Ways to Live Forever by Sally Nicholls Page A

sit, and a flight compartment, which is where the pilots sit. The flight compartment has two seats, lots of dials and meters and a wheel, which you use to steer. Stanley and Raoul let me and Ella sit in the pilot seats and they spent ages telling us what everything did. Then they made us go back to the passenger bit. We were the only passengers.
    The third best thing about an airship is taking off. First you get the excitement as the engines begin to whirr. The noise gets louder and louder until suddenly the airship shoots almost straight up, so you’re pushed right back into your seat. It’s brilliant.
    When the airship had levelled off, we were allowed to take off our seatbelts and move around. Stanley and Raoul let us go in the flight compartment while they were flying. Stanley let me hold the wheel and turn it right and left. So I have flown an airship! That was the second best thing.
    Stanley told us all about how you become an airship pilot. He said he started out flying aeroplanes, but then he tried airships and he liked them better. You can look out of the windows at the ground in an airship and you can see all the birds flying past, rather than just zooming by them like planes do.
    “Sometimes,” he said, “flocks of ducks overtake us, look back and laugh!”
    The absolute best thing about the airship was what you saw out of the windows, though. You were allowed to open them and lean right out, so you got the wind blowing all in your face and in your hair. You could see everything really clearly, like a picture, all the tiny hills and mountains and lakes, drifting slowly past below you.
    It felt very funny, looking out, because you were sort of separate from everything – you couldn’t talk to anyone down there or swim in the lakes or climb the hills – but at the same time you were still kind of part of it. It was as though you were looking at a picture, except you weren’t outside the frame. You were still there. You were just looking at it all from a different angle, from very far away.



 
     
A DECISION
7th March
     
     
     
     
    The morning after we got home, Annie came to see us. She came twice; the first time to do a blood test and clean my line and the second time to give me platelets.
    The second time, she sat on the floor and talked to me. I told her all about the airship and the cottage we slept in and I showed her the photos on Dad’s camera.
    “It sounds wonderful,” she said.
    “It was,” I said. “It was amazing. The best ever.”
    “That’s really great, Sam. But listen, tell me. How are you feeling? In yourself?”
    I didn’t want to talk about that. “I’m OK.”
    “Oh, Sam,” said Mum. She looked at Annie. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, actually. He’s been very tired, falling asleep during the day – I thought it might be the morphine, but. . .”
    “I didn’t fall asleep on the airship,” I said angrily. I didn’t see why Mum had to tell Annie all this stuff. But I suppose Annie knew it all already. Mum carried on talking anyway.
    “He’s had more bone pain too, though we’ve got that under control now. I wondered. . .” She stopped. “The stuff they’ve been giving him from the hospital doesn’t seem to be doing much any more. Should we talk to Bill, try something else?”
    For a long moment, Annie didn’t answer. Then she said, “If the chemotherapy really isn’t working, there isn’t a lot else we can offer at this stage.”
    My stomach clenched. I knew Annie would say that. Beside me, Mum tensed. She said, “But I thought . . . Bill said we’d get a year.”
    “Up to a year,” said Annie. She looked at me. “I’m sorry.” She did look sorry.
    “But. . .” Mum sounded frightened. “Are we supposed to just stop ?”
    I didn’t want to listen. I leaned against Mum and rested my head against her chest. She put her arm around me.
    “No one’s going to force either of you to do anything you don’t want to do,” Annie was saying.