Sue scrolls to a picture of a woman holding a gardening fork, kneeling next to a rosebush, a watering can at her side, grinning at the camera, with a caption that says: I GAVE UP MY MARRIAGE AND MY CAREER THANKS TO THE DEATH LADY!
Sue recognizes her. She was the red-faced, frizzy-haired woman who suddenly called out, “Oh, can’t someone do something!” during the delay when the baby wouldn’t stop crying.
I don’t know if the Death Lady will ever see this page, but if she does, I want to thank her. I have never believed in psychics, but when she told me I only had nine years of my life left to live, it gave me the most amazing clarity about how I wanted to spend the time I had left. I have changed my whole life for the better. I asked myself, When are you going to start living, Philippa, WHEN? And that’s when I decided there was only one answer: TODAY, PHILIPPA, TODAY!! So I packed my bags, left my unhappy marriage, and left the city! Well, first I resigned from my high-stress corporate telecommunications job! Hooray! Why did I think I had to stay there forever? I don’t know! I am now working at a garden center in regional Victoria and I have a new passion for PICKLEBALL. I also have begun a new relationship with someone VERY SPECIAL. I have never felt happier or healthier. Thank you, Death Lady! You were the kick up the bum I needed! Whether I get more or less years than you predicted, I will never regret the life changes I have made.
“Go, Philippa!” says one of the daughters-in-law, punching the air, but then she winces, “Oh, gosh, this one isn’t so…cheerful.”
Sue looks back down at her phone and reads:
Hi, everyone, my name is Geoff. My wife, Sarah, was on this flight and was told by the psychic that she would die of breast cancer at the age of thirty-seven.
She was pregnant at the time with our baby boy
“Knew it was a boy,” says Sue.
and I thought it was a disgusting thing to say to a pregnant woman, but Sarah wasn’t worried. She brushed it off. She’s very tough. That was until the news came out about the young girl who died in a car crash. My wife is only thirty-three and has no history of breast cancer in the family. She had no symptoms, so it took some convincing for a GP to send her for a mammogram. I think in the end she probably agreed just to shut Sarah up.
To everyone’s shock the mammogram did show something of a concern. Sarah had a biopsy last week and the results came in: “triple-negative breast cancer.”
It’s my understanding her cancer is treatable, but we will know more about what lies ahead when we see an oncologist tomorrow.
Okay, so here is my problem: My wife is adamant she will refuse any “invasive treatment” as she is convinced any chemo/radiation regimen will be unsuccessful and she is going to die anyway. She wants to spend the time she has left “celebrating life,” “making memories,” and ticking off stuff on some stupid “bucket list.” Sorry, but I have ZERO interest in “dancing under the stars” like I’m in a bloody Ed Sheeran song right now. She is writing letters to our son to be opened every year on his birthday. I want her to focus on being ALIVE for our son’s birthdays!!!
My wife had a friend who endured a brutal treatment regimen for many years and ultimately died anyway. She can’t stand to think of this happening to her. I understand this, but I’ve tried to tell her every case is different. I am hoping the oncologist will be able to convince her, but I am terrified she won’t budge.
I’m grateful to this psychic because if it wasn’t for her there is every chance my wife’s cancer might not have been discovered until it was too late, but at the same time I’m so pissed off. I can’t drag my wife to treatment. I’ve never been able to make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. She is as stubborn as a mule.
I am desperate for any help anyone can offer tracking down this “Death Lady.” I have tried the airline, but they can’t do anything because of privacy issues. I am hoping she would be happy to tell my wife that even if she does have psychic abilities she is NOT one hundred percent accurate.
I am also keen to hear from anyone who may have already outlived the Death Lady’s prediction, thereby proving her wrong.
Fingers crossed: Nobody is one hundred percent accurate, right?
PLEASE HELP ME SAVE MY WIFE’S LIFE.
(I loved her from the moment I saw her.)
You poor man, thinks Sue.
She thinks of her conversation with the pregnant woman in the security line, how she spoke so cheerfully about her heartburn and swollen ankles, and now she’s dealing with cancer, when she should be enjoying the wonder of her first baby. Of course there’s never a good time for a serious illness. Nobody has time for it. Everyone has other plans.
Sue wonders idly if she should try to get in touch with the young woman, try to help convince her to get treatment, but of course that’s ridiculous, you can’t meddle in a stranger’s life and she has her own family to worry about.
Right now they all look a little shell-shocked. There is no sound except for the giggles of her two granddaughters who are lying on their stomachs on the floor behind a couch playing Snap with an old pack of cards.
She says, “Well, you know, she hasn’t actually died—”
“Yet,” says her daughter-in-law. “She’s going to make the prophecy self-fulfilling.”
“Which is why it doesn’t prove anything,” says Sue. “Because—well. Just because.” This is like one of those awful “farmer crossing a river” puzzles, where you have to work out whether to take the wolf, the goat, or the cabbage first. Her head is starting to hurt.
“It means nothing,” says Max. “No need for anyone to stress.” His leg is jiggling up and down next to hers. “Why don’t we have some music?” Then he says unexpectedly, “Sometimes I wish we’d never gone on that damned trip.”
“But we had such a great time.” Sue fiddles with the apple charm on her bracelet that she bought as a souvenir of their trip to the “Apple Isle.” She’s sad at the thought of their camper van holiday memories being sullied.
“I know we did, darling, I’m sorry,” says Max. “We had—”
He stops. Sue looks at him, to check he’s not having a stroke. His dad’s last half-finished sentence was “I feel like something is not—” before he had the massive stroke that felled him.
“Jeez.” Max rubs his hand across his face as if he’s rubbing in sunscreen. “This whole situation is outrageous. Nobody should be taking it seriously. The old couple were so old!”
“Just so you all know, I would never refuse treatment,” says Sue.
Nobody speaks. Her youngest son spins his phone against the side of his chair in exactly the same way Max did on the flight. She shouldn’t have said that. Maybe that makes it seem like she now thinks a future diagnosis is inevitable.
Max stands, pulling on the legs of his jeans. “I’ll just check the…” He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence. They all know there is nothing for him to check.
“You can’t die first, Mum,” says her youngest son with forced lightness after Max has left the room. “Dad wouldn’t survive without you.”
“Well, he would,” says Sue. “He’d be very sad, but he’d survive. That’s life!” She grabs her grandson just before he sinks his teeth into a giant wheel of Brie. She buries her nose in his sweet-smelling hair. Her big strong grown-up sons fear death, but they also think they are somehow protected—it’s so far in their futures it doesn’t really exist, it’s only for people unlucky enough to make the news, for people in war-torn countries and natural disasters, for sick elderly grandparents, but not for their young parents, not for years and years. Her boys haven’t yet discovered the awful fragility of life. They don’t yet know that the possibility of death is always there, sitting right alongside you.
She says, “Your dad would have no choice but to carry on.”
“Snap!” shriek her granddaughters.
Chapter 85
I’d been working for the National Parks and Wildlife for three years when Baashir hosted a Swiss fondue party for his fortieth birthday.