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  ‘I wasn’t trying to trick Kayla,’ Doctor Patterson explains. ‘Kids…’ he pauses and shift his weight a little so he’s sitting a little straighter ‘…teenagers especially, are more astute than we often give them credit for. If we bombard them with medical questions upfront, they build fortresses and associate us with pain and misery and shut us out.’

  I nod, understanding.

  ‘And I can’t say I blame them. I wouldn’t talk to some guy with a clipboard and a fancy degree, just because he wears a white coat.’

  ‘So, you want her to think you’re her friend,’ I say.

  ‘No,’ he shakes his head. ‘I want to be her friend. I want to help her to the absolute best of my ability.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ I say, the lump in my throat so huge I can barely breathe.

  ‘I like friends,’ Doctor Patterson says.

  Friends? I smile ridiculously brightly, and he looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

  ‘Friends or Friends?’ I ask.

  ‘Chandler, Monica, Ross, Rachel, Phoebe and Joey. Who doesn’t like Friends?’ he says.

  My mouth opens but no sounds comes out.

  ‘Your T-shirt says, We Were On A Break.’ He points at it.

  ‘Oh. Right. Yeah.’ I blush, remembering the old T-shirt Gavin gave me last night when I confessed I’d been so busy packing for Kayla I’d forgotten to pack for myself.

  ‘Kayla and I argue about this all the time.’ I smile, reminiscing.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asks.

  ‘About Friends?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘They really were on a break.’ I shrug. ‘Rachel said so herself. I’m team Ross.’

  ‘Team Ross.’ He shakes his head.

  ‘Yes, Ross,’ I say, my eyes narrowing. ‘Why? Whose side are you on?’

  ‘Rachel’s,’ he says as confident as if the characters are real people we know personally.

  ‘Ha,’ I snort. ‘Kayla will love you for taking her side.’

  ‘It’s not sides.’ He smiles. ‘Just my honest opinion. I’m with Kayla on this. You’re wrong.’

  I try not to giggle as I fold my arms, but I fail miserably and begin to laugh. And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, I feel lighter; floating above the nightmare the last twenty-four hours have been.

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question. Not honestly,’ he says, the moment over as I plummet back to reality with a painful bang. ‘How are you doing?’

  Shit! I’m doing shit, I want to confess. But instead I smile and act brave and he shakes his head knowingly. I wonder if he’s this good at reading all his patients’ parents, or if I have any right to feel special because he’s damn well reading me like a book.

  I meet his eyes and I shake my head. He’s giving me time.

  Exhausted and broken and thinking, In another life and another set of circumstances we might actually be friends, I let my guard down.

  ‘I’m not really doing great,’ I hear myself say, somewhat subconsciously.

  ‘Kayla worries about you, you know?’ he says, placing his hand back on my knee.

  ‘Me? No. Kayla is the one who’s sick. Not me.’

  ‘She knows this is hard for you too,’ he says. ‘Like I said, they know stuff we don’t give them credit for. It’s always better to be honest with them. And yourself.’

  ‘Kayla is my whole world,’ I say.

  He smiles. ‘She’s a great kid.’

  ‘I have a job I hate, a house I can barely afford, and I’m single at thirty-three, but it’s all okay because I have Kayla,’ I say. The words are spilling off my tongue and I can’t seem to stop them.

  We sit opposite each other in silence and it’s not as awkward as it should be and I think he’s really good at this friends thing. And not just knowing the names of the characters from the show.

  ‘Work said I could have as much time off as I need while Kayla is sick,’ I say.

  ‘That’s great,’ he says.

  ‘Unpaid,’ I add.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I know. That’s kinda lousy, right? I mean, I work myself to the bone for those bastards. Sorry, pardon my French. But really.’

  ‘You’d be surprised the stories I hear from parents in your shoes.’ He shakes his head. ‘Makes me glad I work for the state. Well, not really. Don’t quote me on that.’

