of Aaron caused an ache to radiate from Lizzie’s chest. Her brother had been too young to remember her stays in hospital growing up. He hadn’t even been born the first two times. Until recently, Aaron had been oblivious to the burden of waiting. Waiting to hear a diagnosis. Waiting to hear if the treatment had worked. Waiting to see if the tumour would come back.

Aaron had insisted on coming with them for her last hospital appointment. Lizzie had known what Dr Habibi was going to say the moment he’d clipped her CT scans onto the viewing screen and flicked on the light behind it. There it was, the kidney-shaped blob at the base of her brain. No bigger, but no smaller either. Months of treatment wasted. The neurologist had launched straight to the point – ‘Unfortunately, the radiotherapy hasn’t been successful …’ – but Lizzie had only been half listening. It felt as if she was watching an out-ofcontrol car skidding on ice, spinning straight towards a lamp post on the other side of the road. She gazed at her parents, then at Aaron, powerless to alter the course of the scene unfolding in front of them. The anguish on their faces would haunt her forever.

‘I guess he has a lot of followers,’ Tim said, dragging Lizzie’s thoughts back to the interview.

She nodded and smiled. ‘Just a few hundred thousand more than me, I’d say. A lot of his followers shared the link and then the donations started coming in.’

‘When I saw the website for the first time, about a month ago,’ Tim said, ‘it was the helplessness of your situation, Lizzie, that really touched me. The fact that there is just nothing more you can do must be tough to accept. I don’t know how I’d cope in your shoes, and from the comments people made when they donated, I’d say I’m not the only one who feels that way. How did it make you feel when the donations began to pour in?’ Tim asked.

‘I was completely overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity. People we didn’t know were giving us money to go backpacking. It didn’t seem real. It still doesn’t.’

‘But it didn’t stop there?’ Frankie said.

‘No, it didn’t. The story started appearing in the local news and in some of the national papers. Then Jaddi got a call from a producer at Channel 6, offering to pay for the rest of the trip, if we agreed to be part of a documentary covering the last few months of my life. So here we are. We’re all packed and leave for Thailand tonight.’

‘That is truly awe-inspiring,’ Frankie said, before turning her gaze to Jaddi. ‘Jaddi, did you have any idea that your website would become so popular? That you’d be able to fulfil Lizzie’s dream?’

Lizzie looked at Jaddi, who grinned back before focusing on Frankie. ‘It was a long shot, but I had to do something. When Lizzie came home from the hospital and told me the radiotherapy had failed, I felt so helpless. I guess setting up the page was my way of coping. The fact that we’ve made it here, is just as Lizzie said … overwhelming.’

‘I remember going to Thailand some years ago,’ Tim began, ‘and getting a visa was a nightmare. With the speed at which this has all happened, have you found that side of things a problem?’

Jaddi laughed. ‘Thankfully, that’s not been a problem, Tim. Samantha is the most organised person I’ve ever met in my life. She even colour codes her socks. She and Caroline have made sure we have all the visas and vaccinations we need.

Samantha’s cheeks glowed red, but she managed to smile. ‘Well, I have to be organised living with these two.’

Samantha’s comment sent a spattering of laughter across the studio.

‘Caroline has upgraded our phones so we can access the internet anywhere we have signal,’ Jaddi said, turning her head a fraction and staring into the camera. ‘So feel free to post messages on our Facebook page and tweet us.’

‘So, girls,’ Tim said, ‘can you tell us and the audience at home a little about yourselves? I gather from the website that you’ve been good friends for a while?’

Lizzie looked at Jaddi, then Samantha. ‘We’ve been best friends since university.’ She smiled. ‘Our halls of residence preference forms got lost and we ended up getting put together in a student house.’

For the smallest of moments, the urgency and the fear lifted as Lizzie thought about that first afternoon when they’d dragged their boxes and suitcases into the kitchen and met for the first time, Jaddi, hands on hips, insisting a trip to the nearest pub, and Samantha, picking at her fingers, suggesting they unpack first.

‘We moved to London together after university and still live together now,’ Jaddi added. ‘Samantha works in the Home Office, writing policy documents or something else extremely important that I don’t understand. She’s the brains behind us. I work in public relations for a confectionary company.’

‘So we have a lot of chocolate kicking about,’ Samantha chipped in.

