One

IRENE HELD THE BLUE COTTON sweater to her face and the familiar smell immediately struck her, an overwhelming grief knotting her stomach and pulling at her heart. Pins and needles ran up the back of her neck and a lump in threatened to choke her. Panic took over. Apart from the low hum of the fridge and the occasional of the pipes, the house was quiet. She was alone. Bile rose to and she ran to the bathroom, where she collapsed to her knees before the toilet.

Seulgi was gone and she would never be back. That was the reality. She would never again run her fingers through Seulgi’s soft hair, never share a secret joke across the table at a dinner party, never cry to her when she got home from a hard day at work and just needed a hug; she would never share a bed with her again, never be woken up by her fits of sneezes each morning, never laugh with her so much her stomach would ache, never fight with her about whose turn it was to get up and turn the bedroom light off. All that was left was a bundle of memories and an image of her face that became more and more vague each day.

Their plan had been very simple. To stay together for the rest of their lives. A plan that anyone within their circle would agree was accomplishable. They were best friends, lovers and soul mates destined to be together, everyone thought. But as it happened, one day destiny greedily changed its mind.

The end had come all too soon. After complaining of a migraine for a few days, Seulgi had agreed to Irene's suggestion that she see her doctor. This was done one Wednesday on a lunch break from work. The doctor thought it was due to stress or tiredness and agreed that at the very worst she might need glasses. Seulgi hadn't been happy with that. She had been upset about the idea she might need glasses. She needn't have worried, since as it turned out it wasn't her eyes that were the problem. It was the tumor growing inside her brain.

Irene flushed the toilet, and shivering from the coldness of the tiled floor, she shakily steadied herself to her feet. Seulgi had been thirty years old. By no means had she been the healthiest woman on the earth, but she'd been healthy enough to . . . well, to live a normal life. When she was very sick she would bravely joke about how she shouldn't have lived life so safely. Should have taken drugs, should have drunk more, should have traveled more, should have jumped out of airplanes while waxing her legs . . . her list went on. Even as she laughed about it Irene could see the regret in her eyes. Regret for the things she never made time to do, the places she never saw, and sorrow for the loss of future experiences. Did she regret the life she'd had with her? Irene never doubted that she loved her, but feared she felt she had wasted precious time.

Growing older became something she wanted desperately to accomplish, rather than merely a dreaded inevitability. How presumptuous they both had been never to consider growing old as an achievement and a challenge. Aging was something they'd both wanted so much to avoid.

Irene drifted from room to room while she sobbed her fat, salty tears. Her eyes were red and sore and there seemed to be no end to this night. None of the rooms in the house provided her with any solace. Just unwelcoming silences as she stared around at the furniture. She longed for the couch to hold out its arms to her, but even it ignored her.

Seulgi would not be happy with this, she thought. She took a deep breath, dried her eyes and tried to shake some sense into herself. No, Seulgi would not be pleased at all.

Just as she had every other night for the past few weeks, Irene fell into a fitful sleep in the early hours of the morning. Each day she found herself sprawled uncomfortably across some piece of furniture; today it was the couch. Once again it was the phone call from a concerned friend or family member that woke her up. They probably thought that all she did was sleep. Where weretheir phone calls when she listlessly roamed the house like a zombie searching the rooms for . . . for what? What was she expecting to find?

“Hello,” she groggily answered. Her voice was hoarse from all the tears, but she had long since stopped caring about maintaining a brave face for anyone. Her best friend was gone and nobody understood that no amount of makeup, fresh air or shopping was going to fill the hole in her heart.

“Oh sorry, love, did I wake you?” the concerned voice of Irene's mother came across the line. Always the same conversation. Every morning her mother called to see if she had survived the night alone. Always afraid of waking her yet always relieved to hear her breathing; safe with the knowledge her daughter had braved the ghostesss of the night.

“No, I was just dozing, it's OK.” Always the same answer.

