‘Speaking of Dad,’ I say. ‘Do you think he’ll be okay with this? With my decision.’
‘Kayla, this isn’t your decision, you do know that, right?’
‘Mam, please. I need you to understand.’
‘I know this is all scary and it hurts, but I just want what’s best for you—’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘You want to make me better. To keep me. But that’s not going to happen, Mam. It’s never going to happen. If you keep me – you keep me in this room.’
Mam looks around, sobbing and heartbroken.
‘I know that’s not the life you want for me. It’s not a life you’d want for anyone, is it?’
‘I need to talk to your dad,’ Mam says, her eyes round and puffy. ‘I can’t do this on my own, Kayla. I can’t. I can do most things alone. I’ve done most things alone. But not this. Definitely not this.’
Forty-Six
Heather
A week later
The kitchen is awash with muffins, cupcakes and brownies. I made extra brownies because brownies were a firm favourite with the kids on the ward, or so Kayla says, so I can only hope that the kids in her school will enjoy them just as much. I burnt the batch of cookies and had to throw them out. I haven’t had to throw anything out in years. I think it’s because I’m ridiculously nervous about today, for a whole variety of reasons.
I can hear Gavin, Charlotte and Molly walking around upstairs. Molly is clearly not happy to be woken at 6 a.m.
‘I don’t want to gooooo!’ she shouts, followed by some crying.
By the sound of Gavin’s gruff voice and lack of patience, he doesn’t appreciate the early start either. ‘You can sleep in the car, Molly. Now, please, will you just get dressed?’
Charlotte and I don’t have to worry about being woken up before dawn because we haven’t actually gone to sleep. Charlotte came downstairs around 1 a.m. and offered to help me bake. She said she couldn’t sleep and she wanted to be useful. I was nervous at first. I usually bake alone, and besides, if Charlotte’s cupboards are anything to go by she doesn’t stock anything that isn’t either organic or vegan, or preferably both. I thought she’d be horrified to see the ingredients going in to my muffins and brownies, but she didn’t seem all that bothered.
She must have been as anxious as I am because she kept checking her phone every few minutes as if she might receive wildly important messages in the middle of the night. I didn’t say anything. I guess she needed the distraction.
‘I’ll make us some coffee,’ she says, as she pulls up the kitchen blind to reveal that the sun is up and it really is morning time and today is actually happening.
‘Coffee would be great. Thanks,’ I say, piping some vanilla buttercream icing onto the last remaining bare muffin before dusting it with edible glitter in the school colours.
‘Can I have a muffin?’ Molly asks, coming into the kitchen with one shoe on and one off.
‘Not for breakfast,’ Charlotte says, before I have a chance to answer. ‘And where is your other shoe?’
Molly shrugs, clearly unfazed as she makes her way to the table to wait for food. Charlotte pops some five-grain bread in the toaster and my tummy rumbles.
‘Stick a slice on for me, Charlie,’ Gavin says, appearing in the kitchen looking equally as dishevelled as Molly. ‘Christ it’s early, isn’t it? Couldn’t they have postponed the race until after lunch?’ Gavin mumbles.
‘It was your idea to allow Kayla to participate in Sports Day, remember?’ I say, which isn’t entirely true.
Gavin and I had a lengthy discussion about whether or not to allow her to take part after the school phoned me to let me know that, as Aiden said, they were holding a fundraiser in her honour. Kayla was all for it, of course. Until she realised that she wouldn’t actually be able to take part in any of the games – just watch. But she hid her disappointment admirably and insisted she was well enough to go.
Gavin and I both reached the same verdict – that it was just too much for her – but Kayla enlisted the help of Jack who seemed to concur with our excitable fifteen-year-old that it wasn’t really a terrible idea. I had a million questions I wanted to ask Jack, but I found only a single desperate request tumbling out of my mouth.
‘Will you come?’
Jack looked shocked. And he didn’t answer at first. We’re barely speaking since our awkward kiss. He almost always has a nurse or a barrage of student doctors with him when he comes by to check on Kayla now. Kayla thinks it’s just coincidence but I’m pretty certain he doesn’t want to be alone with me. To say I was surprised when he rang me to explain that he’d moved a few things around and he’d be happy to join us for Sports Day is an understatement. I was so relieved at first. Jack will be there to keep an eye on Kayla if she becomes overwhelmed or tired and he’ll know what to do if she takes a bad turn. But it also means that Jack will be there watching me too. We can’t all fit in Gavin’s car, so Jack kindly offered to take Kayla and me with him. I know it’s for the best – Gavin would probably drive off the motorway with panic if Kayla so much as fainted. Jack is the best person to travel with. He’s also the worst and this is all so bloody intense I wish I had never agreed to any of it.
You’re doing it for Kayla. It’s all for Kayla, I tell myself as the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts towards me instantly lifting my mood.
