Chapter 176 Will you sing? (II)

Chapter 176 Will you sing? (II)
“Will you sing?” Amelia asks. 

“All of them,” I say, laughing. 

Amelia has heard me sing in the past, but this moment feels different and special. I pry my phone from my pocket to give it to her. She squints at the screen and laughs. 

“I don’t understand how you guys do it. It looks like a bunch of random lines with rhymes until you put a beat to it,” she says.

“I guess,” I say. “It just flows when you start singing. The melody will come naturally.” 

“Pretty angel?” she says. 

That’s the title of the song. It’s not complete. I’m not sure I’ll complete it but to be able to even write half a page. Wow. 

Rolling onto my stomach, my feet dangle from the edge of the bed and I prop myself up on my elbows. “Do you like it?” I ask. 

“I love it,” Amelia replies, her eyes on my phone. “How are you, Cathy? The truth.” 

“I don’t know. I’m still mad. But what if...” I sniff. My thoughts surround me in a dark bubble. “I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself if something bad were to happen to him and I never told him about his son. It’s tough. I’m still mad, but I want to tell him.” 

“Then tell him.” 

“How?” 

The emails I sent were all returned with the same message. His number doesn’t exist. 

“Social media?” Amelia whispers. An unexpected yelp escapes my lips. She laughs. I don’t want pictures of my baby on the internet. “How else are we going to do it?” 

“We can go to New York,” I say. We should have gone the first time she suggested it.

“New York is big,” she says. Her hands open up to show just how huge. It will be tough. “Maybe we can go after your birthday? We will go with my boyfriend.” 

“Okay.” Wait. I gasp. “You said yes?” 

Amelia nods. “Memories, right? Life is too short, anyway to not make new memories.” 

“You did good, Amelia Greene.” 

She pouts. “Thank you, Catherine Jenkins.” 

I pick up my phone on the bed and type the name of their band on the search bar. I don’t know if I was expecting to see their house address on the internet, but my lips pull into a frown when nothing shows up. Scrolling through the page, I stumble on a date for their next tour. My brows furrow.

“They are coming to Europe,” I say. 

My heart flutters. I inch closer to Amelia to show her the screen. They will be in Europe but won’t touch London until later in their tour. Should I wait or go to him? 

“Go to him,” Amelia says. I swallow. 

This time, I won’t chicken out. Even when I want to scream, I’ll keep it all in until I tell him about Mace. There’s only a flicker of hesitation before I hit the purchase ticket button, and buy two tickets.

“You’ll come with me?” I ask Amelia. 

She nods. “I feel sleepy.”  

My lips pinch into a frown. Amelia laughs, and I grin. Nothing is wrong, I’m being paranoid. 

“Okay.” After helping her into a sleeping position, I follow suit. “Go to sleep, Amelia. I’ll be here when you wake.” 

“Will you sing for me?” 

“Of course. I’ll do anything for you,” I promise.

She groans as she tries to roll on her side. I shake my head to stop her from doing that but she has always been so stubborn. When she’s finally lying on her side, she flashes me a triumphant grin and tears leak down my cheek. 

How can something this simple be so hard? 

“You never listen,” I tell her. “So stubborn.” 

Her hand trembles as she stretches it to catch my tears. “Stop crying, Cathy. I can’t handle it.” 

I hurriedly wipe the tears on my cheek. I can’t cry. I won’t cry. Not here, not now. 

“Mr Dissick is an idiot for taking so long to reach out to you,” she says. 

“An absolute idiot,” I reply. 

We laugh together. It’s not like old times but it soothes my soul. Amelia grabs my hands in a vise-like grip. I dart a glance at her face but she’s staring into the distance.

“Amelia.” 

She releases me. A contrite smile flits to her lips. “You have to forgive him,” she mutters. “I want you to be happy, Cathy. I want you to be so happy because you deserve it.” 

“Then stay. Don’t die,” I reply. It’s selfish of me to ask that but she’s giving up. She can’t give up. We can’t let leukaemia win. “We will fight it together. I’ll be with you every step, Amelia. Stay here with me. With all of us.”  

“Even when I’m not here, I’ll still be here,” she states. The tears rolls down my cheeks now. “I’ll never really be gone. I’ll just be in a different world, watching all of you.” 

“I don’t like when you talk like this, Amelia.” 

“I feel sleepy, and you promised me a song.” 

My heart kicks up a storm in my chest. I force down the tears clamouring to escape. 

“I’ll be here, okay?” I reassure her. Amelia squeezes my hand tight. I help her find a comfortable spot and pull the cover to her waist. Linking our fingers, I press a kiss to her temple, then her forehead. “I love you.” 

Amelia’s browns size me up, lingering on my face as if to memorise it. I’m scared. “I love you too, Catherine Valentina Jenkins.”

Her eyes shut. I don’t let go of her hand as my head lowers to my pillow. Eyes cast up, our lives replay on the ceiling. I hear her laughter. The true Amelia Greene laughter before the bitch leukaemia came along. I give her hand another squeeze. I’m here. We will fight it together. Leukaemia cannot win. 

“I’m going to sing for you now,” I tell her. 

The lyrics to the new song roll out of my lips. My voice is scratchy, and I make up the tune as I go. My eyes close. I’m not sure when I fall asleep but when my eyes flutter open, my fingers are still intertwined with Amelia’s. I push myself up as best as I can without letting go of her hand. That’s my new mission. Never letting go of her. 

“Amelia?” I whisper. I need to go and check on Mace. Amelia’s eyes are still closed. My fingertips trace the curve of her nose, up to the bridge. I don’t want to leave the room without telling her my location. I nudge her gently with my shoulder. “Amelia. Amelia!”  

No response. I shoot to my knees, press my ear to her chest, her nose. Tears well in my eyes. “Amelia?” I whisper. Maybe I was too loud the first time. I shake her, gently at first, then with more force. “Amelia Greene.” 

She’s not dying on me. I raise her hand to my ear, listen for a pulse but there’s none.

“Mrs Greene! Mrs Greene!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I’m seated on the bed now with Amelia’s head on my lap. “She won’t wake up,” I whisper. “She told me she was feeling sleepy and now she won’t wake up.”