The Forever Gift Page 12

  There’s a loud buzz and Molly laughs as the doors release. ‘Magic doors,’ she squeals excitedly, and my heart aches as I wish there really was such a thing as magic.

  Twenty-One

  Heather

  There’s a paper cup of coffee in my hands as I sit on the uncomfortable metal chairs outside Kayla’s room. I have no idea how I got the coffee I’m holding, or if I’ve drunk any of it. It’s cold now and I really should throw it in the bin, but I just don’t trust my legs to hold me up if I try to stand.

  ‘Hey,’ a male voice hovers above me.

  I look up and smile. ‘Doctor Patterson.’

  ‘Mind if I sit?’ he asks, pointing to the empty chair next to me.

  I nod. ‘Yeah. Sure.’

  The metal bench creaks and groans as he sits down and he looks almost as exhausted as I feel.

  ‘I wouldn’t drink that stuff if I were you,’ he says. ‘I’ve seen them clean those machines. It’s not pretty.’

  I lift my coffee cup and tilt it towards him. ‘This?’ I say. ‘I don’t think I’ve tasted it. I mean, I don’t remember getting coffee. Maybe someone got it for me.’

  Doctor Patterson takes the cup from my shaking hands and tosses it into the bin beside him. ‘Right. Let’s get you something to eat and some proper coffee before I have two patients on my hands.’

  ‘I… I…’

  He looks at me with such kind, understanding eyes, I really wish I could go for coffee with him.

  ‘I can’t leave Kayla,’ I say.

  Doctor Patterson looks up at the door of Kayla’s room. It’s closed but Molly’s excited giggles filter through every so often.

  ‘Was that Kayla’s dad and little sister I saw go in earlier?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes. Molly. She’s a little dote.’

  ‘Ah, I thought so. I couldn’t see Gavin’s face, but an excited little girl with Kayla’s eyes was dragging a man by the hand insisting he hurry up, so I put two and two together.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I smile. ‘That sounds like Molly alright.’

  ‘I’m sure Kayla is delighted to see them,’ he says.

  I nod. ‘She is.’

  ‘And you’re just out here giving them a little space?’ he asks, but I know there’s no need for an answer.

  ‘Molly’s mother is here too,’ I explain. ‘Charlotte.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says, and I instantly wonder if Charlotte should be on the ward at all or if it’s just immediate family. I never thought to ask.

  ‘Do Kayla and Charlotte erm…’ He shuffles, and I can’t tell if it’s the metal seat underneath him making him uncomfortable or if it’s what he’s about to say.

  ‘They get on great,’ I say, hoping I’m pre-empting his question correctly and the look on his face quickly tells me I am and that I’ve put him out of his awkward misery. ‘Charlotte has been in Kayla’s life since she was three. I doubt Kayla even remembers a time before Charlotte. They’re very close.’

  ‘That’s good,’ he says.

  ‘It is.’ Despite my jealously over the years I am glad Kayla and Charlotte have a good relationship. Kayla is lucky to have a stepmother who is disappointed when Kayla doesn’t turn up for the weekend rather than some bitch who resents a teenage stepdaughter.

  ‘I was going to pop in and check on Kayla, but I think it’s best to leave her enjoy this family time,’ he says. ‘I’ll come back in half an hour or so.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘In the meantime, can I please get you a coffee? You’re frighteningly pale.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  ‘Sorry. Sorry,’ he says. ‘Occupational hazard. I tend to refer to people’s level of wellbeing by their skin tone. Washed-out, flushed, jaundiced, and the list goes on. I have many more unflattering and unhelpful ways of putting my foot in it when what I really mean to say is, I’m a little worried about you.’

  ‘You’re worried about me?’ I say, glancing at the door of Kayla’s bedroom.

  ‘It’s not every day your child undergoes major surgery, Heather,’ he says. ‘Kayla is going to need time to recover. But so are you.’

  ‘It was scary.’ I swallow. ‘All those hours she was in surgery. And I was just sitting around. Waiting.’

  ‘Sitting around waiting, being right here ready to hold Kayla’s hand the minute she woke up was so important,’ he says. ‘When she woke up you were the first person she asked for.’

  ‘Well, then, why do I feel so useless?’

