The Forever Gift

by Brooke Harris

Molly takes a step back and tucks herself behind my legs. It’s not like her at all. She usually skips into school so contently.

  ‘It’s okay, Molly,’ the principal says, bending to Molly’s level. ‘Mammy can walk you to your classroom if you prefer.’

  Molly doesn’t answer but I feel her hand slip around my thigh and I know she needs me to go with her.

  ‘I do hope everything is alright, Mrs Doran,’ the principal says, straightening up. ‘My door is always open.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, reaching behind me to find Molly’s hand.

  Molly and I walk down the long corridor lined with children’s colourful artwork.

  When we reach Molly’s classroom door I hear Ms Martin say, ‘C’mon now boys and girls take your seats. Quickly please. Quickly, everyone. Break is over. It’s back to work time.’

  I knock on the ajar door and wait. Little faces turn to look at Molly and me instead of taking their seats and I feel Molly squeeze my hand a little tighter.

  ‘Boys and girls,’ Ms Martin says sternly. ‘Seats. Now, please.’

  All the children hurry to sit and it’s suddenly silent.

  ‘Excuse me, Ms Martin, could I have a quick word, please?’ I ask. I try to let go of Molly’s hand but she doesn’t seem to want to be separated.

  Ms Martin comes to the door, smiling.

  ‘Hello, Molly,’ she says as she reaches for Molly’s other hand, but Molly still clings to me. ‘Everyone missed you this morning,’ she adds. ‘Do you want to go inside?’

  A table of Molly’s friends wave to her. They’ve got sticky blocks and they’re building a tower. Molly loves building blocks.

  ‘Go on, sweetheart,’ I say. ‘It’s okay.’

  Molly shakes her head. ‘But Daddy said I need to be a good girl and take care of you today.’

  ‘Ah.’ I smile, suddenly understanding Molly’s clinginess. She’s taken Gavin’s considerate words literally. ‘You’ve done a great job of taking care of me. Thank you,’ I say. ‘But it’s school time now.’

  ‘But Daddy said—’

  ‘Why don’t you make the biggest, best tower with all the lovely, colourful blocks. You can tell Daddy all about it later.’

  Molly finally lets go of me, and without another word she hurries over to the table where all her friends are busy building.

  ‘I’m so sorry Molly is late,’ I finally say, watching as Molly picks up a blue block. ‘We had some unexpected news and—’

  ‘Blue is stewpid. Brown is the best!’ a boy suddenly shouts. ‘Ms Martin, Molly is ruing our tower.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ Ms Martin turns away from me and points at Molly and the boy.

  ‘Sam,’ she says firmly, ‘don’t you dare shove a block near Molly’s eye.’

  ‘Sam you’re mean!’ Molly shouts. ‘You’re so mean.’

  I like brown,’ Sam shouts back, pushing Molly. ‘Brown, Brown, Brown.’

  I gasp as Molly falls onto her bottom and begins to cry. Ms Martin and I hurry over to the table. Ms Martin speaks to Sam as I help Molly up and give her a cuddle.

  ‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ I ask.

  ‘He pokeded me. Did you see?’ Molly points at Sam. ‘I tolded him brown was yucky—’

  ‘That wasn’t very nice of Sam,’ I say, ‘but, you have to make more effort to share, Molly. It’s everyone’s tower and everyone gets to pick their favourite colour.’

  ‘But I like blue and green,’ Molly says.

  ‘And Sam, quite obviously, likes brown,’ I say.

  ‘But, brown is yucky!’

  ‘Molly. That’s enough,’ Ms Martin cuts in.

  The children at the table stare at the commotion and my face reddens and I very much feel I’m intruding in Ms Martin’s classroom.

  ‘You like blue, Sam likes brown. Okay? And we’re all going to be friends now,’ Ms Martin says.

  Molly looks at me; I nod and smile trying to reassure her.

  Ms Martin claps her hands suddenly and all the children instantly give her their attention.

  ‘Okay, boys and girls, play nice and quietly. I’ll be back in a minute,’ she says. ‘I’m just at the door so I’ll see if there’s any funny business.’ She points her finger at Sam. And then at Molly.

  Ms Martin guides me to the door and I walk beside her feeling like one of the school children.

