If Only I Could Tell You

by Hannah Beckerman

  Chapter 29

  Jess

  The soles of her sneakers squeaked against the rubber floor as she ran past a sea of anonymous faces, past blue plastic chairs and an empty water dispenser, her forehead pleated in a frown, her cheeks pink with exertion.

  At ER reception, Jess waited at the desk while the receptionist stared at a computer screen, her long red nails tapping percussively at the keyboard.

  “Excuse me? I’m looking for my mother, Audrey Siskin. She was brought in a couple of hours ago in an ambulance. My daughter’s here already, I think.” Anxiety hung on the sharp edges of Jess’s consonants.

  “If you take a seat I’ll find out where she is.”

  “Can’t I just go through? My daughter must be in there with her. I keep trying to call her mobile but it just goes straight to voicemail.”

  “Jess? Can I help with anything?”

  Jess spun around and saw a face she half recognized though for a moment she couldn’t think where from. “Ben, isn’t it? What are you doing here?”

  “Your mum was at choir rehearsal when she collapsed. I was the one who called the paramedics. I just wanted to see how she was, make sure everything was OK.”

  Jess thrust her hand into her jacket pocket, pulled out her phone, and scowled at its empty screen. “Do you know where she is? My daughter texted ten minutes ago to say she was with her and she’s OK, but the woman on reception isn’t exactly forthcoming with information.”

  “I don’t know—I’m sorry. But I’m sure she’s fine. She had a brief blackout but only for a few seconds. She’d come around long before the ambulance arrived. She tried very hard to persuade us that she was fine, but both Phoebe and I thought she ought to get checked out.”

  Jess’s eyes narrowed. “Phoebe’s here? What the hell was she doing at the choir rehearsal?”

  “Rehearsing. She’s in the choir too. Didn’t you know?”

  Ben’s words scrambled in Jess’s head, trying to form a meaningful explanation. But however she replayed them, they told the same story: her mum had been heading off to choir rehearsals twice a week for the past five weeks and had not seen fit to tell Jess that Phoebe was going with her.

  “So where is she now? Phoebe? Is she still here?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess so. She came in the ambulance with your mum and I haven’t seen her since so I’m assuming they’re still together. And another young woman turned up a little while ago—looks a lot like Phoebe but with longer hair. I figured she might be your daughter. She’s through there now as well.”

  A cold skein of dread pulled tight in Jess’s stomach. “My daughter’s through there? With Phoebe? For God’s sake, next you’ll be telling me my sister’s here too.”

  Jess watched as Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cast his eyes around the waiting rooms where people were beginning to glance in their direction.

  “Well, I don’t know for sure, but I do know Phoebe phoned her mum just after the paramedics arrived and told her to meet us here. But I couldn’t honestly tell you whether she’s arrived or not. I don’t understand. What’s wrong with your sister and your niece being here?”

  Jess stared at him, unblinking. “Jesus Christ. As if today wasn’t bad enough already.” Without saying goodbye, she turned around and rushed through the double swing doors toward the emergency treatment rooms, ignoring the receptionist’s instructions for her to stop.

  As she hurried down the corridor, the smell hit her: the unmistakable stench of unspoken fear and tentative hope. It was a smell that flung open the door on memories Jess had tried so hard to keep closed: memories of men and women in white coats and blue scrubs, pretending they could make everything better, only for Jess to discover that it was a lie, that they were no more able to safeguard her family than she was.

  It was years ago, Jess told herself, as she rushed past curtained cubicles and carts, past blood pressure machines and computer screens, past medicine cabinets and an empty wheelchair. The medical profession had come a long way since then.

  Halfway along the corridor there was a nurses’ station, and after a few polite inquiries, Jess was directed toward a cubicle two bays from the end. Without pausing to think about what she was going to say or what she might find, she swept back the curtain. And all at once she felt the past rushing toward her.

