The Forever Gift

by Brooke Harris

  ‘Yes. Yes!’ I shout back, making my way into the kitchen, the light growing weaker on my phone. ‘I’m still here, sweetheart. I’m still here.’

  Dammit where are the bloody matches? I think as I rummage in the drawers and swing open cupboards.

  ‘Mammy, I’m scared,’ Molly cries loudly. ‘Maaammmyyy…’

  ‘Coming. I’m coming,’ I call, remembering that Heather smokes. There must be a lighter in her room.

  I hurry back up the stairs and pop my head around the door of Molly’s room. ‘See, darling. I told you I was here. Isn’t this a fun game?’

  ‘It’s not fun.’ Molly sulks.

  ‘Sure it is,’ I lie. ‘Just like hide and seek.’

  ‘It’s. Not. Fun,’ Molly repeats as I duck my head out of her room again and hurry across the landing to the guest room.

  Curling my fingers around the handle of the closed door feels weird, as if I’m intruding in my own house, and I pause. I know what’s on the far side of this door off by heart. I traipsed all over the city when I was seven months pregnant with Molly to find the perfect duvet cover to match the curtains I’d fallen in love with weeks prior. I stripped back the antique chest of drawers and painstakingly re-varnished it. Yet I can’t help feeling I shouldn’t open this door. Not right now. Suddenly the space on the far side of it feels as if it belongs to Heather and not to me. I shouldn’t impose.

  ‘Mr Glow Bear isn’t working!’ Molly’s cry carries across the hall.

  Knowing Molly has been plunged into complete darkness, I turn the handle and charge inside the guest bedroom. I make a beeline for the bedside table hoping that’s where Heather would keep any spare lighters. I’m right and I’m delighted when I find a black lighter with the Guinness logo printed across the side. I grab the lighter and am turning to leave when I’m distracted by a letter underneath it with Molly’s name in italic font on the first line. I shine my phone over the paper for closer inspection. There’s a book resting in the centre of the letter, hiding most of the words, but I can clearly see the hospital logo in the top left-hand corner.

  I’m lifting the book out of the way when Molly’s crying becomes more distressed.

  ‘Mammy, where are you?’ Molly cries. ‘It’s too scary.’

  ‘I’m here, sweetheart,’ I shout back.

  ‘Where? I can’t see you?’

  My eyes sweep the paper. Kayla’s treatment. Molly. Donor. Stem cell. Match!

  ‘Maaammmyyy.’ Molly’s crying shifts to a distressed shriek. ‘There’s a monster. Help. Help.’

  I slam the book back down on the letter and march out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind me.

  ‘I’m here, sweetheart,’ I say, hurrying into Molly’s room. ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Quick. Quick, Mammy,’ Molly says. ‘He’s under my bed.’

  ‘There’s no monster, Molly,’ I say, the battery on my phone finally giving up.

  Molly gulps. ‘He’s here. See, I told you.’ She can barely draw breath between her sobs. ‘I want Daddy.’

  ‘Okay. C’mon,’ I say, feeling my way to Molly’s bed in the darkness.

  I feel the mattress against my leg and I pat my way along the edge, shuffling forward. I smile instinctively when Molly’s chubby arms reach out to me and I guide them around my neck as I lift her out of bed.

  ‘I’m here, Molly,’ I whisper. ‘I’m always here.’

  I pull my little girl close to me and I can feel her rushed breath and rapid heartbeat.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Molly says, tucking her head into the crook of my neck, guided by instinct.

  I clutch the Guinness lighter tight in my fist and I can’t stop thinking about why Heather has a letter with my daughter’s name on it hidden in her room. I march towards the bathroom with blind determination, with Molly still cradled in my arms, and seek out the three-wick candle on the windowsill and light it.

  ‘Look, Molly,’ I say, drawing her attention to the burning light. ‘There are definitely no monsters here.’

  ‘When is Daddy coming back?’ Molly whimpers, not lifting her head off my shoulder and holding me extra tightly.

  Molly’s words cut me like a knife. Coming back? Gavin hasn’t left us. He comes home every night. He kisses and hugs her in her sleep. But Molly has no idea. To Molly, Daddy’s been gone a long time. My heart aches.

  ‘Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?’ I ask.

  ‘Are you scared of monsters, too?’ Molly asks, finally lifting her head.