  ‘Appointments with parents are usually scheduled for after school,’ she says when we step onto the corridor. Her kind eyes sweep over me and I can sense her concern. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Erm, I’m not sure.’ I shake my head, suddenly realising how confused and scared I really am.

  Six

  Charlotte

  Toilet water splashes over the top of my bright-green rubber glove and trickles down my arm on the inside of the sleeve as I sweep the toilet brush around the loo in the main bathroom. I put the brush back in the wobbly chrome holder and peel off the gloves as quickly as I can. I toss them angrily into the sink, rinse my hands and sit, exhausted.

  I’ve been cleaning the bathroom for at least an hour. The smell of bleach is making me light-headed but I’m not sure what else to do. I keep replaying Molly’s teacher’s comments from this morning over and over in my mind.

  ‘Kids are emotionally stronger than we give them credit for,’ Ms Martin said. ‘Molly is a clever little girl. She will understand. In time, she will.’

  Ms Martin meant well. I’ve no doubt. But her words cut through me like a blade. I left quickly after that. I knew I couldn’t keep it together much longer and I didn’t want Molly to see me fall apart. She was so content among her school friends after the initial squabble with Sam. She was giggling as I walked away.

  But now I’m alone all I can think about is Molly. And those damn words, Molly will understand. Because, Molly won’t understand. She absolutely will not. Christ almighty, she threw a tantrum two weeks ago because I told her that even Santa can’t bring a real, live unicorn. How can she possibly understand that her big sister has cancer?

  I can’t believe I hadn’t thought about how this would affect Molly sooner. My first thought was about how Gavin was coping, or not coping, with the news. Immediately after, I thought of Kayla. Poor Kayla. Beautiful, lovely Kayla. Then my thoughts seemed to drift organically towards Heather. One mother to another. I seemed to automatically slip myself into her shoes. They were uncomfortable and terrifying, and I quickly shook them off, distraught. But, I forgot Molly. How could I possibly forget my own daughter? She might be just four years old, but she has a big heart and this news is going to crush it. For the first time, ever, I have no idea how to protect my child.

  I’ve been checking my phone all afternoon. I’ve an endless string of WhatsApp messages from a group I was added to this morning inviting Molly to a birthday party. One of the boys in her class is turning five this weekend. Molly’s been telling me about his party plans for the last week. Molly said they’re going to Bouncy Land and then for ice cream. Today’s invite confirms Molly’s story. The class mothers have been replying all morning with lots of emojis: smiley faces, birthday cakes and balloons. I haven’t replied.

  I don’t have any other messages. I was hoping for an update from Gavin. He called earlier, but he was a mess and I didn’t want to start firing questions at him over the phone. I suggested he grab a coffee and call back, but I’ve heard nothing for hours and I’m slowly cracking up.

  I have a headache. The bleach is getting to me and I desperately need fresh air. Despite it only being a couple of degrees above freezing outside, I fling open the window. Chilly, angry wind nips at my face like sandpaper but I laugh at its efforts because it’s surprisingly refreshing.

  I glance around at the several other houses, identical to mine, that sweep around the horseshoe of our cul-de-sac. The morning dew hasn’t lifted from the grass on the large green all day and I doubt any of the children will be out playing this afternoon because it looks like rain. But despite the grizzly weather the street looks as w
arm and inviting as always. Gavin and I lied through our teeth to the bank to get the mortgage that we could barely afford to buy this place. Gavin had niggling doubts at first, but I was so in love with the house I convinced him it would all be worth it because someday we would raise a wonderful family here.

  Kayla had just turned seven when we moved in. She loved coming over every weekend. And we loved having her. We spent a small fortune in IKEA, money we didn’t really have at the time, turning her bedroom into a pink palace. That changed to purple when she was nine, and then a very sophisticated ivory and mint when she was eleven. I’d chosen the calm, pastel colours for the baby’s room when I was pregnant with Molly because we didn’t know if she was a boy or a girl and I wanted something neutral. Kayla was so excited about become a big sister that she wanted her room to be exactly the same as the baby’s. I remembering secretly hoping I was carrying a girl so the three of us could enjoy days out shopping, and l looked forward to lazy afternoons going for coffee together when the girls grew up.

