‘Thank you again for the lift last night,’ I say, the brief silence making me anxious.
‘No problem,’ he says, coming back to take his seat at the opposite side of the desk. ‘Drink?’ he asks. ‘Tea, coffee, glass of water?’
‘Um, no,’ I say, looking around his office. There’s no coffee machine or even a kettle. There’s a bottle of unopened Lucozade on top of the cabinet behind his desk but I doubt he wants to split it. ‘Thank you, but I’m fine.’
‘You sure? I’m having a coffee.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Okay,’ he says and reaches forward to press a button on his desk phone. ‘Hi, Matilda. Could you grab me an americano and a muffin when you get a moment please? Actually on second thought…’ He pauses, and his eyes shift from his desk to find mine. ‘You didn’t get a chance to bake yesterday, did you?’
I shake my head and he smiles, understandingly.
‘Matilda, make that just a coffee today, please.’
‘What?’ A women’s voice carries over his loudspeaker. ‘But you love the muffins in the canteen.’
‘I do,’ he says. ‘But just a coffee today. Can you get two, actually? Thank you.’ He smiles at me. ‘Just in case you change your mind.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, not really sure why. ‘Hopefully I’ll have time to bake a double batch later. Kayla is so much better today.’
Jack’s jaw twitches but he doesn’t contradict me. I look around his office some more. His running gear is folded neatly on a suede armchair that sits under the window. There’s another energy drink next to his clothes, only that bottle is empty.
‘You didn’t go home last night,’ I say, and I hate that it comes out accusatory.
‘I wanted to be nearby,’ he says.
‘In case she took another turn?’ I ask.
‘That armchair is surprisingly comfortable,’ he says, avoiding my question. ‘I think I spend more time asleep there than I do in bed.’
‘Really?’ I say. ‘It looks kind of stiff and firm.’
‘Yeah okay. You’re right,’ he agrees. ‘It’s awful and uncomfortable. But I do catch a few Zs there. Quite a lot. It keeps my colleagues in osteopathy in business. My back is in bits.’
I know how he feels. My lower back has never been so sore. Every time I wake up in that horrible plastic chair next to Kayla my butt cheeks are numb and my back is knotted like a pretzel.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, feeling somehow responsible. ‘But thank you, I know you stayed to keep an eye on her. I really appreciate it.’
‘She’s a great kid,’ he says.
‘Yeah.’ I nod. ‘She is. She’s also full of questions.’
‘Oh,’ Jack says, clearly concerned as his eyebrows crinkle. ‘Is there something she’s worried about? Or something confusing her? I do my best to make sure I explain everything that’s happening to all the kids. I don’t want Kayla to ever be scared. And kids get scared when they don’t understand or feel we’re keeping things from them. Is there something I can help explain?’
‘About her treatment,’ I say. ‘Or, more, why it’s stopping.’
‘Oh.’ Jack sighs. ‘Her treatment isn’t stopping. Where did she get that idea from?’
‘No. I mean her chemo is stopping.’
There’s a knock on the door, interrupting us, and a middle-aged woman comes in with a grey paper tray cradling two takeaway cups of coffee with steam swirling out the small holes in the lids.
‘Ah, lovely. Thank you, Matilda,’ Jack says as she sets the coffee down on his desk.
‘And no muffin.’ Matilda sounds disappointed.
‘No,’ Jack says. ‘Not today. Thank you, Matilda. Would you mind closing the door on your way out, please?’
‘Of course,’ Matilda says, leaving.
The door closes with a gentle click and I feel overwhelmed again now Jack and I are alone. It’s such a strange feeling, I can’t quite put my finger on it.
‘My first cup today,’ Jack says, taking both coffees out of the paper tray. He places one in the centre of his desk, right between us, and he sits back in his chair cradling the other between both hands. ‘You’re really not going to make me drink this alone, are you?’
The delicious smell of thick, black coffee wafts towards me and my mouth waters. ‘Okay,’ I say, reaching for the cup. ‘It does smell great.’
‘I drink way too much of this stuff,’ he admits, taking a sip. ‘But if there’s one thing working here has taught me, it’s to enjoy the little things.’