“Your dad and Baekhyun have gone out and I was thinking of you, pet.” Why did that soothing, sympathetic voice always send tears to Irene's eyes? She could picture her mother's concerned face, eyebrows furrowed, forehead wrinkled with worry. But it didn't soothe Irene. It made her remember why they were worried and that they shouldn't have to be. Everything should be normal. Seulgi should be here beside her, rolling his eyes up to heaven and trying to make her laugh while her mother yapped on. So many times Irene would have to hand the phone over to Seulgi, as her fit of giggles would take over. Then she would chat away, ignoring Irene as she jumped around the bed pulling her silliest faces and doing her funniest dances just to get her back. It seldom worked.

She “ummed” and “ahhed” throughout the conversation, listening but not hearing a word.

“It's a lovely day, Irene. It would do you the world of good to go out for a walk. Get some fresh air.”

“Um, I suppose.” There it was again, fresh air–the alleged answer to all her problems.

“Maybe I'll call around later and we can have a chat.”

“No thanks, Mum, I'm OK.”

Silence.

“Well, all right then . . . give me a ring if you change your mind. I'm free all day.”

“OK.”

Another silence.

“Thanks, though

“Right then . . . take care, love.”

“I will.” Irene was about to replace the phone when she heard her mother's voice again.

“Oh Irene, I almost forgot. That envelope is still here for you, you know, the one I told you about. It's on the kitchen table. You might want to collect it, it's been here for weeks now and it might be important.”

“I doubt it. It's probably just another card.”

“No, I don't think it is, love. It's addressed to you and above your name it says . . . oh, hold on while I get it from the table . . .” The phone was put down, the sound of heels on the tiles toward the table, chairs screeched against the floor, footsteps getting louder, phone being picked up . . .

“You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, it says at the top 'The List.' I'm not sure what that means, love. It's worth just taking a...”

Irene dropped the phone.

_ _ _ 

“SEULGI, TURN OFF THE LIGHT!” Irene giggled as she watched her wife undress before her. She danced around the room performing a striptease, slowly ing her white cotton shirt with her long slender fingers. Seulgi raised her left eyebrow toward Irene and allowed the shirt to slide from her shoulders, caught it in her right hand and swung it around over her head.

Irene giggled again.

“Turn off the light? What, and miss all this?” she grinned cheekily while flexing her muscles. Seulgi wasn't a vain woman but had much to be vain about, thought Irene. Her body was strong and perfectly toned. Her long legs were muscular from hours spent working out in the gym. She wasn't a very tall woman, but she was tall enough to make Irene feel safe when she stood protectively beside her five-foot-five body. Most of all she loved that when she hugged Seulgi her head would rest neatly just below her chin, where she could feel her breath lightly blowing her hair and tickling her head.

Her heart leapt as Seulgi lowered her , caught them on the tips of her toes and flung them at Irene, where they landed on her head.

“Well, at least it's darker under here anyway,” she laughed. She always managed to make her laugh. When she came home tired and angry after work Seulgi was always sympathetic and listened to her complain. They seldom fought, and when they did it was over stupid things that made them laugh afterward, like who had left the porch light on all day or who had forgotten to set the alarm at night.

Seulgi finished her striptease and dived into the bed. Seulgi snuggled up beside her, tucking her freezing cold feet underneath her legs to warm herself up.

“Aaaagh! Seulgi, your feet are like ice cubes!” Irene knew that this position meant she had no intention of budging an inch.

“Seulgi,” Irene's voice warned.

“Irene,” she mimicked.

“Didn't you forget something?”

“No, not that I remember,” she answered cheekily. “The light?”

“Ah yes, the light,” she said sleepily and pretended to snore loudly.

“Seulgi!”

“I had to get out of bed and do it last night as I remember.”

“Yeah, but you were just standing right beside the switch a second ago!” “Yes . . . just a second ago,” she repeated sleepily.

Irene sighed. She hated having to get back out of bed when she was nice and snug, step onto the cold wooden floor and then fumble around in the darkness on the way back to the bed. She tutted.

“I can't do it all the time you know, Rene. Someday I might not be here and then what will you do?”

“Get my new wife to do it,” Irene huffed, trying her best to kick Seulgi’s cold feet away from hers.

“Ha!”

“Or just remember to do it myself before I get into bed.”

Seulgi snorted. “Fat chance of that happening, my dear. I'll have to leave a message on the light switch for you before I go just so you'll remember.”