  ‘It’s just hard, you know,’ I rant. ‘Kayla’s dad is minted. He has his own company. His parents are very proud.’ I pull my head back until I have three chins and then put on a voice like Gavin’s dad as if my head is so far up my own arse I’ve reached my small intestine. ‘Oh, Gavin had a baby and still made something of himself. They remind me all the bloody time. Well, maybe I had a baby and raised her, loved her and spent lots of time with her, you absolute judgemental arse.’

  An older nurse walks by and throws me a disgusted look.

  ‘Ooops,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘She’s, erm, she’s like your in-laws, who aren’t exactly in-laws, really. Right?’

  ‘Outlaws.’ I snort.

  ‘Kayla tells me you bake,’ he says, unexpectedly.

  ‘I can’t believe Kayla told you about my baking. She doesn’t really tell people. She’s usually embarrassed.’

  ‘Well, she was full of pride when she told me all about your skills.’

  I blush.

  ‘Look,’ he says, running an awkward hand through his hair. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but, the canteen are looking for someone part-time to bake confectionary. It’s nothing very exciting I’m afraid, just scones and muffins—’

  ‘I’m not really qualified,’ I interrupt him, ‘I mean, I never went to college so…’

  ‘If your muffins are as great as Kayla says they are then let me see if I can pull a few strings.’

  I smile.

  ‘Nothing is guaranteed of course, but I know they’ve been looking for a while because the hours are so unsociable, but if you’re interested?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. That would be great.’

  ‘And, I think if Kayla were to bring a basket of brownies down to the kids’ games room one day, she would be pretty popular, really quickly.’

  ‘You think it would help her makes friends?’ I ask.

  ‘I know it would. Kids love brownies, and if your brownies really are the best in Ireland…’

  ‘Kayla said that?’ I ask, blushing. ‘I didn’t hear her.’

  ‘That’s because you couldn’t take your eyes off that drawer near Kayla’s bed.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I say.

  ‘You know, I can get you a lollipop if you really want one that badly,’ he jokes.

  I shake my head and I’m smiling again.

  ‘Lollipops are usually only for patients, but I can pull a few strings. I know people.’

  I relax. As embarrassing as his teasing is, it helps. I’m so glad he’s Kayla’s doctor. His ability to find fun in even the most horrible moments will be just what Kayla needs.

  ‘I think I’ll pass on the lollipop, thank you,’ I say. ‘Now, if it was a glass of wine on the other hand…’

  He smiles. ‘Unfortunately, my connections don’t stretch quite that far. But if you want my medical recommendation? There’s an off-licence on the corner, just after the car park; they do a fantastic French Chablis and it’s on special offer at the moment. Try two glasses before bed, see if that helps.’

  The metal chairs creak under me as I stand up. I drag my hand around my face trying to compose myself before I walk back in to Kayla. I turn my back on him as I reach for the handle of Kayla’s room and slowly creak it open.

  ‘Thank you,’ I mouth without sounds.

  He scrunches his nose. ‘You’re welcome,’ he replies, equally as silently.

  Seventeen

  Charlotte

  Heather’s car is parked in the drive behind Gavin’s, so I pull up against the curb and hope my cantankerous neighbour in number ten doesn’t start ranting and ra
ving about people blocking the path in the event of a fire again.

  ‘Okay, sweetie,’ I say, twisting around too sharply so that the seatbelt digs into my neck. ‘Shit. Ouch.’

  Molly gasps. I groan inwardly as I slacken the belt and rub my neck. I know at some point over the next day or two I’m going to hear my daughter repeat that word and when I try to correct her she’ll proudly tell me, ‘But you said it, Mammy.’

  ‘We’re home,’ I say, looking at Molly who has started giggling now as she no doubt commits the word to memory.

  I exhale, undo my seatbelt and open the car door. I swing my legs out and stand up, realising how tired I am. I duck my head back inside, press the button on Molly’s car seat and say, ‘Okay, sweetheart, grab your bag out of the boot and let’s get inside. I’m starving, are you?’

  ‘So hungry,’ Molly says.

  Molly is always starving when we come home from swimming. The instructor pushed hard this week and I think Molly’s little arms must have swum an extra length or two. I left lasagne defrosting on the shelf and I hope Gavin got my note to stick it in the oven. If not, I’ll chop Molly some carrot sticks and turn on CBeebies to tide her over until dinner is ready.

