One Hundred Names (Special Edition)

when Achar and Jedrek were racing their eldest sons in a pedal boat, that they attracted the attention of other families who had gathered that fine day. To everyone’s surprise the unfit fathers won. Then when challenged by the other fathers they beat them too. And anyone else who dared take them on. This simple fun day out made both men feel as though they had accomplished something, they were good at something, they had made their families proud. They had a skill and they wanted to be recognised for it. They both had time, they both had hunger, they both needed acknowledgement and a pat on the back from society, from people other than their wives. This record attempt was a great deal more than it appeared on the surface.
    Kitty finally ended the phone call to her editor. She looked strained, and Jedrek knew what a person under immense pressure looked like.
    ‘Ready?’ he called.
    ‘I’m sorry for keeping you,’ she replied, holding the stopwatch in her hand. ‘Ready now.’
    ‘On three,’ Jedrek said, and he and Achar prepared. ‘One, two … three,’ he said, and their legs started pumping wildly.
    When they reached the buoy one hundred metres away they turned to find her jumping up and down on the grass in celebration, two thumbs up high in the air.
    Jedrek and Achar laughed and gave each other a high-five.
    Kitty sat on the bus, her adrenalin rushing inside her so much that she wanted to jump up and dance in the aisles. Instead she took out her notepad and wrote:
    Name Number Four: Jedrek Vysotski
    Story Title: Guinness World Records

CHAPTER TWENTY
    From outside the door in the Mater Hospital, Kitty could hear a hair dryer blasting, and when she entered the room she found Mary-Rose standing over a head of hair, hard at work, a mop of blond flying around the room. She saw Kitty and turned the hair dryer off.
    ‘Ah, just on time, my assistant has arrived.’
    The woman beneath the hair peeked out from the strands that had been blown across her face. Her eyes were big and brown, huge in her shrunken face. Kitty felt a wave of dizziness pass over her, but she smiled and waved, then wanted to kick herself for smiling, and then again for not speaking. She found she was like one of those people who didn’t know what to say to children; when it came to people who were ill, she simply hadn’t the words, couldn’t think of anything remotely in common to chat to them about, all her mind kept telling her was:
they are sick, they are sick.
    ‘Diane is the beautiful bride today,’ Mary-Rose introduced them.
    Congratulations? Should she say that? Was it appropriate? She was getting married but she was also about to die – how could she be congratulated for that? So instead she said, ‘Ah,’ and nodded her head.
    ‘Well, I’m not beautiful yet,’ Diane said. ‘Hopefully I will be after Mary-Rose is finished with me.’
    Kitty still hadn’t said anything.
    ‘Do me a favour and hold these clips?’ Mary-Rose asked, handing her a container to hold.
    Delighted to have something to do, Kitty jumped into action and stood behind Diane so she wouldn’t have to look at her, then made it her job to be completely helpful, offering clips when Mary-Rose still had two in her hand, one in her mouth and was manoeuvring another firmly in Diane’s head.
    Mary-Rose began chatting casually without any uneasiness, without awkwardness, as if this was a normal day, just like any other.
    ‘Will you have a bridesmaid?’ Mary-Rose asked, a clip between her teeth.
    ‘My daughter, Serena, she’ll be here any moment. She’s getting her hair done too. She’s sixteen and loving all the excitement.’
    ‘I bet,’ Mary-Rose said. ‘Her mum is getting married,
I’m
excited for you!’
    Excited? All Kitty could feel was misery for the poor sixteen-year-old who was going to lose her mother.
    ‘I know, I’m excited too,’ Diane laughed. ‘I’m trying to figure out why her dad and I didn’t do this years ago!’
    ‘Will you make a speech?’ Mary-Rose asked, and Kitty wondered why she couldn’t think of questions like that to ask. She was a journalist, she was supposed to be able to ask all kinds of questions, but her head had dried up, which wasn’t a new experience.
    Mary-Rose picked up strands of hair and moved them, twisted them, pinned them, manipulated them to look silkier, thicker, beautiful and healthy. The way she pinned each section before moving on to the next was hypnotic to watch.
    ‘I’ll speak if I