  Her mum was sitting up in bed, flanked on one side by a teenager Jess knew from countless Google searches was her niece, and on the other side by the daughter she’d have given her life to protect. And there, in the middle, as if this were a stage and Lily was in the starring role, stood the sister Jess had cut out of her life more than two decades before.

  “Get up, Mia. We’re going.”

  Jess’s voice was hard and sharp as four pairs of eyes turned toward her and four smiles flattened into horizontal lines.

  Chapter 30

  Lily

  Lily stepped forward, though whether in greeting or defense she wasn’t quite sure. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing emerged. Instead she stared at her sister, wondering how someone could look so changed and yet so unmistakably familiar: the same warm cream skin, now lightly etched with age; the same fire in her eyes, serving both as a statement and a warning; the same determined expression. For a second it was as though their years of separation evaporated and standing in front of her was the little sister Lily had only ever wanted to protect.

  Her legs tensed as if preparing to move, to walk the single step that would place her within touching distance of Jess. Repressed affection seeped into her muscles from where it had lain dormant for decades. As Lily looked at Jess, it was as if she could see the gap narrowing, as if the distance between them was nothing more than one small step across a hospital cubicle.

  But then Jess’s eyes caught hers and Lily felt the heat of her sister’s rage, was reminded of the day thirteen years ago when they had last seen one another: Don’t you ever go near my daughter again, do you hear me? You don’t deserve to be a parent. You shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near children.

  The memory throbbed like a bruise on Lily’s heart. So many times over the years she had replayed that conversation, wondering whether anything could have been said to alter the outcome. So many times she had seethed at the recollection of Jess’s tone. But mostly, whenever she had allowed the memory to creep into her thoughts, Lily had been left with only a litany of silent questions. Except now that Jess was standing in front of her, Lily realized she didn’t know where to begin. She didn’t know whether she wanted to shout at Jess or turn and flee, whether she wanted to assault her sister with questions or wrap her arms around her and hope that somehow the space between them might shrink until they could feel it no longer. It was as though the passage of time and the enormity of the absence were so great that Lily no longer knew where this story started, couldn’t find her way back to the point at which their paths had diverged, like a child in a fairy tale whose trail of bread crumbs has long since vanished.

  Chapter 31

  Audrey

  It was the moment she had been hoping for all these years: her whole family in the same room together. All this time Audrey had been imagining family reunions played out to a soundtrack of tearful apologies and biblical forgiveness. But now, instead of feeling relief or pleasure, she was aware of her breath hiding in her lungs, her fingers curling into tight balls.

  Seeing her daughters together was like peeling back the layers of an onion, stripping back the years to when they had been two little girls in the midst of a squabble. Audrey wished she could find the words to make Lily walk toward Jess with open arms, that would allow Jess to accept the embrace. But each time her lips parted, her voice dissolved inside the fear that if she got this moment wrong she might never have a chance to put it right.

  Her eyes darted from one daughter to the other—Lily staring at Jess, Jess staring at Mia. It was as though they were figures in a tableau: Jess’s face locked in an expression of horror, Lily’s in a fra
me of uncertainty.

  “I’m sorry I took so long. Saturday evenings are never the best time to visit the ER, but I’ve finally got all your test results.”

  A young female doctor swished the curtain closed behind her, scanning the notes in her hand as she entered. She glanced around the cubicle long enough to clock the excessive number of visitors, raised an eyebrow, then appeared to decide that, of all the battles she’d have to fight that night, a few additional visitors weren’t worth her energy.

  “OK, Mrs. Siskin. You’ll be pleased to know that your collapse was the result of nothing more sinister than low blood sugar. I know it’s difficult to eat when you’re feeling nauseous, but even just a few mouthfuls—little and often—will help prevent this happening again. I can see from your oncologist’s notes that you’ve refused chemotherapy, and of course that’s entirely your decision. The only thing I would say is that the discovery of the fourth tumor on your lung and the results of your latest blood counts do mean that we’re likely to see an increase in episodes like this. I don’t want to pressure you, and I’m sure you’re being well advised by your oncologist, but given the aggressiveness of your cancer and what’s happened today, you may want to reconsider. Anyway, I’m sure you can discuss all that with your doctor at your next appointment. For now, we’re going to move you up to the ward as soon as we can find you a bed, so we can keep an eye on you overnight. I’ll get the orderlies to come by when there’s a ward ready to take you.”