  Heather’s car is parked crooked and there’s no room to pass by without stepping on the grass. I swing Molly and her absurdly large swim bag into my arms and hop across the grass so at least I’m only dealing with one pair of mucky shoes.

  Opening the hall door the heat hits me first, followed by a delicious smell.

  ‘Oh yummy. What’s that smell?’ Molly says, kicking off her shoes as I put her down.

  ‘Not lasagne anyway,’ I say, confused.

  Molly drops her bag in the corner and races into the kitchen.

  ‘Daddy,’ I hear her squeal and I know she’s excited he’s home. He’s rarely home from work when we get in from swimming. It’s really lovely having him home early, but I wish it was under different circumstances and not because Kayla is sick.

  I pick up Molly’s swim bag so no one trips over it going up the stairs and breaks their neck and make my way into the kitchen. God that smell is fabulous, I think as my tummy rumbles.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ I say, sounding as surprised as I am to find Heather and Gavin sitting at our small kitchen table eating.

  Gavin is tucking Molly’s chair into the table in the space they’ve made between themselves for her.

  ‘Heather cooked,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Mmmm,’ I say, the swimming bag starting to dig into my shoulder as I stare at the scene of domestic bliss in front of me.

  There’s a white lacy tablecloth on the table. It was my grandmother’s and I rarely use it because it stains easily and has to be hand-washed. The last time I used it was Christmas and Gavin’s birthday was the time before that. A bottle of red wine sits open in the centre of the table. The label is fancy, cream with a swirly font, and I’ve no doubt it was expensive and highly unlikely to be organic. Gavin will no doubt complain of a headache later like he always does because he’s allergic to sulphites. The thick-cut steak on their plates, that they’ve already started eating, looks mouth-watering and there’s a selection of veg and a tray of some sort of fancy potato thing.

  ‘What’s this?’ Molly says, sticking out her tongue, clearly unimpressed by the potato. I try not to laugh.

  ‘That’s potato gratin.’ Heather smiles. ‘But don’t worry, Molly, that’s only for the grown-ups.’

  I’m about to explain that in this house we all eat the same food. There’s no definition between grown-up food and children’s food but Heather keeps talking.

  ‘Your daddy told me you love chicken nuggets,’ Heather says.

  Molly’s face lights up. My hand tightens around the strap of Molly’s swim bag and I swear if Heather produces a McDonald’s Happy Meal from somewhere I’ll scream. I’ve told Gavin countless times I don’t want Molly eating that stuff.

  Heather stands up and slips on an oven glove.

  ‘Heather made them herself. Especially for you,’ Gavin says.

  Heather pulls a tray of, no doubt, hand-battered chicken breast chunks and home-made chunky chips out of the oven. I hate myself for thinking they smell even more delicious than the steak.

  ‘Yummy,’ Molly squeals with excitement. ‘Heather. You’re the best.’

  Finally, my shoulder on fire, I drop the swim bag. The gentle thud gets Gavin’s attention.

  ‘Aren’t you going to join us?’ Gavin asks.

  Heather places a colourful plastic plate of nuggets and chips in front of Molly and warns Molly that they’re hot before she sits back down.

  I stare at the already overcrowded table that only has three chairs and I don’t even bother asking the redundant question of ‘Where will I sit?’

  ‘I’m not hungry, thanks,’ I say.

  ‘Yes you are,’ Molly corrects me. ‘You said so. In the car. You said you were starving.’

  ‘Well I’m not hungry any more,’ I say, firmly.

  Heather’s eyes shoot up to find mine. I glare back. ‘There really is plenty here, Charlotte. I can toss your steak on the pan now. It’ll only take five minutes. Three if you like it rare.’

  I glance at the worktop where a single piece of fillet steak is waiting on some brown paper.

  ‘Charlotte doesn’t eat meat,’ Gavin says, his eyes widening. ‘I should have said something earlier, but with everything going on I forgot.’

  Heather winces. And I think she’s embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘The veggies are fab, Charlie,’ Gavin says. ‘And the potatoes are dairy-free so you can have those.’

