'Cause the Hardest Part of This is Leaving You.

I cut four giant slices of bread onto the chopping board and put them under the grill. I get tomatoes, and because Frank stands with his back against the sink watching me, I hold a tomato cupped in each hand at breast height and shimmy back to the counter with them.

He laughs. I slice both tomatoes and place them on the grill next to the toast. I get the grater from the cupboard, the cheese from the fridge, and grate a pile of cheese onto the chopping board while the toast cooks. I know there’s a gap between the bottom of my T-shirt and the waistband of my trousers. I know there’s a particular curve (the only curve I have left) where my spine meets my bum, and that when I lean on one hip, that curve pushes itself towards Frank
.
After grating the cheese I lick each finger in turn, very deliberately, and it does just what I knew it would. He walks over and kisses the back of my neck.

" Want to know what I’m thinking? " he whispers.

" Tell me. " Although I already know.

" I want you. " He turns me round and kisses me on the mouth.
" A lot. "

He talks as if he’s been grabbed by a force that he doesn’t understand. I love it. I press myself against him.

I say, " Want to know what I want? "

" Go on then. "

He smiles. He thinks he knows what I’m going to say. I don’t want to stop him smiling. " You. "

The truth. And not the truth.
I turn the gas off before we go upstairs. The toast has turned to charcoal. The smell of burning makes me sad.

In his arms I forget. But afterwards, as we lie quietly together, I remember.

" I have bad dreams, " I say.

He strokes my hip, the top of my thigh. His hand is warm and firm. " Tell me. "

" I go somewhere in them. "

I walk bare-footed over fields to a place at the edge of this world. I climb stiles and trek through tall grass. Every night I go further.
Last night I got to a wood – gloomy and not very big. On the other side was a river. Mist hovered above the surface. There were no fish, and as I waded out, mud oozed between my toes.

Frank brushes my cheek with one finger. Then he pulls me close and kisses me. On my cheek. On my chin. On my other cheek. Then on my mouth. Very gently.

" I’d come with you if I could. "

" It’s very scary. "

He nods. " I’m very brave. "

I know he is. How many people would be here with me in the first place?

" Frank, there’s something I need to ask you. "

He waits. His head next to mine on the pillow, his eyes calm. It’s difficult. I can’t find the words. The books on the shelf above seem to sigh and shuffle.

He sits up and hands me a pen. " Write it on the wall. "

I look at all the things I’ve written there over the months. Scrawls of desire. There’s so much more I could add. A joint bank account, singing in the bath with him, listening to him snore for years and years.

" Go on, " he says. " I have to go soon. "

And it’s these words, with an edge of the outside world in them, of things to do and places to be, that allows me to write.

I want you to move in with me. I want the nights. I write it quickly in really bad handwriting, so maybe he won’t be able to read it.

Then I hide under the duvet.

There’s a second’s pause.

" I can’t, Gee. "

I struggle out from the duvet. I can’t see his face, just a glimpse of light reflected in his eyes. Stars shining there perhaps. Or the moon.

" Because you don’t want to? "

‘I can’t leave my mom by herself. "

I hate his mother, the lines on her forehead and round her eyes. I hate her wounded look. She lost her husband, but she didn’t lose anything else.

" Can’t you come back when she’s asleep? "

" No. "

" Have you even asked her? "

He gets out of bed without touching me and puts on his clothes.
I wish it was possible to smear cancer cells onto his arse. I could reach from here, and he’d be mine for ever. I’d lift the carpet and haul him under the floor to the foundations of the house. We’d make love in front of the worms. My fingers would reach under his skin.

" I’ll haunt you, " I tell him. " But from the inside. Every time you cough you’ll think of me. "

" Stop messing with my head, " he says.

And then he leaves.

I grab my clothes and follow him. He gets his jacket from the banister. I hear him walk through the kitchen and open the back door.

He’s still standing on the step when I catch up. Beyond him, out in the garden, great flakes of snow are swirling down. It must have started when we went upstairs. The path’s covered, the grass too. The sky’s full of it. The world seems silent and smaller.

" You wanted snow. " He puts out a hand to catch a flake and shows it to me. It’s a proper one, like I used to cut out of doilies and stick on the windows at primary school. We watch it melt into his palm.

I get my coat. Frank finds my boots, scarf and hat, and helps me down the step. My breath is frost. It’s snowing so much our footprints are wiped out as soon as we make them.
The snow on the lawn is deeper; it creaks as we stand on it. We cross the newness of it together. We tramp our names, trying to wear it out, to reach the grass beneath. But fresh snow covers every mark we make

" Watch, " Frank says.

He lies flat on his back and flaps his arms and legs. He yells at how cold it is on his neck, his head. He jumps up again, stamps the snow off his trousers.