Jaddi grinned. ‘It never lasts long though, does it? And Lizzie, she …’ Jaddi faltered. The smile remained on her face, but the glow behind it had gone.

Another ripple, Lizzie thought with a pang in her chest. She slipped her hand inside Jaddi’s. ‘I was working as an office administrator up until last summer,’ Lizzie said, ‘whilst I figured out what it was that I wanted to do. I’d just started teacher training when I got ill again.’

Tim nodded. ‘Can you tell us about your tumour, Lizzie? I must admit I wasn’t expecting you to look so well.’

‘Thank you.’ Caroline’s words echoed around her head. Speak slowly, be clear, no medical jargon. ‘My tumour is called a benign low-grade meningioma, which doesn’t mean much, except that it’s slow-growing and it’s not cancerous. Generally speaking, these tumours are relatively easy to treat with either surgery or radiotherapy, or both. I should know as this is my fourth one. But it’s a problem this time because of its position in the brainstem.’ Lizzie paused and touched the nape of her neck. Her fingers brushed the prickles of hair that had started to grow back.

Should she describe the radiotherapy? How she’d been bolted to a table by a white mesh mask, the claustrophobia so overwhelming that it had stolen the breath from her lungs. How she’d wanted to scream but couldn’t because the mask was fixed so tightly to her face that she couldn’t open her mouth. Did people want to hear that? She guessed not.

‘The brainstem is the part of my brain which controls my breathing and tells my heart to beat. Any surgery to remove the tumour would destroy the brainstem. Something the tumour will do itself in a few months.’

Frankie touched her ear. ‘My producer is telling me that we’re almost out of time. So I just have one more question for you, Lizzie. As you mentioned, your story has reached many of the national newspapers. How does it feel to be considered a role model to others suffering with terminal illness?’

Role model? Lizzie pulled in a sharp intake of air and tried not to wince from the explosion of pain in her head. The only answer teetering on the tip of her tongue was the truth. ‘I’m not a role model. The truth is that I …’ Her eyes felt drawn to the camera. She stared into the screen and imagined the people sat on their sofas watching her, her parents and Aaron included. ‘I feel lucky,’ she stammered.

Frankie smiled. ‘It’s clear this must be very difficult for you to talk about, Lizzie, but I don’t think any of our viewers would use the word lucky to describe your situation.’

‘Oh, I’m very lucky. This is my fourth brain tumour. The first one, when I was three, was removed by surgery. The second one, when I was nine, was shrunk down to the size of a speck of dust. The third, when I was sixteen was also removed. Most of my life has been about having treatments and operations, and scans. Lots and lots of brain scans. But now … now I’ve been given the opportunity to live.

‘There will be people out there right now, walking down the street, thinking they’ve got years ahead of them. When bam, a bus hits them, and it’s over. I’ve been given a chance to live my dreams. I’ll always be grateful for that, and for all of the people who’ve helped me get here.’

‘Well, you might not see yourself as a role model, Lizzie, but you’re certainly an inspiration. Good luck on your adventures,’ Frankie said, before turning to face the camera. ‘The first episode of Lizzie’s documentary – The Girl with Three Months to Live – will be right here on Channel 6 at nine o’clock this Saturday evening.’

‘Now,’ Tim began, ‘have you ever thought about starting your own business? Up next on the blue sofa, we’ll be chatting with entrepreneur, Anne Thornton-Smith, about how to make your business a success, and more.’

‘We’re out,’ a voice shouted from somewhere behind the cameras.

Four women holding make-up pots and hairbrushes rushed forward, crowding around the presenters like fans vying for an autograph.

‘Well done, girls,’ Caroline said with a smile, ushering them off of the sofa and back to the dressing room.

‘Samantha, Jaddi, you’ve got the day to yourselves. I’ll be waiting at Heathrow check-in at six-thirty to introduce you to your cameraman and to say goodbye. Lizzie, we’ve got some magazine interviews lined up this morning. You’ll get a bit of time to yourself this afternoon.’

A caustic remark lingered, but for once Lizzie didn’t voice it. The final question from the presenter had staggered her. For weeks she’d been swept along in Jaddi’s plans, like a guppy caught in a current, unable to change direction or simply stop, and when she’d been given an opportunity to explain herself, she hadn’t taken it. She could no longer blame Jaddi for whatever lay ahead.

CHAPTER 4

Jaddi

Jaddi stepped through the opening in the revolving doors and instantly found herself barricaded between the glass panels as they jolted to a stop.

