A-Every second, of every minute, of every hour. 2

When I was seven your family moved in next door. You, Nick, were the
eldest, you were eight, then there was Kelly, Elise, Jack and Hannah. I
couldn't believe how huge your family was, being an only child, I was
surprised there could be so many people in one house. We were
introduced by our parents, I remember not being able to stop staring at
you, but a couple of months went by, I got over my awe, and we became
inseparable. We hacked a hole in the garden fence, and built a den with
wooden walls and a corrugated iron roof, Dad made us a bench, and after
that, that's where we spent our time. We spent hours upon hours making
up stories and fairytales, we talked about everything, even at the
tender ages of seven and eight. When I got my swing, you pushed me on
it, we even tried to dig to Australia. Every time we had a fight, we'd
go inside and sulk, I'd come out to the den five minutes later,
thinking about you, only to find you already there missing me
too.
When you went to secondary school, I cried every lunchtime for a whole
year, when I went up the following September I was unbearably happy,
what's more surprising, so were you! You didn't seem to care that I was
a year younger and a girl, I was your best girl, that's what you called
me. A few boys in my year started picking on me and Amy, you punched
one of them so hard I the mouth that he lost his two front teeth, and
you were suspended.
When I turned thirteen we planned my first 'proper' party together. We
had punch, junk food and loud pop-music, everyone had a great time,
apart from us. We got bored of it all and went out to our den, then you
kissed me. From then on, the boy next door was my boy next door and our
parents started to plan our wedding. When we were apart we were on the
phone, when we were together, we never once ran out of things to say to
each other. When I was fifteen my Granddad died, and you just held me,
all we seemed to do was get stronger. When we argued, I'd be out in our
den within a few minutes, and you'd be waiting there, missing me, just
like it used to be when we were little.
A year later and I turned sixteen, I didn't have a sweet sixteen,
instead you picked me up and took me out. I wore a perfect red dress,
my hair was all curled up, you wore smart trousers and a shirt. We had
a wonderful meal and walked for ages along the river. Everything was
perfect, we talked about the future, our future, and everything that
life had in store for us. When we got back to your house, everything
was right. When you kissed me, I knew you were the boy that I wanted to
spend the rest of my life with, and that's why I didn't wait Nick, I
know that it seemed foolish, I turn sixteen and take advantage of my
legal benefits straight away, but for me it was the perfect, (if
painful), way to end a perfect evening. You teased me so much about
waiting till I was legal and then jumping right on in there, but I was
surprised we'd waited that long, weren't you? And now I'm glad I didn't
wait, if we'd waited I might never have had the chance to be with you
like that. If I was sitting here now, knowing I'd never been that
close, emotionally and physically, to the boy I loved so much, I'd want
to die. I know now that maybe something, subconsciously, was telling us
to seize the moment, because you never know what tomorrow might
bring.

