The next day, Will stood outside the fencing studio, waiting for Jem to arrive. Will had never gotten over how impressive Jem had looked with the epee, and insisted on learning fencing, so he too could be like that. It was his third lesson so far and he had already mastered his basic footwork. It helped that he practised with Jem at home using brooms.
He checked his watch; it was almost time for class to start, but Jem had still not arrived. This was definitely out of the ordinary. Normally, Jem would be early. He texted Jem and waited in vain for a response. Eventually, Will had to go inside and take his lesson without his friend. He was distracted for the entire hour.
Their instructor asked Will what happened to Jem, but Will was unable to reply. He texted Jem again; in fact, every time the instructor gave him a break, he would send Jem a text. His friend had not replied to any.
Will was feeling very worried by the time class ended. It was unlike Jem to disappear without saying a word. Will sent out another text and decided that if there was still no reply, he would call. He stared at his watch and, at precisely 10 minutes after sending the text, he dialled Jem's number.
The dialling tone went on and on. Three times, Will called and let the phone ring through all the way to the end. Finally, on the fourth try, he heard a hoarse "Hello?"
"Jem?" Will burst out. "Good god, Jem, what happened? Why weren't you in class? Why didn't you answer any of my texts?"
"I'm sorry, Will. I'm not feeling too well toda…" Jem trailed off into a fit of coughing.
"Jem!" Will exclaimed. The coughing went on and on. "Jem? Jem, are you okay? Jem, talk to me!"
Finally, the coughing stopped. "Sorry," Jem apologised. "I shouldn't talk. I'll be okay. Don't worry about me." He coughed hard again. "I should go. Thanks for calling, Will."
With that, Jem hung up the phone. Will was surprised at the abrupt end to their conversation. This was not the first time he had heard Jem coughing his lungs out, but this was the first time that it was bad enough to keep Jem at home. He decided that he would go and visit his friend.
He did not know the exact way to Jem's house. But he had ridden along in the car most of the time when Thomas drove Jem home from his house, so he knew where it was. He pulled out his phone and searched on the map app, finding directions on how to get there. With great determination, he boarded the Tube and started on the journey.
By the time Will got there, nearly an hour had passed. Jem lived in a terraced house along one of the main roads in the estate. The houses were identical, down to the small garden outside each building. It was now early evening and the place was bustling with people. He strode up to Jem's door and knocked loudly. There was no answer. He knocked again, this time banging with his fists.
He called Jem's phone but, as usual, his friend didn't answer. Then his phone buzzed. It was a text from Jem: "If that's you at the door, Will, the key's in the gnome's lantern."
Will stared at the text for a few seconds, wondering what that meant. Then, he slapped his hand to his forehead. The answer had been staring at him right in the face. Standing at the edge of the garden was a heavy statue of a gnome, and it was carrying a lantern.
He walked over and examined the lantern. There were hinges at the back to open up the lantern. He did so and found a pile of melted wax inside. He spotted a piece of metal underneath – the key – and prised it out with his fingers.
Opening the door, he heard a thump and raced upstairs. Jem's room faced the street. A wooden bed, narrow study table and small cupboard took up most of the space. Out of place for a teenage boy's bedroom was the window seat area, which was covered in medical equipment and pill bottles.
Jem was sprawled on the floor, gagging into a yellow plastic bucket. Will rushed in and knelt by his friend. Jem grabbed Will's hand and made a patting motion against his back. Will understood that Jem wanted him to thump him on the back. He did so, and Jem began to cough. He spit out thick yellow mucus that was streaked with blood.
When he had done so, he sat back, panting with his eyes closed. He then put the lid back on the bucket and pushed it under the table. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Will," he said weakly.
"Do you want me to help you back into bed?" Will asked. Jem nodded, and Will pulled his friend to his feet so he could reach the bed. "What's wrong with you?" he asked cautiously.
"Bronchitis," Jem told him. "My own fault. I stayed out too late last night, and breathed in all that smoke and ash."
Will was not convinced. "Jem, tell me the truth," he said. He gestured at the dozens of pill bottles. "You've got a whole pharmacy in here. What's going on?"
Jem closed his eyes again. "Cystic fibrosis," he finally admitted. "Do you know what that is?"
Will shook his head. "Some kind of lung disease," he said.
"Close," Jem gasped. He coughed again, though not as badly as before.
"Don't," Will said, putting out his hand. "Don't talk. I'll look it up on the Internet." Jem nodded and watched as Will read.
His search revealed cystic fibrosis to be a life-threatening genetic disorder that causes the lungs and digestive system to become clogged with thick sticky mucus, causing severe damage to those organs. Medical treatment aimed to help prevent or reduce long-term damage and ease the symptoms to make the condition easier to live with. However, there was no cure and sufferers had a shorter than average life expectancy.
"Does this mean you're dying?" Will asked, his face turning white.
"Not yet," Jem said. "But eventually, yes, my lungs will fail me and I will die."
"How can you be ok with that?"
"I've lived with this all my life," Jem said. "I'm used to it."
"I don't want you to die," Will said in distress.
Jem took Will's hand. "I'm not going to die today, Will. Not unless I'm very unlucky. I'm usually all right. It's just that I caught bronchitis. It's making it hard for me to breathe, and when I can't breathe, the mucus builds up and…"
"And?"
"My chest feels very tight, almost painful. Sometimes, it feels like I'm drowning. I am afraid, Will. But I just have to endure it. The medicine helps."
"It helps, but it doesn't cure you?"
"There's no cure for cystic fibrosis."
"I don't want you to die," Will repeated. "What can I do? How can I help?"
"You can start by helping me get some more water," Jem suggested. "I've finished the jug and I haven't the strength to go downstairs to refill it."
Will nodded and grabbed the plastic jug. "Your uncle left you alone when you're sick?" he asked.
"He had to go to work," Jem said. "Colette came and checked on me at lunchtime. I think she left me some soup for dinner. You can bring that up too and eat with me."
Will did as Jem asked and brought up the water and the butternut pumpkin chicken soup. Jem did not have much of an appetite and struggled to finish his bowl.
"You don't have to force yourself to finish it, you know?" Will said after watching Jem painfully spooning soup into his mouth.
"My body doesn't absorb nutrients like yours does," Jem said miserably. "It absorbs less than half of what I eat. I've got to finish this."
It took Jem the better part of an hour to drink all the soup. By then, he was so exhausted that he fell asleep. Will took the bowls and washed them out in the kitchen. The house was quiet. The only sound was the ticking of the clock in the hallway and Jem's hoarse breathing. Will sat at Jem's desk. Prominently displayed was a picture of a younger Jem flanked by a man with silver hair and a Chinese woman. They were sitting on a balcony, with a foreign city in the background. The woman was hugging Jem, her cheek pressed against his, and the man had his arms around the both of them. Jem had the biggest smile on his face, and the two adults looked extremely merry too.
"Those are my parents," Jem's tired voice cut through the quiet room, startling him. Jem held out his hand and Will handed him the photo. He stroked the photo with his finger, his expression sad and wistful.
"What happened to them?"
"They were killed."
"Yeah, you've said that before. But how?"
Jem sighed and hugged the photo to his chest. "It was in Shanghai, when I was 10…"
Taking a bit more dramatic turn here. Please review!