  ‘Yeah,’ I nod. ‘I guess I am.’

  ‘Okay.’ Molly pats the top of my head with both her hands in turn. ‘I’ll sleep in your bed. You don’t need to be scared, Mammy. You have me.’

  ‘I do, Molly, don’t I?’ I say, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of not having her. The thought Heather must face every day.

  Thirty-Five

  Charlotte

  It’s only November but the smell of Christmas hangs in the air as the rustle of a key turning in the front door rouses me. I haven’t fallen fully asleep since Molly climbed into my bed. The front door creaks open and I listen without opening my eyes. The sound of the door closing followed by Gavin’s familiar footfall downstairs helps me to relax. I hadn’t realised being alone with Molly in the darkness was bothering me so much until just now. I open my eyes and untangle myself from Molly’s sleeping grip and roll out of bed. The cold of the timber floor drives into the soles of my feet instantly and I skip my way across the room. I fetch my dressing gown, which is hanging on the back of the door, and quickly slide in my shivering arms and tie the belt around my waist. With a deep breath I leave my room.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, meeting Gavin as I step off the bottom step of the stairs. ‘Is Kayla okay? What happened?’

  ‘Hey,’ Gavin says, holding a pint glass full of water in his hand. ‘She has a kidney infection. They’ve started her on antibiotics. She was really distressed and scared but she calmed down when Heather came back.’

  I sigh, relieved, and a weight I didn’t realise I was carrying lifts.

  ‘We’ve no power,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Eh, yeah,’ I say. ‘It’s been out for ages. And Molly is afraid of the dark.’

  ‘What are Electric Ireland saying?’ Gavin asks. ‘When will it be back?’

  ‘I dunno. I didn’t call them.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call?’

  I close my eyes and inhale. I want to explain that I had too much on my mind. I want to tell Gavin I was worried about Kayla. And tell him about Heather falling asleep on the couch. I need to tell him I miss him and can’t sleep without him. Most of all, I want to ask Gavin if he knows anything about the letter in Heather’s room. But I find myself frustrated instead and I turn on the bottom step and make my way back up the stairs without another word to my husband.

  Upstairs I wrestle with Molly’s floppy, sleeping body as I lift her up and cautiously cross the landing to tuck her into her own bed. I’m exhausted by the time I feel my way back to my room and flop into the sheets.

  Cold and exhausted, I lie awake for ages listening to Gavin walk about downstairs wondering what he’s doing in the darkness. Finally, I hear him creep up the stairs, making an effort to be quiet, obviously assuming both Molly and I are sleeping.

  ‘Can you blow out the candle in the bathroom?’ I say, when I think he’s close enough to be in earshot of our room. The darkness doesn’t seem so bad now, with Gavin here to share it.

  ‘Did I wake you?’ he says, ignoring my request to quench the candle as he walks into our room, the torch on his phone blinding me as he shines it towards the bed.

  ‘Nope,’ I say. ‘I haven’t been asleep yet.’

  ‘But it’s late…’

  I roll out of bed as Gavin begins to undress. I scurry across the dark landing, into the bathroom, and puff out the glorious-smelling candle. I’m plunged into complete darkness as Gavin’s and my bedroom door swings closed. For goodness’ sake. I slow down, stretch my arms out
in front of me and feel my way back to the bedroom.

  Moments later, when Gavin and I are both in bed, back to back, I allow my thoughts to wander to the letter in Heather’s room and what the hell it means.

  It doesn’t take long for Gavin’s familiar gentle snores to rustle through the air. I pull the duvet up close to my neck and drift off to sleep. But seconds later Molly is crying and afraid again.

  ‘Gavin,’ I say, placing my hand on his shoulder. ‘I think Molly is awake.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Can you go check on her?’

  ‘Can you?’ Gavin sighs, barely awake. ‘I’m so sleepy.’

  ‘Gavin she misses you. She hasn’t seen you in days. I know she’d love a hug.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Gavin whispers. ‘I’ll see her tomorrow.’

  I exhale, exhausted, and throw the duvet back on my side. I’m just about to stand up when the lights all come back on and the house is painfully bright for this time of night. Molly appears at our bedroom door, dangling a teddy by her side.

  ‘Daddy,’ she squeals, noticing Gavin asleep beside me.