  ‘Being the person Kayla wants to see most in the world is more help than you can possibly imagine. When the fight gets too hard for Kayla, you’re going to fight for her and keep her fighting. You have the most important job in the world, Heather. Your job is being her mother.’

  I shake my head and concentrate to keep the wobble out of my voice. ‘I didn’t think it would be this hard.’

  ‘No one ever does,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t mean you’re not doing great.’

  ‘I stayed up all night last night baking,’ I say, though not really sure why.

  He looks back at me but he doesn’t talk.

  ‘I made, like, eighty cupcakes or something.’ I shake my head.

  ‘Oh, Heather, I’m sorry. I had no idea the canteen was going to put pressure on you for crazy orders that big. Did you tell them Kayla’s surgery was today? I’ll have a word with them.’

  ‘No, no.’ I shake my head. ‘It wasn’t them. I just went crazy. I was emptying bags of flour and sieving and whisking and… and…’

  ‘Heather, you do know if it wasn’t muffins it would be something else, right? I see parents take up knitting. These uber-cool mams with pointy heels and designer handbags with a big ball of colourful wool sticking out the top of them.’

  ‘Knitting?’ I smile.

  ‘Yup. Or sewing, if you don’t like wool. Painting, pottery, basket-making.’

  ‘Basket-making. Seriously?’

  ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.’ He smiles.

  ‘Ha, no.’ I relax a fraction. ‘Thank you. I think I’ll stick to muffins.’

  ‘My point is, don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s just a distraction. And a delicious one at that. I had one of your raspberry-and-white-flaky-things muffins this morning.’

  ‘Coconut,’ I say.

  He looks at me with unsure eyes.

  ‘The white flaky things. They’re coconut flakes.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. So they are. Well, they’re good. You’re quite the legend among the staff. We’ve never been able to eat the pastries at work before and now we’re keeping the diabetes department busy.’

  I laugh. It’s just for a moment until I remember where I am, why I’m here, even why we’re having this conversation. But the moment was wonderful, the split second it lasted, and I feel lighter after.

  ‘I hear you even dropped some extras up to the wards for the kids,’ he says.

  ‘Yeah. I took your suggestion on board,’ I say. ‘I’ve dropped a couple of baskets up. They probably had two or more each—’ I cut myself off mid-sentence, suddenly remembering Molly’s school’s healthy-eating policy. ‘Sorry, that was probably too much.’

  ‘What? Why?’ he asks.

  ‘Is there some rule about sugar or something?’ I wince.

  ‘No. Not at all.’ He scrunches his nose. ‘I was just joking about the diabetes thing. Kids love muffins. So do doctors and nurses. It was a nice thing to do, Heather. I appreciate it.’

  I take a deep breath but it’s hard to let it back out because I feel as if there are giant hands around my chest compressing me. ‘Thank God,’ I say. ‘I don’t know if I could handle almost poisoning a child with too much sugar.’

  His eyes narrow and I realise I better explain my throwaway comment, especially since half the doctors in the hospital ate some of my muffins this morning.

  ‘Sorry,’ I begin. ‘That was dramatic. It’s just I’m struggling a bit with Charlotte.’

  ‘Kayla’s stepmother,’ he confirms.

 
; ‘Gavin’s wife. Yeah,’ I say.

  ‘But you said Kayla and Charlotte get along.’

  ‘They do.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says, knowingly. ‘But you don’t.’

  ‘It’s not actually that. Charlotte is nice. Or at least as nice as anyone can be when their husband’s ex-girlfriend moves in with them.’

  I wait for him to gasp or at least raise an eyebrow but he doesn’t flinch.

  ‘Ah,’ I say, ‘Kayla told you, didn’t she?’

  ‘She mentioned you moving to Dublin and living with her dad. I guessed the rest.’

  ‘It’s just so damn messy,’ I say. ‘I think she was okay with me staying there. Well, okay-ish. Less okay with me taking over her kitchen. But she doesn’t really seem okay with the Molly stuff.’

  ‘The Molly stuff?’

  ‘She was barely okay with Molly coming to the hospital to visit Kayla. But we talked and I thought she was better. But now, Molly’s blood test seems to have freaked her out again.’

  ‘Ah,’ he finally gasps.

