Another Way to Fall
What would you do if you could write the story of your life? From the Richard & Judy author of YESTERDAY’S SUNThis is the story of Emma’s life.For three long years, she has battled with illness, enduring everything with bravery and always with hope. Then one day, Emma is told that they’ve reached the end of the road. While her family and friends are thrown into denial and grief, Emma suddenly realises that with so much left undone, she must find a way to live the life she has always dreamed of.This is a story of Emma’s death.Emma begins to write and something miraculous starts to happen: as her body weakens, the lines between fiction and reality start to blur and her story takes on a life of its own. And as her story gains in strength, Emma, and those who cherish her, discover that even in death, there is life.This is a story about happy endings.
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Another Way to Fall
Amanda Brooke
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2013
Copyright © Amanda Brooke 2013
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013
Cover images © Werachai Sookruay/123RF (girl, foreground); Mark Owen/Trevillon Images (background)
Amanda Brooke assert the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
These novels are entirely works of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed within are the work of the authors’ imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007445929
Ebook Edition © 9780007445936
Version: 2014-12-12
To Nathan, my autumn child
Contents
I was sitting patiently to one side of Mr Spelling’s vast desk, which took up most of the floor space. The doctor paid me no attention, too intent on the images that flashed in quick succession across his computer screen. As I waited, I became vaguely aware that my fingers had developed a life of their own, tugging at the seams of my jeans then playing with the cord hanging from my padded jacket. I slipped my wayward hands between my crossed legs in an attempt to bring their fidgeting under control, but a moment later the soft whisper of denim across denim drew my attention. My right foot had broken ranks and had started tapping rhythmically in midair.
The sun streamed through the window and it stung my eyes as the rays of light bounced off the butter-cream walls. It was late November and bitterly cold outside but you would never have guessed in the snug little office. I made a point of averting my gaze from the window and the world beyond, choosing instead to concentrate on a collection of health and safety notices pinned to the walls explaining how to wash your hands, how to find the fire exit, how to wipe your nose. I knew every crease and tear of each poster by heart. Likewise, I was familiar with the gilt on the picture frames that protected Mr Spelling’s prized certificates, the ones that assured his patients that he was more than qualified to peer into the deepest crevices of their brains and read their fortunes.
My foot froze in midair as the doctor shifted in his seat. I waited for him to look up but he remained focused on his work. With my attention briefly diverted, my hands had broken free and I found myself twisting a dark curl from my ponytail around my fingers. My foot resumed its tapping.
Shifting restlessly, I started to regret wearing so many layers. I could feel my skin tingling with sweat beneath and was about to take off my jacket when Mr Spelling raised his head and this time he did meet my gaze. He had kept me waiting all of sixty seconds but it had felt like a lifetime. In my defence, my waiting had begun long before I entered his office. My life had been held in limbo for almost five years.
When Mr Spelling smiled, I had absolutely no idea if it was drawn from hope or sympathy. His deep green eyes had hidden depths that gave no clue to the news he was about to impart.
‘So go on then. Tell me,’ I demanded, my tone light but insistent, my patience exhausted. I held my breath, pursing my lips tightly to stop them trembling.
‘It’s over,’ he said.
That simple statement had numerous connotations but for me the message was clear enough for me to catch my breath. ‘All clear?’ My question came out as a tremulous whisper.
‘Complete remission,’ he confirmed.
At last I allowed myself to look out of the window, beyond the treetops that were being stripped of all remains of life by autumn gales and towards the clear blue sky. Freedom, I thought as I allowed a smile to ease away the pain and fear that had cast an ominous shadow over my life. It had been a long time coming but I was only twenty-nine. I had my whole life ahead of me and an awful lot of catching up to do.
‘Emma, it’s time,’ Meg whispered.
Emma felt her body stiffen, her fingers left hovering motionlessly over the keyboard as the connection with her words was broken. The smile on her face faltered as she looked up and caught a glimpse of Mr Spelling and his entourage in deep discussion further down the ward. The thudding of her heart sounded like a drum roll preparing for the fall of the executioner’s axe.
