My Thoughts Exactly: Confessions of a Scarlet Widow

On the drive home Eoghan sings rapturously along to the radio, tapping a beat on the dashboard with his fingertips. Where on earth is the right place to tell him, I think.

How about a cemetary? Just saved you a trip.  And while you’re there you can pick out a nice plot of land for Eoghan’s final resting place.  It’s like killing two birds with one stone.

‘I think we should go and see Barry,’ he says. I smile. And so we drive to the harbour half an hour outside Dublin and to a secret spot Eoghan and I like to think of as our own.

Barry was one of the 27 wasn’t he?

Barry is there - not a person, but one of a family of sea lions who can often be spotted somersaulting in the shallow water of the harbour.

I can bark like a seal.

Eoghan and I have passed many happy hours sitting here, watching this sea lion, totally absorbed. I wonder why I didn’t think of here before.

You must be easily amused to watch a sea lion for hours.  Don’t get me wrong, I love watching cute little animals, but I have about a 3-5 minute attention span until I move on to the next thing that captures my attention.  Oh look a piece of lint!

We settle on a wooden bench on the edge of the harbour wall. Eoghan drapes an arm across my shoulder.

Bow chicka wow wow.

‘Eoghan. Can you look at me? I need to tell you something.’ I wonder at what moment he knows he is dying: if he reads it in my eyes or if it slowly falls into place with each sentence.

Well, technically he can’t see out of one eye, so I think it’s safe to say he can’t read it in your eyes.

‘Doctor O’Gorman asked if he could talk to me today while you were in chemo. He told me they won’t ever be able to do another round of radiotherapy on your brain, even though it seems the first lot didn’t work.’

Way to ease into the subject.

‘They had to tell me, Eogh.”

Eogh?  Like Captain Eo?  I loved that 3D adventure.  Especially the little furry thing, he was sooo cute!  Eogh could totally be an extra in Thriller 2 if Michael Jackson rises from the dead.  So he’s got that going for him.

“They heard us planning the wedding. They wanted to warn us.’ That must have done it, as here Eoghan cuts me off. ‘How long do I have?’ he asks. ‘One year? Five years?’

Someone overbid on the final showcase.

‘Two. Months,’ I say. There was no point in sugar-coating it. That’s it, I think, it’s won. I wasn’t strong enough to save him.

No, your Super Whore powers are no match for the vicious cancer.

‘They told me you’re dying,’ I say. As the words leave my lips my head drops into my hands and I vomit through my knees.

Remind me to never have you break news to me.  You’re terrible at it.

Eoghan drags me upright; his fingernails digging into my shoulders as he holds me at arm’s length.

Good call on the arm length’s away.  Projectile vomit can only travel so far until meeting it’s match with gravity.  I can only hope you’re not wearing sandals.

‘Look at me, Amy.’ His voice is stern. When I raise my bloodshot eyes to his, his irises seem bluer than I remember.

I hope you wiped the vomit off your mouth.

‘I swear I am not going to leave you, Amy. I didn’t wait this long to find you to lose you now. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.’

At least he’s optimistic.  Wrong, but optimistic.