" For you, " he says. " A snow angel. "
It’s the first time he’s looked at me since I wrote on the wall. His eyes are sad.

" Ever had snow ice cream? " I ask.

I send him indoors for a bowl, icing sugar, vanilla, a spoon. He follows my instructions, scoops handfuls of snow into the bowl, whisks all the ingredients together. It turns to mush, goes brown, tastes weird. It isn’t how I remember it when I was a kid.

" Maybe it’s yoghurt and orange juice. "

He rushes off. Comes back. We try again. It’s worse, but this time he laughs.

" Beautiful mouth, " I tell him.

" You’re shivering, " he says. " You should go in. "

" Not without you. "
He looks at his watch.

I say, " What do you call a snowman in the desert? "

" I need to go, Gee. "

" A puddle. "

" Seriously. "

" You can’t leave now, there’s a snowstorm. I’ll never find my way back home. "

I undo my zip. I let my coat fall open so my shoulder’s exposed. Earlier, Frank spent minutes kissing this particular bit of shoulder. He blinks at me. Snow falls onto his eyelashes.

He says, " What do you want from me, Gerard? "

" Night time. "

" What do you really want? "
I knew he’d understand.

" I want you to be with me in the dark. To hold me. To keep loving me. To help me when I get scared. To come right to the edge and see what’s there. "

He looks really deeply at me. " What if I get it wrong? "

" It’s impossible to get wrong. "

" I might let you down. "

" You won’t. "

" I might get freaked out. "

" It doesn’t matter. I just want you to be there. "

He gazes at me across the winter garden. His eyes are very green. In them I see his future stretching before him. I don’t know what he sees in mine. But he’s brave. I always knew it about him. He takes my hand and leads me back inside.

Upstairs I feel heavier, like the bed glued itself to me and is sucking me down. Frank takes ages getting undressed, then stands there shivering in his boxer shorts.

" Shall I get in then? "

" Only if you want to. "

He rolls his eyes, as if there’s no winning with me. It’s so difficult to get what I want. I worry that people only give me things because they feel guilty. I want Frank to want to be here. How will I ever tell the difference?

" Shouldn’t we tell your Mom? " I ask as he climbs in beside me.

" I’ll tell her tomorrow. She’ll survive. "

" You’re not doing this because you feel sorry for me, are you? "

He shakes his head. " Stop it, Gee. "

We wrap ourselves together, but the shiver of snow is still with us; our hands and feet are ice. We cycle our legs to keep warm. He rubs me, strokes me. He scoops me into his arms again. I feel him get hard.
It makes me laugh. He laughs too, but nervously, as if I’m laughing at him.

" Do you want me? " I say.

He smiles. " I always want you. But it’s late, you should go to sleep. "

The snow makes the world outside brighter. Light filters through the window. I fall asleep watching the glimmer and sheen of it on his skin.

When I wake up, it’s still night and he’s asleep. His hair is dark on the pillow, his arm slung across me as if he can hold me here. He sighs, stops breathing, stirs, breathes again. He’s in the middle bit of sleep – a part of this world, but also part of another. This is strangely comforting to me.

His being here doesn’t stop my legs hurting though. I leave him the duvet, wrap myself in the blanket and stumble to the bathroom for codeine.

When I come out, Mom’s in her dressing gown. I’d forgotten she even existed. She’s not wearing slippers. Her toes look very long and grey.

" You must be getting old, " I tell her. " Old people get up in the night. "

She hugs her shoulders tight. " I know Frank’s in there with you. "

" And is Dad in there with you? "

This seems an important point, but she chooses to ignore it.
" You did this without my permission. "

I look down at the carpet and hope she gets this over with quickly. My legs feel full up, as if my bones are swelling. I shuffle my feet.

" I’m not out to spoil the fun, Gee, but it’s my job to look after you and I don’t want you hurt. "

" Bit late for that. "

I meant it as a joke, but she’s not smiling.
" Frank’s just a kid, Gerard. You can’t rely on him for everything: he might let you down. "

" He won’t. "

" And if he does? "

" Then I’ve still got you. "

It’s weird hugging her in the dark on the landing. We hold each other tighter than I ever remember. Eventually she eases her grip and looks at me very seriously.

" I’ll always be here for you, Gee. Whatever you do, whatever you still have left to do, whatever your stupid list makes you do. You need to know that. "

" There’s hardly anything left. "

Number nine is Frank moving in. Deeper than sex. It’s about facing death, but not alone. My bed, no longer frightening, but a place where Frank lies warm and waiting for me.

Mom kisses the top of my head. ‘Off you go then.’

She goes off to the bathroom.

I go back to Frank.