  ‘Hey, princess,’ Gavin says, sounding drunk his words are laced with so much sleep. ‘C’mere.’

  Gavin lifts the duvet on his side and Molly hurries into our room, around the end of the bed and climbs in beside her father. Gavin’s arms wrap around her and he shuffles into the middle until he’s touching me too. Tucked between us both he sighs and says, ‘Goodnight.’

  Finally, all three of us together in bed I close my eyes. I think all the lights are on downstairs, but I’m too content to move and I fall asleep within seconds.

  Thirty-Six

  Charlotte

  The next day

  ‘Daddy, daddy,’ Molly says, shaking Gavin awake. ‘It’s morning time.’

  ‘No, Molly.’ Gavin grunts, reaching for the duvet to tuck it closer to his neck. ‘It’s not morning.’

  ‘Yes it is!’ Molly insists, struggling to get out of our bed, which is much higher than hers. I watch sleepily as she reaches for the curtains and tugs, sliding them back a fraction. ‘See’ – she points – ‘It’s all morning outside.’

  I cover my eyes with my hands, the sudden burst of sunlight blinding me. ‘Oh God. What time is it?’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Molly, it’s only half six…’ Gavin says, no doubt checking his phone.

  ‘And it’s Saturday,’ I say, waking a little more. ‘Molly let go of the curtain. You’ll tear the hook and eyelets.’

  Molly giggles. ‘Curtains don’t have eyes. You’re so silly, Mammy.’

  ‘C’mon, Molly,’ I croak, getting up, exhausted. ‘I’ll put some cartoons on downstairs for you.’

  ‘And make a dippy egg?’ Molly suggests, rubbing her tummy so I know she’s hungry.

  ‘Later, Molly,’ I say, barely able to function. ‘Let’s just watch cartoons first. We can have an egg later.’

  Gavin sits up and rubs his eyes. ‘You know what? Eggs would actually be great. I didn’t get any dinner last night.’

  ‘Mammy and me eated fajitas last night,’ Molly says, rubbing her tummy some more. ‘They were yummy.’

  ‘I’ll come down with you,’ Gavin says, throwing back the duvet. ‘I can make us omelettes.’

  ‘Yay! Yay! Yay!’ Molly jumps up and down and I wish I had a fraction of her energy at this time of day.

  ‘No. Wait here. We need to talk,’ I say to Gavin.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ he asks.

  ‘No. Not really,’ I say, trying to hide how pissed off I am in front of Molly.

  ‘Do you not like omelettes?’ Molly asks. ‘We can have dippy eggs. And then you can be happy.’

  ‘Later, Molly,’ I say, taking her hand. ‘It’s just cartoons now. Eggs later.’

  ‘Do curtains really have eyes, Mammy?’ Molly asks as we’re walking down the stairs.

  ‘What?’ I laugh. ‘No, Molly. Of course they don’t.’

  ‘But you said…’

  ‘I suppose curtains do have eyes, Molly. But they are called “eyelets” and it’s what the rail goes through.’

  ‘Eye-lights,’ says Molly slowly, and I ruffle her hair.

  I open the sitting-room door to find the lights and TV on.

  ‘It’s magic,’ Molly says, and I don’t tell her otherwise.

  ‘Oh, look,’ I say. ‘Peppa Pig is on.’

  ‘Yuck.’ Molly scrunches her nose. ‘Sam says Peppa Pig is for babies.’

  ‘You are a baby, Molly,’ I sigh.

  ‘I. Am. Four!’

  ‘Okay, Molly. Okay. You’re four. And not a baby,’ I try not to laugh. ‘So, what do you want to watch?’

  Molly doesn’t answer for a moment. Peppa is jumping in muddy puddles and Molly can’t seem to pull her eyes away from the screen.

  ‘Sam said Peppa Pig is for babies,’ Molly says again, obviously sad as she shakes her head.

  ‘This Sam little shit again?’ I say.

  Molly gasps and pulls her eyes away from the screen to stare at me with her mouth open.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say quickly, trying not to wince as I study Molly’s horrified expression. ‘I just don’t think Sam is a very good little boy. He doesn’t get to tell you what you can and can’t watch, Molly. Or what colour blocks you can play with. Or anything like that.’ I can feel myself grow crosser just thinking about this kid.

