The Forever Gift Read online

  The Forever Gift

  A heartbreaking page-turner about family, loss and love

  Brooke Harris

  Books by Brooke Harris

  When You’re Gone

  The Forever Gift

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Epilogue

  When You’re Gone

  Hear More from Brooke

  Books by Brooke Harris

  A Letter from Brooke

  Acknowledgements

  ‘We’re all just passing through this world like tourists. For some of us, it’s a long, winding adventure. For others, it’s just a quick visit. But, there’s only one question in the end. Did you enjoy the ride? And I did. I really, really did.’

  – Kayla Prendergast Doran

  Prologue

  September

  There’s one minute to the buzzer. My heart is pounding as I race from one end of the school gym to the other, dribbling the ball as I weave in and out through a swarm of sweaty bodies.

  ‘Kayla. Kayla. Kayla,’ students, teachers and parents chant from the sideline. The gym is packed to capacity and all eyes are on me.

  ‘If you score this basket we win,’ Aiden, my best friend, shouts as he guards me against a really tall player on the other team.

  I glance at the scoreboard. Thirty seconds to go. Beads of perspiration trickle from my hairline and into my eyes. I drag a shaky arm across my forehead, stop running and steady myself in front of the basket.

  ‘Kayla. Kayla. Kayla,’ the cheering is ringing in my ears.

  ‘Shoot, Kayla. Shoot!’ Aiden shouts.

  With my feet slightly apart, I focus on the hoop. I bend my knees, throw the ball and a loud scream bursts through my lips.

  The gym erupts with cheering and clapping and my team are running towards me, crowding around me as I sink to the floor, unable to believe what just happened.

  ‘You did it, Kayla. We won,’ Aiden says, wriggling his way through the group of our teammates gathered around me. ‘What are you doing down there?’ he asks, clearly surprised as he finds me sitting, rocking on the floor. ‘Can you believe it? We’re through to the finals. It’s the first time our school has made it in twenty years.’

  ‘Where’s my mam?’ I ask, choking back tears.

  Aiden glances over his shoulder, still smiling. ‘She’s coming but it could take her a while to get through the crowd. Everyone is going crazy!’

  The excitement is electric; stomping feet, clapping hands, laughter and cheering. But all I can think about is the throbbing pain in my knee. Something is wrong! Something is so wrong with my knee. Aiden reaches his hand out to me and pulls me to my feet. I want to scream again, but I press my top teeth down onto my bottom lip and hold the noise inside.

  ‘You okay?’ he asks, his smile faltering. ‘Blown away by your own greatness? It almost looks as if you’re crying.’

  ‘I want my mam,’ I say. ‘I just want my mam.’

  Finally, Mam gets close enough so my eyes can meet hers and as soon as she sees me her expression changes. She knows I’m not crying happy tears. She knows I’m hurt.

  I just want my mam.

  One

  Heather

  One week later

  I stand outside my daughter’s bedroom door and hold my breath. My feet are slightly apart – my knees wobble less this way and my arms are folded across my chest as if I’m cross. I’m not cross. Kayla never gives me reason to be cross. She’s not a stereotypical teenager. But I guess I’m not a stereotypical mother either. Sure, Kayla and I are mother and daughter, but mostly we are best friends. I won’t say we never argue. We’re human – not perfect. But when we do disagree it’s almost always over something silly, like who ate the last slice of pizza or whether Ross really is good for Rachel as we stay up too late watching Friends reruns together. And we never, ever keep secrets from each other. Until now. Kayla has been keeping a huge secret from me. My heart hurts when I think about how different everything might be right now if she had just told me she was feeling unwell sooner.

  I exhale, making myself light-headed, and raise my hand to knock. But I pause as giggling carries through the gap of the slightly ajar door. I recognise the familiar sounds of Kayla video chatting with her best friend. I smile and shake my head. I often wonder how they can spend all day in school together and come home to spend half the evening chatting more.

  ‘They didn’t have Snapchat back in your day, Mam,’ Kayla likes to remind me, regularly. ‘This is how people talk to each other now. It’s just normal.’

  Normal, I think. Unsteady again. Suddenly normal feels like a privilege we’ve taken for granted.

  As the carefree, childhood laughter grows louder and giddier I can’t bring myself to disturb Kayla. Not right now. I need to keep normal for just a little while longer.

  ‘I can’t go to the funfair this year,’ I hear Kayla say. ‘My mam is in a bad mood. I think she’s heard something dodgy from someone else’s mam or something.’

  ‘Like what?’ Aiden’s husky voice says as clear as if he’s in the room with my daughter.

  ‘Dunno,’ Kayla says. ‘Maybe something about kids getting drunk. Half our year were pissed off their heads last year, remember?’