I try not to let his words make me cry. I attempt to slip the lid off my cup to look inside, but it’s finicky. And the flimsy paper cut is so hot it’s hard to hold without burning my fingertips.
‘It’s just black,’ Jack says. ‘I don’t take milk.’
‘Oh, great’ I say, giving up on the lid.
‘Kayla told me you’re lactose intolerant.’
‘She did?’ I wonder why. And when.
‘She talks about you all the time,’ Jack says, a warm smile lighting up his face as he enjoys the rich taste of coffee.
‘She does?’ I say, not entirely surprised. I talk about her all the time too.
‘You’re really close,’ Jack says.
‘Yeah.’ I raise the cup to my lips and take a mouthful, only realising how exhausted I am as the warmth works its way towards my belly. ‘It’s just the two of us usually, so you know, it’s nice.’
‘Heather, you know that I am going to do everything I can for as long as I can to help Kayla, don’t you?’
‘I know,’ I say, sipping more coffee.
‘Would it help if I talked to Kayla? The three of us could have a chat this afternoon, maybe. I don’t want to get ahead of ourselves scaring her with big intimidating medical terms. But maybe I could answer some of her questions, and yours, and put her mind at ease.’
‘That would be great,’ I say, but don’t you need to get home? ‘You’ve been here all night. You must be exhausted.’
‘Don’t worry about me. Let’s just make sure Kayla is okay, yeah?’
‘Thank you,’ I say, feeling lighter than I have in days.
‘Actually, there was something else I was hoping to talk to you about today.’
‘There was?’
‘Yeah.’ He nods, suddenly seeming unsure and I can feel my new-found confidence fading fast. ‘There’s a ball on next week. It’s a fancy dinner and speeches. It can be horrendously boring, I’m not going to lie, but there’s dancing after and the wine is great. I was hoping you might be my guest.’
‘Me?’ I almost spit coffee across his desk.
‘And Kayla too of course,’ he adds, quickly.
‘Oh.’ I blush, realising I misread him.
‘Every year a couple of patients give a speech. About their treatment, their experience in the hospital. I thought Kayla might like to do it. I’ve heard her chatting with some of the other kids in the games room. She’s so kind and compassionate. And the nurses adore her. I can’t think of anyone better to speak.’
‘Wow that’s… that’s huge.’
‘I wanted to ask you, of course, before I made any suggestion to Kayla.’
‘Thank you. Wow. Yes. That would be fantastic. I mean, if she’s up for it. I’ll have to talk to her about it and see if she’s comfortable.’
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘I thought maybe I could come up to the ward in an hour or so and we could ask her together.’
‘Yes. Great,’ I take another mouthful of coffee, it suddenly tastes better than ever. ‘That would be great.’
Jack places his coffee cup on the table and stands up. I do the same, except I keep my coffee with me. It’s just about the only thing keeping me awake right now. We walk to the door together.
‘Okay, well I’ll speak to you again soon,’ Jack says and I’m probably reading too much into it but I think he sounds nervous. I wonder if he thinks Kayla might say no.
He stretches his arm out to me and I swit
ch my coffee from my right into my left hand so we can shake. Jack leans forward as our hands connect and I do the same. I think it’s odd that he’s going to kiss my cheek goodbye as if we’re French or terribly posh. But I don’t want to be rude and just walk away, and we’re still shaking hands. However, we’re misaligned as we lean in, and instead of catching my cheek, Jack’s lips press onto mine. It’s mortifying, and he’s not really kissing me. We’re just standing still with our lips together and I realise that his hand is on the door handle behind me. Jack wasn’t leaning in to kiss my cheek, he was leaning in to open the door. Oh my God.
‘Gosh, I’m so sorry.’ Jack rubs the back of his neck, cracking his head from side to side with an audible pop. ‘That was awkward. I hope I haven’t embarrassed you.’
‘No. No, it’s fine,’ I say, mortified.
‘I can only apologise,’ Jack says, as if it’s not equally our fault.
‘Perhaps the ball isn’t such a good idea after all,’ I say, not sure what the bubbles popping in my tummy right now mean. I think I haven’t been kissed in so long that feeling Jack’s lips on mine, accident or not, felt like something special.
