DIAGNOSIS: FOREVER
So, they first met while queuing up.
It was at the local council office, getting some paperwork sorted.
Tom was missing a form, and Emily was just sitting nearby, having stared at the same patch of wall for three hours straight.
You know that look people have when theyve been carrying something heavy for far too long, and finally let themselves collapse onto a hard plastic chair? They both had that written all over their faces.
Three months later, they moved in together. No big declarations or fireworks. Tom just turned up with two boxes of books and his old coffee grinder, lugging them into her flat on the edge of town.
The reality of their condition revealed itself in the second week.
Tom was frying some potatoes. Emily walked into the kitchen, caught a whiff of burnt onions and froze in the doorway. She didnt cry, didnt drift off into space. She just stared at the pan like it was cooking up her shattered heart.
Did your ex like them burnt? Tom asked, not turning around.
Yeah, Emily said as she got the plates out. Seven years ago now. Crazy, isnt it? I can barely remember what he looks like, but that smell… its like flipping a switch.
Tom nodded; he got it. In his pocket, he still had the number of Sophie blocked for five years. No intention of calling her, no wish to see her again. But he still remembered her blood group, shoe size, and how much she loathed coriander. Stuff in his head taking up space that really should be used for tax codes or car MOT schedules.
Love forever in real life isnt romance. Its ballast. You can love someone new with all youve got, but the background processes from previous versions of your life keep whirring away in your brain.
One night, Emily woke up to hear Tom talking in his sleep. And he wasnt calling for her. He was arguing with someone about whose turn it was to wash the doga dog whod died years before.
Emily didnt make a fuss. She just crept down to the kitchen, drank some water, and settled near the window to think.
When Tom found her later, he looked rumpled and apologetic.
Sorry. Was it bad again? he mumbled.
It was, she echoed.
You know, Tom, were like two old hard drives. Someone tried to wipe us, but the old files always come back. The sectors are wonky, but the pictures still pop up.
So what do we do? he asked, leaning his head against the cold glass.
Live, Emily shrugged. I know youre here, with me. And you dont put onions in my potatoes because you know I hate them. Thats reality. As for the old memories playing in your head… let them roll, just keep the volume down.
They didnt have perfect understanding. What they had was the solidarity of two survivors.
They went to Tesco, argued about curtains, saved up pounds for a beach holiday in Spain, nursed each other through sniffles. Still, each of them knew: deep down in their most protected archive, that diagnosis stuck around.
It didnt stop them being together. If anything, it was the opposite. Only someone with the same diagnosis could understand why Emily froze by the perfumes aisle, or why Tom never bought a certain brand of tea.
Diagnosis: Forever.
Treatment: Not required.
Prescription: Accept each other, past and all, because its never really going away.