  ‘Ha, yeah,’ Aiden laughs. ‘The state of some of them; Roisin Kelly threw up in a bush. It was the funniest thing ever, remember?’

  I gasp. Mrs Kelly thinks her kids are so perfect. I wonder what she’d say if she found out what Roisin gets up to behind her back.

  ‘Anyway, just tell your mam you don’t drink,’ Aiden continues. ‘She’ll believe you, won’t she?’

  ‘She knows I don’t drink,’ Kayla replies, sounding mildly offended, and my heart swells with pride. ‘Anyway, I don’t think that’s even it. She’s totally stressed. I think this thing with my wonky knee is really freaking her out.’

  ‘Did you tell her we have a big game next week. You have to play. We won’t win without you,’ Aiden says.

  Kayla sighs. ‘Yeah. I don’t think she’ll let me play. She’s been obsessed with me taking it easy all week. She’s acting all weird since we came back from the hospital. The tests weren’t even all that bad. Scans
and X-rays. Well, except I had to get blood taken. That was a bit gross, to be honest.’

  ‘I still don’t get why you needed to have so many tests for a sprain,’ Aiden says.

  ‘Yeah. Me neither.’ Kayla sighs. ‘It’s so boring and there’s lots of waiting around.’

  Aiden snorts. ‘Yeah but it’s worth it to get off school. Mr Gibbons gave us three pages of maths homework last night. He’s such a dick.’

  ‘Yeah, s’pose,’ Kayla says. ‘Mam and I get McDonald’s or hot chocolate after hospital stuff, so that’s cool. I think I’m done with tests now anyway. I’ll probably be back in school tomorrow or the next day.’

  ‘What did the tests say?’ Aiden asks.

  ‘Dunno,’ Kayla says. ‘Think it takes ages for results to come back or something. But my knee is grand now, so it was all a big waste of time, really.’

  The springs in Kayla’s bed begin to squeak and I’ve no doubt she’s jumping on her bed, testing out her grand now knee. I’m about to walk in and tell her to stop before she falls. Or cracks the ceiling in the kitchen below her room. The landlord will go ballistic if there’s any more damage. He’s still bitching about the hair-dye stain on the carpet in my room even though I’ve told him a million times it was there before we moved in. I bought a rug to cover it. Just so I wouldn’t have to think about him every time I saw it.

  Aiden’s voice suddenly becomes very serious, and I listen, concerned. ‘Tell your mam your knee is fine and come to the funfair. Unless you’re too chicken to go on the Wall Of Death again and this is just your excuse. Bawk, bawk, bawk,’ he teases.

  ‘Seriously,’ Kayla snaps. ‘Stop that. I told you I can’t go.’

  ‘Do something nice to get on her good side,’ Aiden says. ‘Empty the dishwasher. Or make her breakfast in bed. Mams love breakfast in bed.’

  ‘Aiden come on…’ Kayla says.

  ‘What?’ Aiden says. ‘You just have to know how to butter her up.’

  ‘All these tests are expensive and my mam’s had to miss lots of work. She’s in a pretty bad mood. So, can we just drop it, okay?’

  ‘Okay. Sorry. I was only joking, Kayla,’ Aiden says, sincerely. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Mams are always acting weird. It’s no big deal.’

  ‘My mam isn’t,’ Kayla says, and the tears I’ve been struggling to hold back begin to fall. ‘She’s cool.’

  ‘Just not cool enough to let you come out this weekend,’ Aiden says.

  Silence hangs in the air and for a moment I wonder if Kayla has realised I’m listening. I don’t even know what I’m doing. I never eavesdrop on my daughter. I don’t need to. We gossip together like a couple of best friends and she fills me in on all her news. I guess I’m just stalling. I know when I knock on Kayla’s door that everything will change.

  ‘Look,’ Aiden says, ‘tell your mam I’ll be there. Tell her I’ll keep you safe. Cause I will, you know.’

  ‘Don’t be creepy, you weirdo,’ Kayla laughs loudly. ‘Anyway, there’s no point even talking about this anymore.’

  My heart aches as I hear the disappointment in Kayla’s voice. But, she’s right. I won’t allow her to go to the local funfair with her friends this weekend, despite going the previous two years. But Kayla doesn’t know why, and I’ve no idea how I’m possibly going to bring myself to tell her.

  ‘I gotta go,’ Aiden says, suddenly. ‘My dinner is ready. Call you later, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. Sure,’ Kayla says. ‘Bye.’

  There’s a sudden silence before Ed Sheeran’s latest single blares loud enough to rattle Kayla’s bedroom door. I jump back from it somewhat deafened and turn around to face the stairs. Thank God the banister is next to me. I grab it as my knees buckle. I sit down heavily on the top step and drop my head into my hands.