‘Okay,’ Jack says. Disappointment is written all over his face. ‘I understand. I’m sorry you feel that way. But I respect your decision.’
‘And don’t say anything to Kayla,’ I add. ‘Please? She’ll read way too much into this. You know what kids are like.’
‘Of course.’ Jack frowns and I know I’ve insulted him by even suggesting that he might talk to Kayla about this. Part of me is desperate to leave. But another part wishes everything could be different and I could stay, maybe even kiss him for real. ‘I don’t think we need to discuss anything further today, okay?’
‘But, Kayla’s questions,’ Jack says.
‘Not today. I’ve got to get back to Kayla now,’ I say and I pull back the door dramatically and throw my half-full cup of coffee into the bin that’s waiting on the far side.
‘Bye. Goodbye,’ Matilda chirps as I pass.
‘Bye,’ I say.
I can feel Matilda’s eyes on me as I walk away and Jack is possibly watching too. I’m walking so fast my hips waddle uncomfortably as I round the corner and come to a sudden stop. Out of view I press my hand against the wall and bend in the middle to catch my breath, unable to believe exactly what just happened.
Forty
Kayla
November
‘Oh my God, you stink,’ Aiden says, holding his nose as he tries not to laugh.
‘Do I?’ I ask genuinely.
Aiden nods.
‘Sorry. I forgot you were coming,’ I say, lifting my shaky arm over my head to try to sneak a cheeky sniff. It’s not that bad, I decide.
‘Today is Tuesday,’ Aiden says, much more horrified that I wasn’t expecting him than by the fact that I just measured my body hygiene by inhaling a whiff of my underarm.
Aiden comes to visit every Tuesday without fail. And not just because he has double Irish on a Tuesday morning and I know he’d trade his signed Messi jersey to get out of class, but because it’s become our routine. Mam doesn’t even ask if he has his mother’s permission to be here anymore. I think both our mothers came to a realisation a few weeks into my treatment that there wasn’t any punishment they could threaten, or inflict, that would stop him from cutting class and catching the 9.15 a.m. train to Dublin to come visit me every single week.
‘Where is everyone?’ Aiden asks.
‘Mam has a meeting with the doctor. And the nurses are floating about. They come in and out all day. I’m never on my own for very long.’
‘Is your mam still baking for the hospital?’ Aiden asks, and I think he’s hoping for a brownie or muffin later.
‘She hasn’t had time to bake anything for a few days,’ I say, hoping he won’t ask why. ‘I think she’s getting worried they’ll let her go.’
‘Oh God.’ Aiden becomes serious. ‘They won’t will they?’
‘I hope not.’ I shrug, and a sharp pain instantly shoots out my shoulder. ‘It’s not about the money, you know. I don’t think they even pay her that well.’
‘They should,’ Aiden says. ‘Your mam’s muffins are the best.’
‘Thanks.’ I smile, realising that I can’t remember the last time I ate one. Mam brings them in to me all the time, but it’s an effort just to nibble the corner and I wait until she goes to the loo or something, wrap the giant muffin in a tissue and throw it in the bin so I don’t hurt her feelings.
‘You okay?’ Aiden asks. ‘You don’t seem yourself today. Do you need a break from your mam? Must be pretty intense just the two of you here all the time.’
‘Nooo,’ I say, trying not to take offence. I know Aiden doesn’t understand how close Mam and I are. Most teenagers my age hate their mothers, or at least they pretend to, but it’s always just been Mam and me. I could spend all the time in the world with her.
‘What then?’ Aiden asks. ‘Is it really worries about your mam’s job or is there more going on? Do you want to talk?’
‘I am a little worried about her losing the job. It’s been so good for her. Mam needs the head space. Baking is a perfect distraction. She’s getting mad stressed over all this medical stuff.’
‘Understandable.’ Aiden nods, making his trying-to-look-wise face, which I know doubles up as his I-don’t-know-what-to-say face. ‘Your mam worries when you go out in the rain without a coat, I can’t even imagine how much all this must be stressing her out.’
‘She’s extra stressed since…’ I take a deep breath, not sure if I’m ready for the next words, but I really, really need someone to talk to. The kids in the games room are great and they really get cancer. I’m just not sure they get me. We’ve become cancer friends, but right now I need an old friend. I need Aiden.