‘It’s your backpack,’ a man in a rumpled suit said from the other side of the glass. He raised his eyebrows and muttered something under his breath. Jaddi nodded and moved forwards. The automatic doors whirred back into life for a second before dying once again as her foot nudged the glass in front of her. Bloody hell, why would anyone install revolving doors at an airport? Jaddi pictured the airport security team, sipping cups of tea on their breaks whilst sniggering at her incompetence.

‘You can’t touch the doors,’ the man she’d trapped shouted, throwing his arms in the air.

Jaddi resisted the urge to give him the finger, flashed an apologetic smile, and twisted her body sideways, taking crab-like steps until the opening into the terminal appeared and she moved into the throng.

Voices, laughter and the distant beat of music echoed around the terminal. The whir of suitcase wheels rattled on the floor as men and women in black suits wheeling miniature cases strode purposefully around her. Groups of people sat in huddles on the floor, their luggage strewn around them as they ate sandwiches and salads out of plastic packets.

A movement from her left caught her eye. As she turned, the wheel of a luggage trolley clipped the side of her ankle sending a searing pain up her leg.

‘Sorry, did I get you?’ a red-faced man in a dark polo shirt asked before turning away. ‘Kids, calm down, please.’

‘It’s fine,’ she said, rubbing a spot at the bottom of her combat trousers where the pain had already started to dull.

Jaddi watched the father with the overflowing trolley of suitcases take the path of least resistance through the airport as three young children danced and skipped around his legs.

She should be feeling that child-like buzz. Tomorrow she would be in Thailand, absorbing a culture and a history she’d dreamed about since her eleventh birthday, when her uncle Prem had given her a light-up, plastic globe. She’d loved spinning the sphere on its axis until the greens and blues had blurred into one, then stopping it with a jab and reading the tiny place name under her finger. She would go to bed every night dreaming of adventures and undiscovered lands.

Instead, all she could think about was Suk, and their argument. If she could still call it that. Did it count as a fight if they’d repeated the same words over and over for the past year? It had started with raised voices and accusations, but after so long, and with no resolution in sight, their tones had mellowed.

‘We really should get married,’ Suk had said, nuzzling her neck as they’d sat behind the black-tinted glass of one of her father’s town cars.

‘Are we going to do this again, now? When I’m about to get on a plane and leave for three months?’ Jaddi touched Suk’s leg, hoping to cause a distraction.

‘You know it makes sense.’ Suk sighed. ‘If we leave it much longer then you know our parents will decide for us, and I’ll probably end up in India.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m not ready to get married.’ Jaddi slipped her hand inside Suk’s. The warmth of their touch spread through Jaddi’s body. ‘Things are great between us right now. Why can’t we carry on as we are?’

‘Because I’m sick of living with my parents and working for your dad’s car service.’ Suk shifted away from Jaddi and leaned against the door. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, your family are a lot more relaxed than mine. We’ve been seeing each other off and on for twelve years. We need to settle down before one of our families find out. Unless this is just a game to you?’

Frustration and hurt wound through Jaddi. ‘How can you even suggest that? Do you know how hard it is for me to lie to Lizzie and Samantha? They are my best friends; they deserve my honesty. Instead they think I hook up with a different guy every week, when really I’m seeing you. I’m the one that wants to tell them. Come with me now if you don’t believe me. We can still keep it a secret from our families, but wouldn’t it be nice to be a proper couple—’

‘Don’t speak like that,’ Suk cut in. ‘Don’t even think it. No one can know. If we tell even one person, our families will find out. Marriage is the only way to decide our future for ourselves.’

‘I have to go, I’m late as it is,’ Jaddi said, staring into Suk’s dark eyes. Her heartbeat ramped up a notch. One lie on top of another. What would happen when the three months were up? Jaddi shook her head; she couldn’t think like that. This had been her idea, and she had to make it worth it. Live in the here and now, that’s what she’d said to Lizzie and Samantha, and that’s what she had to do.

‘Here,’ Jaddi said, holding out her door keys, ‘take these.’

‘Why?’ Suk asked.

‘I don’t know, just have them. Our flat is going to be sitting empty for three months. I’ll probably just lose them if I drag them around in my backpack with me.’

Suk nodded. ‘Will you … promise me you won’t … you know.’

