Six Months to Get a Life (24 page)

I set myself the challenge of getting my life sorted out by my birthday. This was of course a bit of a hypothetical challenge. Can any of us say that our lives are fully sorted out? People prone to clichés say that life is a journey. Enjoy the good bits of the ride, because there are bound to be a few bad bits coming up at some point in the future. Another cliché that is particularly apt in my case is that life is a rollercoaster. I am enjoying the up but as sure as night follows day, there will be a down soon. I think I’ll quit writing while I am ahead.

If you have enjoyed reading ‘Six Months to Get a Life’ then let me whet your appetite for my next book, ‘Six Lies’.

Dear David,

It has been said before but I will say it again. Rectal cancer is a pain in the backside.

If you are reading this letter then the wretched disease has got the better of me. As I sit here in my bedroom scribbling away, I know my time is running out. I have fought my heart out over the past couple of years to fend off my cancer but life is too painful. I am beginning to run out of fight. Once I have finished this letter, I plan to accept any drugs on offer and drift off quietly into oblivion. My time has come.

I have spent time over the past few days reflecting upon what difference I have made to the world. This may sound a bit old hat but believe me, when you know you will be dying soon, the urge to look back rather than think about a future you won’t be part of is irresistible.

I have never wanted fame and fortune. I won’t be studied by generations of school children or idolised by thousands of sports fans. I don’t suppose even the music world will mourn my passing despite me being the best sax player in London back in the day.

None of that matters to me though. Without a doubt, your dad’s and my greatest contribution to this world is you.

You are a joy to be around and a positive influence on everyone you meet. When you walk into a room, people notice. Your 
enthusiasm
for life is infectious. Everyone you meet falls in love with you. You didn’t achieve your dream of being the next Billy Joel or Liverpool’s record striker but even if you had, your father and I wouldn’t have been more proud of you than we already are. We love you more than you could ever know and I for one will go to my grave in the knowledge that I have brought up a unique, sparky and fun-loving son.

I am truly sorry to be leaving you. My heart aches because I will never again get to share a pot of tea with you on your way home from work. I won’t get to play cards with you and your dad or discover new restaurants with the pair of you. I won’t get to hear about all those scrapes you get yourself into on a regular basis. I won’t get to meet your next ‘chosen one’. On that subject, don’t you think it is about time you actually chose another woman to settle down with rather than just choosing one for the night?

This letter would have been worth writing even if it was only to tell you how proud I am of you. But unfortunately there is something else I need to say to you.

There is no easy way to say this so I will just come out with it. Biologically-speaking, I am not your mother.

Those words must be truly shocking to you. I can imagine your sharp intake of breath. I bet you uttered a swear word or two. Of course I don’t blame you.

Your father can tell you the full story. To be fair to your dad, he has always wanted you to know. It is me that stopped him from telling you our secret. All I can say to you is that I kept the truth from you for the right reasons. I have always loved you as if you were my own son. I couldn’t have cared more for you if I had tried. I didn’t want you to find out that you weren’t my flesh and blood because I didn’t want you ever doubting my love for you.

You are a strong man, David. You have coped with adversity in the past. I know you can cope with this news too. You are sur
rounded 
by
good friends. If you need to, talk to Graham about this news. He will help you through it.

I don’t know what else to say now. Do you remember you used to come home from school every Wednesday and tell me how many goals you scored in your school football game? And then one Wednesday you came home really excited and said, ‘mum, mum, I really scored a goal today!’

I love you son.

Mum