What tomorrow brought was not nice. To begin with it was just a stomach
bug, but I didn't get it. I always got whatever you had and vice versa,
we were always together, kissing. Then it didn't go away. I never
really noticed how little you were eating, infact, you did eat, but it
was only little bits ere and there, which was never enough. We never
went out for another meal after that one, and I never went round yours
for tea, but those little things you never see as anything big! We
still saw each other nearly twenty-four hours a day, I don't understand
Nick how you could carry that all on your own. We eventually persuaded
you to go to the doctor, and all he said was that it was irritable
bowel syndrome and he gave you some tablets and sent you away. Well
they didn't work, but each time you went back they just did more tests
and came to more wrong conclusions.
It was five months later before I eventually found out. We'd had a
massive argument, I wanted to go out and you didn't, it escalated into
something big, I ran home and cried; though now, it always seems that
it was comparatively less crying than I ever did after that day. As
always five minutes later, I went sniffing back to our den.
"Sorry." I whispered, you looked up, you seemed lost. I couldn't tell
what you were thinking and for a moment you didn't even seem to
recognise who I was.
"Oh God." You cried, you voice was angry and sad and everything mixed
in together.
"What?" I replied. I'd never seen you anything but ordered and
confident and sure, now your face was creased in confusion, "Nick, I'm
sorry, I know you're not well." I began to cry again. You folded me
into your arms and hugged me so tight that I could barely
breathe.
"Oh sweetheart," you murmured, I felt tears falling into my hair, "I'm
not well." I don't know what told me that your not being well had
something to do with all of this, but I knew inside of me that
something serious was wrong.
"What Nick?" I sobbed.
"I don't want to tell you." You said, "I wanted Mum to tell you." I
felt your body shake with desperate tears.
"Nick, you're scaring me," I looked up at your face, I'll never ever
forget how you looked that night, it was a cross between hatred and
love, a mixture of anger and desperation, and it haunts me now as it
did then.
"I've got cancer."
What was I meant to say? I saw the pain in your beautiful brown eyes
and I panicked. I pulled away sharply, "Beth, please, don't leave
me."
I couldn't stay there, no matter how much you needed me, Nick, I
couldn't be cuddled and comforted by my boyfriend who had cancer,
because he was going to die, and I wouldn't have him forever by my
side. So, I ran. You didn't know where I was going, and I had even less
of an idea, but I ran. I can't remember much of what passed, but I
remember the burning pain that ripped down my throat when I could no
longer breathe, and I remember being sick on the riverbank. I collapsed
on the grass, trying to stop the hurt and the pain that seemed to be
aching from every orifice of my body, but nothing hurt so much on that
day as my heart, ad nothing ever will again. I remember the looks that
people gave me, the pathetic figure on the grass by the pool of acidic
vomit, flushed by exercise, but pale through fright. People made sure
they walked around me, not one came to help, they were all too eager to
avoid the distressing scene. I don't really remember walking home
either, I'm not sure how I ever managed to find the way, but I know I
sat on the sofa, sobbing and wailing, begging the walls and the empty
house to tell me it wasn't happening. Cancer meant death, I knew too
many people who had died from it to think anything else. My boyfriend,
my soul-mate, my best friend, the other half to me, Nick, you were
going to die. How did anyone expect me to cope with something like
that?

I went out to the den, it was the only place I could be to think, and
for the first time ever, you weren't there waiting for me. I sat on the
seat and I tried to think, but I just couldn't. I struggled to assert
myself, to try and remember everything we'd had in the past four years,
but I'd always come back to thinking that we'd never have anything
again. Then I got scared, in case I forgot anything, it was then, while
I was muttering everything I could remember that we'd ever done
together, everything you'd said, everything I'd replied, that you put
your arms around me. I still don't know how long we were out there, but
it was dark when you half led, half carried me inside. I don't remember
us sitting down and telling my parents what was going on, but I do
remember tat long night, it was the longest of my life. I couldn't
sleep, I couldn't even move. I remember how we lay, my head on your
chest, your arms around me, and my little finger gripping tightly to
yours, as it used to when we were seven. I can remember every single
little word that was said, and I can still remember the sound of your
voice as you said them. Neither of us cared how little sleep we got,
we'd sleep much less now, because every second that passed marked
something special. Time was so precious to us, nobody else would be
able to comprehend exactly how we clung to every minute, because we
knew it was one of our last. The amount of times we said, "I love you."
Well you'd think it would seem less and less meaningful, but we said it
with growing conviction didn't we? The significance of those words
never decreased. I swore to you that I'd never love anyone else the way
that I loved you, and I meant it, and you told me not to be stupid and
that you'd be around to stop me even if I did. I cried until I simply
couldn't cry anymore, and you did the same, but your tears weren't for
you, they were for me. I felt guilty because all I could do was cry,
and you told me everything would be ok, and you'd get through it, I
couldn't help knowing I was being selfish, it should have been the
other way around. You didn't complain though, infact it might have been
the fact that I needed you to be strong that night, that made you
strong for the rest of time.