  We’ve painted Molly’s room since. And I’ve offered to paint Kayla’s too but she shrugs, smiles and doesn’t seem bothered. But I guess that’s because she’s not here very often anymore. At first, Kayla missed the odd weekend here and there when she made the transition from primary into secondary school. Heather would text Gavin to apologise, sometimes at a moment’s notice, and explain Kayla was sleeping over at a friend’s house. Gradually every weekend turned into every second weekend, then once a month and lately we haven’t seen much of Kayla at all. I understand, she’s busy being a teenager and her friends and social life are all in Cork. She FaceTimes Gavin and Molly often though. But it’s not the same as actually having her around and I know they miss her. I do too. A lot.

  When my headache has eased and my face is completely numb I duck my head back inside, close the window and make my way downstairs to the kitchen deciding that I’ll flick on the kettle and have another coffee before it’s time to pick up Molly from school. The doorbell rings before I reach the bottom step and I groan inwardly. I’m in no mood to make small talk with an unexpected visitor today. I drag my hand around my face trying to shake some life into myself before I answer. The smell of bleach, that despite wearing rubber gloves seems to have found its way onto my fingers, jolts me upright and I open the door semi-startled.

  Seven

  Charlotte

  ‘Gavin,’ I say, confused when I find my husband standing on the other side of the door.

  Gavin doesn’t speak. The top button on his shirt is open. His tie is still around his neck but it’s so loose it’s almost slipped out of view below the top button of his jacket. And his hair is messy, almost greasy as if he hasn’t washed it in days. He looks completely different to the suave man who left our house earlier this morning.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘No keys?’

  I look at Gavin’s car parked in the driveway and then at the keys he holds in his hands.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘Come on. I was just about to put the kettle on. You look like you could use a cup.’

  I reach out and drape my arm around my husband’s waist, ushering him inside, but I pause when the passenger door of Gavin’s car creaks open slowly.

  Kayla, I think, hopeful, but my breath hitches in the back of my throat when Heather steps out of the car. My eyes dart back to Gavin looking for an explanation. But he’s watching Heather, protectively. Heather looks awful. Her eyes are red and puffy, it’s noticeable even from a distance. Her usually bright skin is dull and grey and she’s shaky on her feet. Gavin doesn’t look much better and I can understand why he didn’t text to let me know he was on his way with Heather – neither of them seem capable of thinking straight right now. Oh God.

  Gavin wriggles away from me and hurries back to the car and around to Heather’s side. He drapes his arm over her shoulder as if she can’t walk unaided.

  ‘C’mon,’ he says. ‘Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.’

  Heather snuggles into him. She’s as slim and petite as ever and Gavin’s six foot three seems positively gigantic beside her. He holds her as if he could sweep her into his arms at any moment and promise to keep her safe for ever. I can’t take my eyes off them.

  ‘Stick the kettle on, Charlie,’ Gavin says, as they reach the front door, still huddled together, and I step back to let them brush past me.

  ‘You forgot to say please,’ I mumble under my breath as I close the door and turn around and watch Gavin settle Heather on the sitting-room couch.

  I turn away, shake my head and make my way into the kitchen.

  ‘Sorry. I’m sorry,’ Gavin says, appearing behind me with his hand on my shoulder. ‘She’s a mess. She was in no state to head back on the train alone. And I couldn’t sit in a coffee shop any longer with a nosey waitress listening over our shoulder. I thought bringing her here for a while was a good idea. Help her calm down a bit, you know.’

  ‘Yeah. Good idea,’ I say. ‘A text would have been nice though. A heads-up, you know,’ I add still walking towards the kitchen with Gavin trailing behind me.

  Gavin shakes his head. ‘Did I not text? Oh God, sorry. I meant to. It’s just—’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say quickly, feeling like a bit of a bitch because a text seems like the least important thing in the world right now. ‘Will she even be okay to get the train alone at all today? She really doesn’t look good.’

  ‘Actually,’ Gavin says, ‘that’s something I want to talk to you about—’

  ‘Sorry,’ Heather’s voice calls behind us and we both turn around. ‘Mind if I use the loo?’ Heather points upstairs as if to ask, Is it up there?