  I wait for him to explain, the way the nurses have and the phlebotomist has, that it was just a simple test nothing invasive blah, blah. But he doesn’t. He sits silently as if he’s waiting for me to say more. Despite not really wanting to say more, the words seem to tumble from my mouth uncontrollably.

  ‘She says she’s just protecting Molly. But why can’t she see I’m just doing the same. I’m just protecting Kayla. If Molly is a match she can help.’

  ‘I see,’ he says.

  ‘Gavin had to put his foot down,’ I say.

  ‘Wait,’ Doctor Patterson says. ‘Was Charlotte in agreement? She must have signed the consent forms, surely.’

  ‘She did,’ I say. ‘But she really didn’t want to. I don’t understand. I know she loves Kayla to bits. Why is she so afraid of these blood tests?’

  ‘And if it was the other way around?’ he says. ‘If Molly was sick—’

  I cut him off before he has a chance to say another word. ‘In a heartbeat,’ I say. ‘And it wouldn’t even be my decision. Kayla would want to help her sister no matter what.’

  ‘Yes.’ He nods. ‘But Kayla is fifteen. She’s old enough to understand. Molly is only three. She has no idea what’s going on.’

  ‘Molly is four,’ I correct, as if one year makes such a huge difference.

  ‘Charlotte has to be Molly’s decision-maker while battling her own conscience,’ he says.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re taking her side,’ I say.

  ‘There are no sides,’ he replies.

  ‘It was just a simple test,’ I say. ‘It took two minutes.’

  ‘Unless she’s a match,’ he says. ‘And if she’s a match…’

  ‘If she’s a match then, thank the Lord.’ I choke back tears. I stand up and the stupid metal bench creaks loudly again. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, ‘I have to get back to my child.’

  ‘Heather, wait, I didn’t mean…’ he starts.

  I keep my back to him as I open the door and step inside.

  Twenty-Two

  Kayla

  Mam is pale like a ghost when she comes back in but at least she’s not holding that paper coffee cup that’s she been clinging to for the last couple of hours. One of the nurses gave it to her earlier. I think they were worried she was going to faint or something. To be honest, I can’t say I blame them. She looked awful. I don’t think she drank it though because she looks even worse now.

  ‘And then they ’jected me,’ Molly says, and I drag my eyes away from Mam and drop them onto Molly’s arm. She’s pointing to the colourful plaster on the squishy bit inside her elbow. ‘It was so hurty.’

  ‘They injected me too,’ I say, showing Molly the cannula in the back of my hand.

  ‘Ew. Yuck,’ she says. ‘I don’t want one like that.’

  I laugh. Dad laughs too. Mam doesn’t laugh. Mam is pressed up against the door, with her back leaning against it. She’s smiling, but she’s not really here at all, I think, as I watch her stare into space. I really wish she’d drink some coffee.

  There are two chairs beside my bed. They’re both black plastic with wobbly metal legs. They’re exactly like the ones we have in school. Dad sits in one and Molly sits in the other. Well, when I say sits, I mean climbs on, climbs under, runs around, but she’s taken a liking to it and calls it her chair.

  ‘Molly calm down,’ Dad says, and has said several times. ‘They gave her a lollipop downstairs,’ he explains. ‘She’s a bit hyper.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I shrug. ‘They love to give lollipops here.’

  ‘It’s was brown,’ Molly says, flopping into the chair and sending it sliding back against the floor tiles with a brain-numbing screech.

  Dad catches the back of the chair, and Molly, before they both tumble over. Molly hops up again, oblivious. It’s hard not to laugh especially because Dad’s about to blow his top.

  ‘I don’t like brown,’ Molly says. ‘But it was a yummy lollipop, so I like brown now.’

  ‘That simple, eh?’ I say.

  Molly talks and talks. She tells a story about a Lego tower, and her teacher’s cross voice and something about a meany-head boy in her class. She asks me some questions too, about school and my friends. Everything is just like normal with Molly. She doesn’t look at me any differently. Not like Dad, who’s useless at keeping it together. I think he’s nearly started crying at least twice since he came in. And Charlotte couldn’t even be in here. She gave me a hug and said she needed to use the loo. That was ages ago. So unless it’s a number two, which she’d never do in a public loo, she’s just avoiding me.