  The doctor waited for Audrey to acknowledge that she’d understood, offered a weary smile, and then left the cubicle, her words lingering behind like an unwelcome party guest refusing to leave.

  Fourth tumor on your lung. Latest blood counts. Aggressiveness of your cancer.

  Audrey felt the weight of her deception pressing down on her shoulders. But then she saw the fear on Lily’s face, the disbelief on Jess’s, the shock in Phoebe’s eyes, and the tears in Mia’s, and all at once she understood that this was why she had chosen not to tell them.

  Chapter 32

  Jess

  “What on earth was she talking about, Mum? Why didn’t you tell her she’d got it wrong? She must have had someone else’s notes. I’ll call her back.”

  As Jess turned to walk out of the cubicle she heard an intake of breath behind her, a single word trailing after her.

  “No.”

  She looked back, saw her mum sitting up in bed, saw the expression on her face: a plea or an instruction, fear or an apology, she couldn’t tell which. Jess was aware of a pause, as though for a fraction of a moment, like the final seconds before the sun dips below the horizon, everything in the world appears to have stopped moving.

  “Don’t call her back. She didn’t have the wrong notes.”

  “What do you mean? What was she talking about?” Jess watched distress burrow into the lines around her mum’s eyes, into the crevices at the edges of her lips, deep into her pores until her whole face was awash with it.

  “I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want it to be a burden . . .”

  Her mum’s voice trailed off and even though Jess was scared of where the conversation was heading, the questions lining up in her head forced her to follow it. “You didn’t want to worry us? So all that stuff she said—about the tumors, about your blood counts—all that was right? Why on earth didn’t you tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought it would be for the best. I just . . . I didn’t want to put you through it all. Please don’t be so angry, Jess.”

  Jess opened her mouth and then closed it again, frustration catching in her throat.

  “So what’s the prognosis? Is there anything they can do?” It was Lily’s voice, softer than Jess’s had been, but Jess kept her eyes fixed on her mum, watched her shake her head.

  “Nothing beyond palliative chemo but I don’t want that, you know I don’t.”

  “For God’s sake, Mum, why won’t you accept help? I didn’t understand it when you first said it months ago and I don’t understand it now. It’s like you want to die. It’s as if you don’t care what happens to you. I don’t understand why you’d reject whatever treatment’s available to you.”

  “Mum, stop it. Come on, you can see Granny’s upset.”

  Jess turned to where Mia was standing, so close to Phoebe as if their bodies might fuse together, and she couldn’t be sure whether the anger pulsing at her temples was directed toward her mother or her daughter. “We’re all upset, Mia.”

  “I know. But flying off the handle isn’t going to help. I get why Granny doesn’t want treatment and you do too, don’t you, Phoebe?”

  Something about the ease with which Mia said Phoebe’s name, something about the way Phoebe turned to Mia and fired a look of panic, sent a cold trickle of sweat down Jess’s spine. “How do you know what Phoebe thinks?”

  It was the most fleeting of glances: had Jess blinked she might have missed it. A transitory look of caution that passed between Mia and Phoebe: a silent note of warning, like a tell in a badly played game of poker.

  “I asked you a question, Mia. How do you know what Phoebe thinks?”

  Guilt flared in Mia’s eyes and it was all the confirmation Jess needed.

  “Don’t be too hard on her, Jess. What did you expect? They’re seventeen-year-old girls, with social media at their disposal. Did you really imagine they wouldn’t be able to find each other?”

  Her mum’s voice was soft, imploring, but all Jess heard was complicity.

  “Are you saying you knew? Are you telling me you knew they were in contact and you didn’t see fit to tell me?”

  “I only found out earlier today.”