  ‘You’re vegan?’ Heather asks.

  I nod.

  ‘Charlie hasn’t eaten meat in twenty years but she’s been vegan about five,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Six,’ I correct, bending down to fetch the swim bag again. ‘I’m going to get this stuff in the wash. You enjoy dinner.’

  ‘Charlotte I really am sorry. But I’ve a recipe for a fab vegan stew. I’ll make that next time, yeah?’

  Next time?

  ‘Sure,’ I say opening the door into the utility room and walking away.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me she’s vegan?’ I hear Heather say in a similar tone I use with Gavin when he’s screwed up.

  Her tone is way too familiar and way too comfortable. I fling open the door of the washing machine and tumble in everything out of Molly’s swim bag, possibly including her goggles but I’m too exhausted to check. I slam the door shut, dump the empty bag on top and march back into the kitchen.

  ‘You know what?’ I say. ‘I’m not that hungry, but I could murder a glass of wine. I think I will join you after all.’

  ‘Great,’ Gavin says, hopping up.

  He fetches a glass, sets it on the table and fills it almost to the brim.

  ‘You take my seat,’ he points, pushing his plate over to slide the glass into its place. ‘I’ll grab one of the foldaway stools. Are they still under the stairs?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I think so.’

  Gavin hurries into the hall and I sit. Heather and I are face to face. She’s stopped eating despite there being three quarters of her food still on her plate and I’ve no doubt she feels as awkward as I do.

  I glance at Molly hoping to catch her eye so she’ll begin chatting but she’s too busy enjoying her delicious nuggets.

  ‘Found it. Found it,’ Gavin says, returning.

  He’s almost out of breath from rushing, so I know he’s aware of how uncomfortable this whole situation is. He opens the stool out and sits next to me. He’s much lower than the rest of us on chairs and Molly begins to laugh. Heather laughs too and finally, I giggle, so grateful for something, anything, to lighten the atmosphere.

  I pass Gavin his plate and he tucks back in. I watch everyone eat for a moment and hope that my tummy doesn’t rumble loud enough to be heard.

  ‘Did Heather tell you the good news?’ Gavin asks, reaching for
the wine and topping up Heather’s glass first and then his own.

  ‘No.’ I arch an eyebrow, relieved it’s good news for a change but unsure if we should discuss Kayla in front of Molly.

  ‘It’s not that big a deal.’ Heather blushes. ‘And nothing is definite yet.’

  ‘Don’t be so modest,’ Gavin says, chewing on some steak.

  Heather shakes her head and my stomach aches, and not just with hunger, as I watch the banter between my husband and his ex. I slug a large mouthful of wine and wait for them to share the secret. I was expecting Gavin and Heather to share conversations I’m not privy to. They need to talk about Kayla’s treatment and make decisions. I understand that. I just wasn’t prepared for how weird watching them develop this relationship would make me feel.

  ‘Heather’s only gone and got herself a new job,’ Gavin says.

  ‘A new job.’ I press the wine glass to my lips again and drink. ‘What about Kayla?’

  ‘It’s at the hospital,’ Gavin says. ‘Couldn’t be more convenient.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’ I say, lowering the glass before I spill some. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Work have given me as much time off as I need to be with Kayla,’ Heather explains. ‘But, unpaid.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, feeling awful that I hadn’t realised.

  ‘Doctor Patterson said the canteen are looking for someone to bake. Scones, croissants, muffins. That sort of thing.’

  I shake my head. ‘But won’t that take up lots of time you need to spend with Kayla?’

  ‘I suggested Heather could bake some stuff here. Like a practice. And she’s going to bring some muffins in for the kids on the ward too,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Bake here?’ I say, looking around the kitchen.

  ‘If that’s okay,’ Heather says.

  I don’t reply. I reach for the wine again.

  ‘I’ll buy all my own ingredients and I won’t get in the way. I can wait until everyone has gone to bed so I don’t take over the kitchen or anything.’

  ‘Well it sounds like this is all planned out then,’ I say, guzzling the remainder of my glass.

  ‘I could leave some brownies for Molly for school,’ Heather says.