“How thoughtful of you, but I would rather you just leave me your money.” “And a note on the central heating,” she continued on.

“Ha-ha.”

“And on the milk carton.” “You're a very funny woman, Seulgi.”

“Oh, and on the windows so you don't open them and set the alarm off in the mornings.”

“Hey, why don't you just leave me a list in your will of things for me to do if you think I'll be so incompetent without you?”

“Not a bad idea,” she laughed.

“Fine then, I'll turn off the bloody light.” Irene grudgingly got out of bed, grimaced as she stepped onto the ice-cold floor and switched off the light. She held out her arms in the darkness and slowly began to find her way back to the bed.

“Hello?!!! Irene, did you get lost? Is there anybody out there, there, there, there?” Seulgi shouted out to the black room.

“Yes, I'm hhhhowwwwwwcch!” she yelped as she stubbed her toe against the bedpost. “, , , , bastard, , crap!”

Seulgi snorted and sniggered underneath the duvet. “Number two on my list: Watch out for bedpost . . .”

“Oh, shut up, Seulgi, and stop being so morbid,” Irene snapped back at Seulgi, cradling her poor foot in her hand.

“Want me to kiss it better?” she asked.

“No, it's OK,” Irene replied sadly. “If I could just put them here so I can warm . . .” “Aaaaah! Jesus Christ, they're freezing!!”

“Hee-hee-hee,” she had laughed.

So that was how the joke about the list had come about. It was a silly and simple idea that was soon shared with their closest friends, Joy and Moonbyul. It was Moonbyul who had approached Irene in the school corridor when they were just fourteen and muttered the famous words, “My friend wants to know if you'll go out with her.” After days of endless discussion and emergency meetings with her friends, Irene eventually agreed. “Aah, go on, Irene,” Joy had urged, “she's such a ride, and at least she doesn't have spots all over her face like Moonbyul.”

How Irene envied Joy right now. Joy and Moonbyul had married the same year as Irene and Seulgi. Some said she was too young and lectured her about how, at her age, she should be traveling the world and enjoying herself. Instead, Seulgi and Irene traveled the world together. It made far more sense that way because when they weren't, well, together, Irene just felt like she was missing a vital organ from her body.

Her wedding day was far from being the best day of her life. She had dreamed of the fairy-tale wedding like most little girls, with a princess dress and beautiful, sunny weather, in a romantic location surrounded by all who were near and dear to her. She imagined the reception would be the best night of her life, pictured herself dancing with all of her friends, being admired by everyone and feeling special. The reality was quite different.

She woke up in her family home to screams of “I can't find my tie!” (her father) or “My hair looks e” (her mother), and the best one of all: “I look like a bloody whale! There's no way I'm goin' to this bleedin' weddin' looking like this. I'll be scarlet! Mum, look at the state of me! Irene can find another bridesmaid 'cos I'm not bleedin' goin'. Oi! Suho, give me back that feckin' hair dryer, I'm not finished!!” (That unforgettable statement was made by her younger sister, Seohyun, who on a very regular basis threw tantrums and refused to leave the house, claiming she had nothing to wear, regardless of her bursting wardrobe. She was currently living somewhere in Australia with strangers, and the only communication the family had with her was an e-mail every few weeks.) Irene's family spent the rest of the morning trying to convince Seohyun how she was the most beautiful woman in the world. All the while Irene silently dressed herself, feeling like . Seohyun eventually agreed to leave the house when Irene's typically calm dad screamed at the top of his voice to everyone's amazement, “Seohyun, this is Irene's bloody day, not yours! And you will go to the wedding and enjoy yourself, and when Irene walks downstairs you will tell her how beautiful she looks, and I don't wanna hear a peep out of you for the rest of the day!”

So when Irene walked downstairs everyone oohed and aahed while Seohyun, appearing like a ten-year-old who had just been spanked, tearily looked at her with a trembling lip and said, “You look beautiful, Irene.” All seven of them squashed into the limo, Irene, her parents, her three brothers and Seohyun, and sat in terrified silence all the way to the church.