  I smile. ‘There’s one under the stairs, but we don’t really use that one. The main one is upstairs. Second door on the right.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Heather says.

  I continue into the kitchen and pour the lukewarm water out of the kettle, pop open the lid and shove it under the tap. The cold water hits the bottom of the kettle with force and splashes onto my blouse, freezing me. I look at Gavin, hoping he’ll pass me a towel. But he hasn’t noticed. He’s standing with his back against the countertop and his arms are folded across his chest as he stares into space.

  I flick on the kettle and fetch the hand towel hanging over the handle of the cooker. I listen for the sound of Heather’s footsteps coming down the stairs but there’s no sign of her reappearing yet. Good. I’m grateful of the opportunity to speak to Gavin alone.

  ‘How did it go?’ I say, at last.

  Gavin shakes his head. I’m not sure what that means.

  ‘What are they saying?’ I try being more specific.

  He shakes his head again and I hear the toilet flush overhead.

  ‘Gavin, please,’ I say, racing my words now. ‘What did the doctors say? I’ve been waiting all day for news. Will Kayla be okay?’

  The water begins to bubble noisily in the kettle but I still hear Gavin exhale loudly. He’s a bloody mess. I don’t understand how he can be a tall, composed pillar of strength for Heather but he can’t even string a sentence together for me.

  ‘Gavin. Please, answer me,’ I say. ‘Are things really that bad? You’re scaring me.’

  ‘It’s cancer,’ Heather says, walking into the kitchen.

  I jump. I didn’t hear her coming back downstairs over the noise of the kettle boiling. A lump forms in my throat and tears blur my vision. I shake my head, feeling I can’t cry – not in front of Gavin and Heather. Kayla is their child, I know that. But my heart is breaking nonetheless.

  ‘It’s a sarcoma,’ Heather explains.

  ‘A sarcoma,’ I find myself repeating the strange word I’ve never heard before. ‘But I thought she hurt her knee. She’s a basketball player. She’s the school captain for God’s sake—’

  ‘I don’t think cancer cares what team she plays for,’ Gavin cuts across me.

  ‘Gavin. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’ I pause and shake my head. ‘I just don’t understand
.’

  ‘It’s cancer in the soft tissue around the bone, Charlie,’ Gavin continues. ‘It’s called Ewing’s sarcoma. That’s what’s been hurting her. Kayla has a tumour in her knee.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, trying to take it in. I feel crushed.

  ‘I’d never heard of it either,’ Heather says, as if she reads my mind. ‘Not until this morning.’

  ‘Leg cancer,’ I say. ‘I mean, that’s treatable, right? It’s not like blood cancer or something in her organs?’ I wait for Gavin or Heather to tell me I’m right. I wait for someone to say it will be okay, but silence falls over us as the kettle bubbles dramatically in the background.

  ‘Sarcomas aren’t common in kids and they can spread,’ Gavin finally says, his voice cracking.

  ‘But we don’t know much for certain,’ Heather adds. ‘There’ll be more tests and stuff before they decide a treatment plan.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, as a tear that I’ve fought to hold in trickles down the side of my nose and I catch it quickly with my fingertip. ‘And when will they know all that?’

  ‘They want to start tests immediately,’ Heather says.

  ‘And they want to get family in for bloods,’ Gavin says. ‘Hopefully one of us is a donor.’

  I nod as if I understand.

  ‘They’ve suggested tomorrow,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ my eyes widen, and I say it much too loudly just as the kettle flicks off.

  I swallow, struggling to keep up. ‘But, tomorrow. It’s so soon. No one has had time to get their head around this.’

  ‘They don’t want to waste any time,’ Heather says.

  ‘Depending on the results they’ll call Molly in after that,’ Gavin adds.

  ‘Molly?’ I say, shaking my head, confused.

  ‘For bloods,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Molly,’ I say again. ‘Why would they need Molly to have a blood test? She’s only four.’

  ‘They’re sisters,’ Heather says.

  My brain seems stuck and I’m so confused. I have so many questions for Gavin, but I know now is not the time. I imagine in Gavin and Heather’s emotional state they’ve picked up something wrong. Molly is just a baby. They won’t need her.