  And Mam. The state of Mam. I mean, I’m the one who had half my knee chiselled out, but Mam actually looks as if they chiselled out half her soul or something at the same time. I hate what this is doing to her. She’s standing like Gran. All slouched and droopy. This stupid cancer is turning my mother into an old lady. I hate it.

  I try to move over in my bed. I press my hands onto the mattress at either side of me and the bed bounces as I slide my bum to one side. I move my good leg first. The bad one is a little tricky to move. It’s mega heavy after the operation and there’s a monster cast on there. It’s hard at the back and soft at the front with a tonne of padding all around my knee making it impossible to bend, so I kind of have to move my hip and foot all at once and hope my leg moves in the process. It does, and surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt.

  ‘You okay, chicken?’ Dad says, noticing me shuffle. ‘Are you uncomfortable? Can I help?’

  Mam looks over and I can see the worry in her eyes immediately.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I’m just making some room for Mam to sit beside me.’

  I pat the mattress and smile at Mam. She smiles back and peels herself off the door.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Mam says, looking at the space I’ve made for her. ‘I don’t want to bounce the bed and hurt you.’

  ‘Please,’ I say, ‘I’d really like a hug.’

  ‘Okay,’ Mam says.

  She’s so careful lowering herself onto the bed that Molly offers to help.

  ‘Is it too high up for you, Heather?’ Molly says.

  ‘It is a little high,’ Mam says.

  ‘Daddy can lift you,’ Molly says. ‘Can’t you, Daddy?’

  ‘I… I…’ Dad blushes.

  ‘Daddy lifts me into bed all the time,’ Molly adds. ‘And sometimes he lifts Mammy too when he gives her a grown-up kiss.’

  ‘Oh,’ Mam says, finally sitting onto the bed next to me. The bed bounces a little and Mam gasps, but nothing hurts and I hold Mam’s hand to reassure her that I’m okay.

  ‘Molly, I don’t go around picking Mammy up all the time,’ Daddy says.

  The bed bounces more and I know Mam is trying to hold in a laugh.

  ‘What?’ Dad says, staring at me and Mam now. ‘I don’t. Honestly.’

  I can’t keep it in. A huge, gurgling laugh bursts out of me and Mam laughs, too.

  ‘A
h, here,’ Dad says, throwing his hands in the air and I can see he’s struggling not to giggle. ‘There’s no talking to the two of you when you get a silly idea in your head.’

  ‘Speaking of Charlotte,’ Mam says as she drapes one arm over my shoulder and I snuggle into her the way I used to when I was little, ‘Where is she?’

  Mam is all warm and cosy and she smells nice. I think she’s wearing the Victoria Secret body spray I bought her for Christmas. It’s lovely. I must borrow it.

  ‘She went to find the bathroom,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Yeah, like, a million years ago,’ I add.

  ‘I think she might have escaped to the canteen for a coffee too,’ Dad says, sliding his phone out of his pocket and checking the screen. ‘Yup. Text. She did. She says the queue is mad and does anyone want anything?’

  I’m about to request a hot chocolate when dad continues. ‘Oh wait. That was sent ten minutes ago. She’s probably on her way back up now.’

  ‘She didn’t have to leave on my account,’ Mam says.

  ‘She didn’t,’ Dad replies, kind of snappy.

  ‘Okay,’ Mam says gently.

  ‘She just needed some air,’ Dad explains. ‘Molly was quite distressed giving blood. I don’t think Charlotte was prepared.’

  Mam snorts and her breath dances across the top of my head.

  ‘What does “stressed” mean?’ Molly asks.

  ‘Upset,’ Dad explains.

  ‘I wasn’t upset,’ Molly frowns.

  ‘It’s okay, Molly,’ I say, sitting up straight and leaning forward so I can see my little sister clearly. ‘Needles are scary. I get that. I’m scared of them too.’

  ‘They’re not scary.’ Molly folds her arms and shakes her head. ‘They’re hurty.’ Molly points to the plaster on her arm again and her bottom lip begins to quiver.

  ‘Yes, Molly,’ I say, and my bottom lip starts to go too. ‘I know they hurt. But you don’t ever have to do that again, okay?’

  ‘Kayla,’ Mam squeaks, looking at Dad. And Dad stares back, equally put out by my revelation.

  ‘Kayla don’t tell her that,’ Dad says. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’