‘Since…?’ Aiden asks, his eyes narrow with concern.
I shake my head. If I can’t find the right words to tell my best friend that I’m getting sicker and I don’t want any more treatment, how the hell am I supposed to tell my mother? Mam’s face lit up yesterday when she was taking about experiments or whatever it is, but I can’t try it. I really, really can’t. When Mam said, ‘No more chemo’ a few weeks back, I nearly burst with excitement. I was ecstatic even though deep down I knew it wasn’t that simple. I knew chemo couldn’t just stop and everything would go back to normal. Normal is long gone. But I was still so happy just to hear the word ‘stop’. I want it all to stop!
‘Kayla since what?’ I hear Aiden say and I realise my eyes are closed and I’ve drifted into that relaxing state somewhere between awake and asleep that has become my favourite place. The pain never feels quite so intense when I’m in that place.
I open my eyes and the words tumble from my lips. ‘Since I’m dying.’
Aiden doesn’t back away or shake his head the way my mam and dad do when the doctors break more bad news to them that basically spells out the inevitable. Instead Aiden nods and says, ‘What can I do?’
‘Aren’t you going to freak out?’ I ask.
‘Would it help if I did?’
‘No,’ I say, ‘not really.’
‘Right then, tell me what you need me to do. Because let’s face it, Kayla, there’s no way that head of yours isn’t formulating some sort of a plan, is there?’
I smile. I’m so glad this isn’t going to be a battle of acceptance for him the way I know it will be with Mam. ‘Help me with something very, very awesome,’ I say. ‘Please?’
Tears gather in the corner of Aiden’s eyes. ‘Have you told your mother you want to stop treatment?’
‘You know me too well, Aiden,’ I say. ‘You really, really do.’
‘So you haven’t told her,’ Aiden says.
‘Not yet.’
‘Oh, Kayla,’ Aiden says, becoming a little unsteady on his feet. He’s acting a bit more like my parents now and I wait for him to make a U-turn and tell me this is all crazy. He’d be right.
‘Is thi
s going to get us in trouble?’ Aiden asks.
‘Maybe.’ I shrug. Ouch, ouch, ouch, my spine hurts.
‘Oh God, it isn’t illegal, is it?’ Aiden adds.
‘Ha! Eh no, but there might be time for that yet.’
‘Kay—’
‘Jokes. Jokes,’ I say. ‘This is all perfectly legal. A bit out there. And really, really cool. Are you in?’
Aiden takes a deep breath and says, ‘I’m in.’
Forty-One
Kayla
‘Hey, hey, hey,’ I say as Molly bounces into my room. I laugh as I watch Charlotte desperately try to wrangle her hyper daughter but Molly charges towards me, as happy and cheerful as always.
‘I missed you soooooo much,’ she says. ‘I learned a song in school. Do you want to hear it?’
I don’t have time to answer before Molly breaks into song.
‘Zoo, zoo, who’s in the zoo?’
‘How are you, kiddo?’ Dad says, talking over Molly as she stomps around the room as if she’s a single troop lost from a marching band.
‘I’m okay,’ I lie.
‘Shh, Molly. Not so loud,’ Charlotte says. ‘Sorry, Kayla. She’s just so excited to see you.’
‘I’m excited to see her too,’ I say, struggling to speak loud enough to be heard over the noise Molly is creating.
‘Hello, Aiden,’ Dad says, acting awkward, as if he knows he’s interrupted an important conversation between Aiden and me.
‘Hey, Mr Doran. Kay and I were just watching some videos on YouTube,’ Aiden says.
Ugh, I groan inwardly, painfully aware that my phone is on the locker beside my bed and Aiden’s phone is peeking out of his backpack on the seat next to him.
‘Really?’ Dad asks, raising a curious eyebrow.
‘No, not really,’ I say, attempting to cover up. ‘We were talking about school actually.’
‘Yeah,’ Aiden jumps in, way too enthusiastic.
‘Zoo. Zoo. Zoo,’ Molly continues to sing and dance.
Aiden twists in his chair and unzips his rucksack to pull out something. ‘Look,’ he says, holding a colourful flyer over his head.
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