Jaddi laughed, her smile widening as a rush of love covered her fears. ‘I’ve been with someone else once, Suk. Once, in twelve years. I was away at uni. We’d had a huge fight and you’d broken up with me, remember? You really should come and meet Samantha. She’ll tell you how drunk I was that night.’

‘Why would Samantha—’

‘Because she never lets me forget it, and the fact that he was someone she liked.’ Jaddi shook her head. ‘I love you, that’s what matters. I always have, and no one will get in the way of that.’

She slid across the smooth leather seats towards Suk until their bodies touched. They kissed, tentative and slow as the remnants of their fight hung between them, then faster as desire took hold. Jaddi could still feel the pressure of Suk’s lips on hers as she weaved through the terminal.

Jaddi caught sight of Samantha, shifting from foot to foot, by the check-in desk. Samantha had yet to shake the blanched pallor from the breakfast interview.

Had she pushed Lizzie and Sam too far this time?

Lizzie’s eyes caught hers and she waved. Pushing the thought aside, Jaddi bounced towards them with a wide grin. She’d get a drink into Samantha after take-off; that would cheer her up.

‘Here she is,’ Samantha said. ‘I told you she’d be late.’

Jaddi laughed. ‘Of course I’m late. I’m always late.’

Lizzie leant forward and pulled Jaddi into a tight embrace. ‘I thought for a minute you might not make it,’ she said in a quiet voice. Jaddi drew back as the pinch of Lizzie’s nails dug into her back.

‘I’m here now,’ Jaddi said, staring into Lizzie’s wide, blue eyes and willing her to relax. Tomorrow they would be in Thailand and it would all be worth it. It had to be.

‘Jaddi,’ Caroline said from behind her. ‘Now that you’re here, I’d like to introduce you to the cameraman.’ Jaddi let go of Lizzie and spun around.

‘Ouch,’ Samantha cried out as Jaddi’s backpack caught her arm. ‘Watch it.’

‘Sorry, Sam, are you OK?’ Jaddi shrugged her backpack away from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor before she could do anymore damage.

Samantha rolled her eyes as she rubbed at her arm. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, the hint of a smile twitching on her lips.

‘Jaddi,’ Caroline said, ‘I’d like you to meet Sherlock. He’ll be your cameraman for the next three months.’

‘Sherlock?’ Jaddi turned to face the man towering over Caroline. He was tall, with cropped, brown hair, cut short to a bristly number one and almost enough dark stubble on his face to be considered a beard. The arms protruding from his navy T-shirt weren’t the toned biceps of someone who spent hours in the gym, but his shoulders were broad and muscular.

‘Ben Holmes,’ he said, pushing his black-framed glasses closer to his eyes before offering a hand to Jaddi. ‘Sherlock is a nickname.’

‘It’s nice to meet you.’ She grinned as his hand wrapped around hers.

‘I was just explaining to the others that you’ll need to tell me whenever you plan to go anywhere. Even if it’s the middle of the night and you decide to go out for a bottle of water, I need to know,’ he said.

Jaddi nodded. ‘Yep, sure. No problem.’

Lizzie mumbled something inaudible under her breath, causing Ben to glance at her with narrowed eyes before directing his focus back to Jaddi. Jaddi had the distinct impression that she’d just walked into the middle of an argument between Lizzie and their new travel companion.

‘Here’s your microphone pack,’ he said, holding a small, black box with a wire wrapped around it. ‘The battery clips on your waistband at the back, and the lavalier – this bit,’ he said, tapping the small, black head, ‘clips onto your collar or the top of your vest. I’ve got a monitor which will tell me when the batteries are running low, and I’ll swap them when necessary.

‘All you need to do is wear it and make sure it’s switched on at all times.’ He flicked a switch on the side of the box and handed it to Jaddi. ‘Starting now.’

‘Great, thanks, Ben,’ she said with a another grin, taking the microphone. ‘Or do you prefer Sherlock?’

‘Ben’s fine,’ he said, already unzipping a side pocket on a large leather holdall hooked over his shoulder. ‘I’ve also got a smaller camera here for you to take, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘For your video diaries. Apart from mine, it’s the only camera we’re taking with us, so please look after it.’

‘What video diaries?’ Lizzie asked, ignoring the object in Ben’s outstretched hand.

Ben turned to Caroline and raised his eyebrows. ‘You haven’t told her?’