Free Ways to Live Forever by Sally Nicholls Page A

breath.
    “Sam,” she said. She was almost pleading. “Let’s not fight. Please. Not now.”
    “I’m not fighting,” I said. “ You’re the one fighting. If you’d let me go, we wouldn’t have to fight.”
    Mum’s face was very pale. Her lips were pressed in a pink line.
    “Well,” she said. “If that’s what you want to think, then you go on thinking that. I’m not going to argue with you.”
    I hated her then. Hated her. Hated her for the tight, unhappy look that I knew was my fault. Hated her for not letting me win. Hated her because I was terrified of what might have happened to Felix, of what no one ever told me.
    “You have to do what I say,” I said, furious. “Everyone has to. Because I’m going to die and then you’ll be sorry.”
    Mum sat perfectly still, pressing her lips together. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then she turned and ran out of the room.
     
    I clenched my teeth and buried my head in my pillow. Good, I thought. Good. Serves her right. But I didn’t feel any happier.
    I just felt miserable. And angry. And lonely.
    I lay in bed for a long time, listening. I heard Ella’s urgent voice.
    “What’s the matter? Mum? Mum? What’s the matter?”
    I heard Mum and Dad talking, and Mum crying, on and on. I think I must have fallen asleep, because then I heard Granny’s voice and I don’t remember the doorbell ringing.
    “Oh, for pity’s sake!” That’s what she said, very loud. And then, “Well, why shouldn’t he, if he wants to?” And then there was Dad, murmuring something.
    After a while, Granny came into my room and sat on the edge of my bed.
    “Your mother’s talked to Gillian,” she said. “She says you can go and see Felix this afternoon, if you’re well enough.”
    “I’m well enough,” I said.
    She made a sort of tutting noise. “You’ll have to do better than that, my lad,” she said. “You look like the baby who was washed down the plughole with the bath water. Why don’t you have something to eat, and then we’ll see?”
    I’d pushed myself up on my elbows, but when she said that, I flopped back down again on the bed.
    “I’m not hungry,” I said. I wasn’t. I didn’t feel sick any more, but sort of empty, as though my stomach had shrivelled up inside me. Granny looked at me.
    “We don’t want any of that,” she said. “Your poor mother’s worried sick about you. She’s got enough on her plate, without you playing her up.”
    This was so unfair that I sat right up.
    “I’m not!” I said.
    Granny gave a brisk nod. “That’s more like it,” she said. “I’ll go and find you some food.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     

     
     
     
     

 
     
BULLET HOLES
9th February
     
     
     
     
    Granny took me to the funeral place herself, in her gardening van. There’s only room for one person besides Granny and they always get to sit in the front. The rest of the van is full of spades and netting and big sacks of sand. It has the bullet holes that I got Granny for Christmas stuck on the windscreen. It rattles when you drive too fast.
    Granny always drives too fast.
    It took us ages to get there, even so. All the way, I got nervouser and nervouser. My nervousness grew like a balloon under my ribs. It tingled down my arms and made my heart beat and beat, until I felt like I was going to burst.
    When we finally got there, the funeral place didn’t look at all like I thought it would. It was very posh. It looked a bit like the reception at Dad’s work. There was a pink carpet and a desk with a lady in a dark blue suit and pictures of flowers in pink frames on the wall. When Granny told the lady Felix’s name, she led us down this big long corridor with lots of shiny doors off it. I edged closer to Granny. She gave me a smile.
    I wondered if it was too late to change my mind.
    At last, the lady stopped outside one of the doors and unlocked it.
    “Here you are,” she said to Granny. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”
    Granny