  Words began to erupt from Jess’s mouth and she couldn’t have stopped them even if she’d wanted to. “I don’t care, Mum. You should have told me. You know how I feel about this. I couldn’t have made it any clearer. Mia, get your bag, we’ll talk about this at home. Mum, let me know when you’re ready to leave tomorrow and I’ll come and pick you up.”

  “Darling, please . . .”

  Ignoring her mum, ignoring Lily and Phoebe, Jess grabbed hold of Mia’s hand, gripped it tightly, and walked out of the cubicle without looking back.

  Chapter 33

  Audrey

  Nobody spoke. Outside the cubicle, pagers bleeped, phones rang, a child cried, a doctor called for help.

  Audrey looked at the open curtain, hoping that if she stared at it long enough, Jess and Mia might reappear, like magician’s assistants in a stage trick.

  “Mum, are you OK?”

  Audrey nodded, her chest hollow as if someone had opened the cage of her ribs and scooped everything out. The mattress creaked as Lily sat down on the bed, her fingers tracing the veins on the back of Audrey’s hand.

  “Mum, whatever you want to do, it’s your decision. But please, help me understand. Why won’t you accept treatment, even now?”

  Audrey glanced at Lily, then up at Phoebe standing behind her. Because I don’t deserve it, she wanted to say. Because I know it won’t work. Because I feel as though I’ve been waiting almost three decades for something like this to happen and now that it has, I don’t have the strength to fight it.

  Audrey reached for the water beside her bed and sipped it, but her mouth still felt dry. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I know it’s a shock and I’m genuinely very sorry I didn’t tell you before. I’d never upset any of you intentionally, you know that. I honestly thought it was for the best. But I’m exhausted now and I’m not sure I have the words in me to explain.”

  Concern twitched between Lily’s eyebrows before she pulled her face into a facsimile of reassurance. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

  Audrey kissed Lily and Phoebe goodbye, felt the weight of their expectation linger long after they’d left.

  She rolled onto her side, coughing against the fluid in her lungs she knew couldn’t be cleared. Her limbs sank into the mattress, heavy and leaden, the noises out
side in the corridor—nurses, telephones, carts—muddy in her ears. She thought again of the horror on Jess’s face when she had first come in and seen them all together, and the fury in her voice as she’d instructed Mia to leave.

  Audrey closed her eyes, and felt the past begin to claw at the edges of her memory.

  Perhaps she had been naïve to hope that Lily and Jess might recover from the events of that summer. Perhaps the grief was too deep, the injustice too great. Perhaps there was no way to repair the heartbreak they’d endured after the losses they had suffered.

  Because once upon a time there had been three little girls: Lily, Jess, and Zoe.

  Chapter 34

  June 1988

  She sits on the side of the bed, watching her daughter sleep. It should, she knows, be a moment of maternal quietude, but it cannot be peaceful when carts are clattering outside in the corridor, when another child is wailing in the midst of injections two beds away, when the noxious combination of illness and bleach pollutes the air like a fateful specter.

  It cannot be tranquil when her little girl is lying in a bed that is not her own, punctured by tubes.

  Audrey chokes back her tears and commands herself to be strong. Zoe could wake at any moment.

  She looks down at the pale, almost translucent skin stretched across her daughter’s cheekbones. Sometimes she fears that one day she will arrive at the hospital and the skin will have thinned so much that she will be able to watch the blood pulse through Zoe’s veins.

  It has been fourteen months since Zoe was diagnosed with leukemia. They have been through more than a year of treatments no one has ever promised will be successful. For months, Audrey has oscillated between hope and despair, never knowing which will take the lead on any given day.

  She brushes her fingers lightly over the back of her daughter’s hand, careful not to disturb the cannula piercing her skin. Every afternoon when she arrives the nurses remind her that Zoe needs rest, as though Audrey might have forgotten it during the previous twenty-four hours. If rest could cure her, Audrey would happily let her sleep for a year, for ten years, for however long it might take, like a princess in a fairy tale.