  I hate myself for earwigging on Kayla like some sort of creepy spy, checking up on my teenage daughter as if she’s done something wrong – especially, when she’s such a good kid. I hate myself for being distracted the last few days and seeming distant or not myself. I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my worries in front of Kayla – obviously not. Mostly, I hate myself for answering my mobile ten minutes ago and taking a call from a doctor at the hospital. He asked me to come in tomorrow to discuss Kayla’s test results.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Would eleven thirty suit?’ he said, as if that was an answer.

  Eleven thirty definitely does not suit. I’ve missed so much work already and I have back-to-back meetings from nine until twelve tomorrow. But without hesitation I said, ‘Of course.’ And then I said, ‘Thank you.’ I actually thanked the doctor for the opportunity to break bad news to me. I know it’s bad news, because if it was anything else, he would have told me over the phone, wouldn’t he?

  I’ve made my fair share of similar phone calls. I don’t talk to people about their health – just their money. Most of my clients think money is the most important thing in the world. I wonder if they saw how much weight my daughter has lost recently, or how she walks with a subtle limp, whether they would change their mind.

  ‘Please come into the office at your earliest convenience,’ I say, monotonically and not giving away any clues, but the person on the other end always knows the news is bad. Sometimes they ask for more details. Sometimes they don’t. But they always manage to clear their calendars, no matter how busy they protest to be, and make the appointment.

  ‘Mam,’ Kayla says appearing behind me and placing her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Ahh,’ I screech, clutching my chest.

  I didn’t hear her bedroom door open behind me over the music blaring. Kayla giggles. I laugh too and hope Kayla thinks that I’m dragging my sleeve under my eyes to dry the tears of laughter and nothing else.

  Kayla squeezes between me and the banister and lowers herself to sit and share my step of the stairs. She drops her head onto my shoulders and doesn’t say a word.

  ‘Hey you,’ I say, concentrating hard to steady my shaking shoulders. ‘What do you fancy for dinner? I’m thinking Chinese? Or pizza?’

  Kayla takes a deep breath and nuzzles closer. ‘Mam, what’s wrong? Tell me, please. I’m worried about you.’

  I reach my arms around my daughter and gather her into me. And I plead with the knot in my stomach to back off for just a moment so I can enjoy the smell of Kayla’s hair and the warmth of her hug.

  ‘It’s a big decision,’ I puff out, remaining steady. ‘Pizza or Chinese. Could make or break the whole evening.’

  Kayla straightens and I release my grip. I look into my teenage daughter’s beautiful, sky-blue eyes and I struggle to remember a day before I had her in my world.

  ‘I’m dying for prawn crackers,’ Kayla smiles. ‘Can we get it delivered?’

  ‘Good idea,’ I say. ‘That’ll give me time to whip up some brownies for after. How does that sound?’

  ‘Yum,’ Kayla says, standing up and bouncing down a few steps before she turns a half-circle to look back at me with a cheeky smirk. ‘And I’ll pick something on Netflix. My choice tonight. No more of that documentary crap that you’ve been watching. You have to watch Riverdale, Mam. Everyone at school loves it. You will too.’

  ‘Okay, sweetheart,’ I say, clinging desperately to one more day of normality. ‘Okay.’

  Two

  Charlotte

  The next day

  ‘Molly, honey. Where are your shoes?’

  My four-year-old daughter stands by the front door with the evidence of chocolate cereal melted into the creases of her lips.

  ‘Dunno.’ Molly shrugs. ‘Daddy?’ She twists her chin over her shoulder and shouts towards the kitchen.

  My husband hurries into the hall sporting the same sugary-breakfast residue around his mouth.

  ‘Shoes?’ I say, shaking my head and pointing to our daughter’s feet.

  ‘I know. I know. I was just on it,’ Gavin says, glancing at Molly, hoping for clues as he drags the back of his hand across his lips to wi
pe away the chocolate.

  I shouldn’t sigh, but I can’t help it. I appreciate Gavin’s efforts to offer me a lie-in this morning, but he doesn’t know Molly’s routine the way I do. I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling for as long as I could, pretending the confusion about uniform and PE gear hadn’t worried me. I came downstairs appearing as unphased as possible with Molly’s tie tucked subtly under my arm.

  ‘Your shoes are where you left them last night, Molly,’ I say, slipping the tie around her neck and fixing it in place. ‘On the bathroom floor.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ Molly smiles, pulling away from me to hurry up the stairs. ‘I remember now.’

  ‘God, that kid would forget her head if it wasn’t attached,’ Gavin says, half-laughing.

  ‘Yup.’ I nod, trying not to get frustrated that yesterday I asked Molly three times to put her shoes away in her room.

  I walk into the kitchen. Gavin follows me and sits at the table to finish his Coco Pops.

  ‘Coffee?’ I ask, filling the kettle.