TRECE.

'Close the door,' Jenny ordered. I went to sit by her bed. I always liked to sit beside her and look at her face, because it had her eyes shinning in it. 'It doesn't hurt, Ollie, really,' she said. 'It's like falling off a high building very slowly - you know?' Something moved deep inside me. I am not going to cry, I said to myself. I'm strong, OK? And strong men don't cry... But if I'm not going to cry, then I can't open my mouth. 'Mm,' I said. 'No, you don't know, Preppie,' she said. 'You've never fallen off a high building in your life.' 'Yes, I have.' My voice came back. 'I did when I met you.' She smiled. 'Who cares about Paris?' she said suddenly. 'Paris, music, all that. You think you stole it from me, don't you? I can see it in your face. Well, I don't care, you stupid Preppie. Can't you accept that?' 'No,' I answered honestly. 'Then get out of here!' she said angrily. 'I don't want you at my damn death-bed.' 'OK, I accept it,' I said.  'That's better. Now - will you do something for me?' From somewhere inside me came this suddenly, violent need to cry. But I was strong. I was not going to cry. 'Mm,' I said again. 'Will you please hold me, Oliver?' I put my hand on her arm - oh God, she was so thin - and held it. 'No, Oliver,' she said. 'Really hold me. Put your arms around me.' Very, very carefully I got onto the bed and put my arms round her. 'Thanks, Ollie.' Those were her last words.