  ‘Do you want to watch Peppa Pig?’ I ask.

  Molly nods.

  ‘Right, good,’ I say. ‘Hop up on the couch and stay here for a while. I need to go back upstairs and talk to Daddy.’

  ‘And then is it dippy egg time?’ Molly asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘After I talk to Daddy we’ll all have yummy dippy eggs, all of us together.’

  It doesn’t take long before Molly is engrossed in TV and I go back upstairs.

  I find Gavin asleep again but this conversation can’t wait until later. I slam the bedroom door behind me and stare at the bed, waiting.

  ‘Jesus,’ Gavin grumbles, his eyes opening slowly.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘Later, Charlie, please? I’m so tired.’

  ‘I’m tired too.’ I fold my arms.

  ‘I know.’ He closes his eyes again. ‘Come back to bed.’ Gavin pulls the duvet around him and turns his back.

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ I shout.

  ‘Charlie. What?’ Gavin throws back the duvet, clearly pissed off as he sits up. ‘It’s barely morning. Will you calm down.’

  ‘Don’t you bloody tell me to calm down, Gavin. Just don’t.’

  ‘Charlie, come on.’

  ‘When were you going to tell me, Gavin, huh? Huh?’ I shout louder. ‘Were you ever going to tell me? Or did you think I wouldn’t notice when you and Heather started using our daughter for spare parts?’

  ‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’ Gavin’s eyes darken and I can’t tell if he’s angry or upset.

  ‘That’s not an answer.’ I shake my head as I turn my back. I can’t even look at him right now.

  ‘Charlie,’ Gavin calls after me as I open the door. ‘Charlie, c’mon,’ he shouts, reaching our bedroom door as I walk down the stairs. ‘You’re the one who said you wanted to talk and now you’re walking away.’

  ‘Don’t you dare try to turn this on me,’ I shout back. ‘Just go back to bed, Gavin. I don’t want to be anywhere near you.’

  Fighting back tears I return to the sitting room. ‘It’s dippy-egg time, Molly.’ I’m surprised to find an empty couch. ‘Molly,’ I call, walking towards the kitchen. ‘Molly!’

  She’s not in the kitchen either. I’m about to check her bedroom when I hear gentle whimpering coming from the larder cupboard. I open the door to find her sitting between the sweeping brush and the ironing board. Her knees are tucked into her chest and her little hands are covering her eyes.

  ‘Oh, Molly.’

  Thirty-Seven

  Kayla

  It’s hard to wake up. I blink a lot. I’
m not sure if it’s morning or night. Napping during the day and then being awake for hours at night staring at the ceiling is messing with my sense of time. Finally, I manage to keep my eyes open and I realise it’s bright outside. There’s a tray of breakfast on the end of my bed. Someone has come and left cornflakes, orange juice and a bowl of shrivelled-looking fruit. I’m surprised I didn’t hear them come in. Usually the noise in this place around breakfast time would deafen you, but I’ve been sleeping right through the last few mornings. And I still wake up tired. I’m constantly tired the last few days.

  ‘Morning,’ Mam says.

  ‘Jesus.’ I jump, suddenly noticing her slouched in the chair next to my bed.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.’

  ‘Were you here all night?’ I ask.

  Mam nods. ‘Yup.’

  ‘Did you sleep?’ I add.

  ‘Of course.’

  Mam is the worst liar. Her eyes go all squinty, as if she’s afraid you’ll look into them and call her bluff. To be fair, all of her looks squinty today. As if her whole body is closing in on itself. It’s bloody creepy. She’s so skinny. Like, weirdly thin. I can’t remember the last time she wore make-up and her hair is in bits. The roots are shocking, and I don’t think I ever noticed she has such dark hair before. She’s been blonde all my life but there’s a big chunk of black-brown sitting on the top of her head now.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Mam says, standing up and pouring some milk onto my cornflakes.

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  ‘You gave us a bit of a fright last night.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Don’t you remember?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Your temperature was sky high and you were passing out and shaking and…’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, slowly remembering some madness last night, but it feels like a dream. I remember dad freaking out and calling the nurses. And then the nurses getting panicked and calling the doctors. They gave me some medicine and I thought I fell asleep after that. I don’t remember Mam getting here, or Dad leaving. What a weird night.