The whole day seemed to be a blur to her now. She had barely had time to speak to Seulgi, as they were both being pulled in opposite directions to meet Great-aunt Betty from the back arse of nowhere, whom she hadn't seen since she was born, and Grand-uncle Toby from America, who had never been mentioned before but was suddenly a very important member of the family. And nobody told her it would be so tiring, either. By the end of the night Irene's cheeks were sore from smiling for photographs and her feet were killing her from running around all day in very silly little shoes not designed for walking. She desperately wanted to join the large table of her friends, who had been howling with laughter all night, obviously enjoying themselves. Well for some, she had thought. But as soon as Irene stepped into the honeymoon suite with Seulgi, her worries of the day faded and the point of it all became clear.

Tears once again rolled down Irene's face and she realized she had been daydreaming again. She sat frozen on the couch with the phone still off the hook beside her. The time just seemed to pass her by these days without her knowing what time or even what day it was. She seemed to be living outside of her body, numb to everything but the pain in her heart, in her bones, in her head. She was just so tired . . . Her stomach grumbled and she realized she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. Had it been yesterday?

She shuffled into the kitchen wearing Seulgi's dressing gown and her favorite pink “Disco Diva” slippers, which Seulgi had bought her the previous Christmas. Irene was her Disco Diva, she used to say. Always the first on the dance floor, always the last out of the club. Huh, where was that girl now? She opened the fridge and stared in at the empty shelves. Just vegetables and yogurt long past its sell-by date leaving a horrible stench in the fridge. There was nothing to eat. She smiled weakly as she shook the milk carton. Empty. Third on her list . . .

Christmas two years ago Irene had gone shopping with Joy for a dress for the annual ball they attended at the Burlington Hotel. Shopping with Joy was always a dangerous outing, and Moonbyul and Seulgi had joked about how they would once again suffer through Christmas without any presents.

That Christmas Irene had spent a disgraceful amount of money in Brown Thomas on the most beautiful white dress she had ever seen. “, Joy, this will burn a huge hole in my pocket,” Irene guiltily said, biting her lip and running her fingers over the soft material.

“Aah, don't worry, Seulgi can stitch it up for you,” Joy replied, followed by her infamous cackle. “And stop calling me ' Joy,' by the way. Every time we go shopping you address me as that. If you're not careful I might start taking offense. Buy the damn thing, Irene. It's Christmas after all, the season of giving and all that.”

“God, you are so evil, Joy. I'm never shopping with you again. This is like, half my month's wages. What am I going to do for the rest of the month?”

“Irene, would you rather eat or look fab?” Was it even worth thinking about?

“I'll take it,” Irene said excitedly to the sales assistant.

The dress was cut low, which showed off Irene's neat chest perfectly, and it was split to the thigh, displaying her slim legs. Seulgi hadn't been able to take her eyes off Irene. It wasn't because she looked so beautiful, however. She just couldn't understand how on earth that little slip of material had cost so much. Once at the ball, Ms. Disco Diva overindulged in the alcoholic beverages and succeeded in destroying her dress by spilling red wine down her front. Irene tried but failed to hold back her tears while the friends at the table drunkenly informed their partners that number fifty-four on the list prevented you from drinking red wine while wearing an expensive white dress. It was then decided that milk was the preferred beverage, as it wouldn't be visible if spilled on expensive white dresses.

Later, when Seulgi knocked her pint over, causing it to dribble off the edge of the table onto Irene's lap, she tearily yet seriously announced to the table (and some of the surrounding tables), “Rule fitty-fife ov the list: neffer effer buy a 'spensive white dress.” And so it was agreed, and Joy awoke from her coma from somewhere underneath the table to applaud and offer moral support. A toast was made (after the startled waiter had delivered the tray full of glasses of milk) to Irene and to her profound addition to the list. “I'm sorry 'bout your 'spensive white dress, Irene,” Moonbyul had hiccuped before falling out of the taxi and dragging Joy alongside her to their house.

Was it possible that Seulgi had kept her word and written a list for her before she died? She had spent every minute of every day with her up until her death, and she had never mentioned it, nor had she noticed any signs of Seulgi writing one. No, Irene, pull yourself together and don't be stupid. She so desperately wanted Seulgi back that she was imagining all kinds of crazy things. Seulgi wouldn't have. Would she?