‘We’ll need to go soon,’ Gavin says. ‘We want to get ahead of the traffic. We’ll drop you to the hospital, Heather, and go straight from there.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, hoping Charlotte is going to pass me a cup of coffee soon. I can see three full cups waiting on the countertop and I don’t feel as if I can just take one, no matter how desperate I am.
‘Don’t we have time for breakfast?’ Charlotte says, unimpressed.
‘Toast to go,’ Gavin says.
‘I’m hungry,’ Molly says. ‘I want dippy eggs.’
‘How about a muffin?’ Gavin says.
‘A chocolate-chip one?’ Molly chirps, suddenly bright-eyed and awake.
‘That’s okay, Heather, isn’t it?’ Gavin asks. ‘I mean, there’s still enough for the kids at the school, right?’
I sweep my eyes over the countertop laden with confectionary. ‘There’s plenty. Actually, we could all have one now. With our coffee,’ I say, dropping a hint and practically pleading with Charlotte to pass me a cup.
‘I really don’t think chocolate for breakfast is a good idea,’ Charlotte says.
‘Please, Mammy. Oh please, please. I’ll be the bestest best girl today. Please. I super love Heather’s muffins.’
‘I don’t think a few chocolate chips is going to cause any cavities, Charlie,’ Gavin says, rolling his eyes. ‘Go on, Molly. But just for today, eh? It’s back to Mammy’s yummy five-grain bread tomorrow, okay?’
Molly sticks out her tongue and I don’t blame her. Yummy and grains should never be used in the same sentence. Molly hops down from her chair with a burst of energy that defies how lazy and sluggish she pretended to be just moments ago. She reaches the counter and looks up at all the treats, but she doesn’t reach up to help herself.
‘Would you like a chocolate-chip muffin or a chocolate brownie?’ I ask.
‘A chocolate-chip muffin,’ Molly says, her eyes twinkling with excitement. Her happiness is quite contagious, and I find myself looking forward to my muffin too.
I reach towards the back of the countertop and pick out the muffin with the most chocolate chips and I bend over to pass it to Molly. Unexpectedly, Molly wraps her chubby little arms around my neck and says, ‘Yummy. Thank you, Heather.’
Even more unexpectedly, I begin to cry as I hug her cozy little body back. ‘You’re very welcome, Molly,’ I say. ‘You’re such a good little girl. Just like your big sister.’
Gavin clears his throat. ‘Excuse me,’ he says, leaving the room, and I know I’ve upset him.
Charlotte goes after him.
‘You can sit aside me,’ Molly says, lett
ing me go and pointing to the table.
‘Thank you, Molly,’ I say, taking a muffin with considerably fewer chocolate chips for myself and, unable to hold out any longer, I take one of the cups of coffee and I follow Molly to sit at the table.
‘I like Sports Day,’ Molly says, mid-chew of a huge mouthful of muffin.
‘Me too,’ I lie, prioritising large mouthfuls of coffee over bites of cake.
My phone beeps and I pull it out of my pocket, my face lighting up when I see a message from Kayla. I open it and it’s a photo of Kayla and Jack smiling excitedly with their thumbs up. Kayla is sitting in a wheelchair with Jack crouched beside her. I recognise the backdrop of the hospital canteen immediately. She’s dressed in a bright-red hoodie and black tracksuit bottoms. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in anything other than pyjamas in I can’t remember how long. She looks great. Her cheeks have a hint of colour and she’s wearing a new bandana I haven’t seen before. It’s red too and pretty. Jack’s legs are out of shot but it looks as if he’s in a tracksuit too. He certainly appears very different to how he usually looks. A banner streaks across the centre of the picture and the words we’re waiting sit in the middle in bubble writing followed by a multitude of emojis.
‘Take one of us. Take one of us,’ Molly says, leaning close to me and pointing at my screen. ‘Send Kayla our picture.’
I drape my arm over Molly’s shoulder, and she snuggles close to me.
‘Say cheese,’ I say.
‘Cheeessseee.’
I snap and – content that my phone has autocorrected my red puffy eyes – I send the picture to Kayla, with the caption: See you soon. Can’t wait.
I’ve a tonne of texts on my phone. Mostly from the teachers at Kayla’s school wishing both Kayla and me luck today as if we’re running a marathon or moving into a new home. Not simply attending Sports Day the same, unnoticed way we do every year. Usually I turn up at the last moment after dashing out of work early, while knowing I’ll have to work twice as many minutes in overtime to get my boss off my back. Last year I arrived at the school twenty minutes before the end of the day for the parents’ and kids’ three-legged race, which Kayla and I lost in spectacular style and spent the next week or two teasing each other about.
This year is nothing like last year. And, even worse, I fear it may be nothing like next year.
Forty-Seven
Kayla
‘C’mon, Kayla! Hurry, Kayla, hurry,’ people chant.
I try. I’m moving faster than I have in months and it’s fabulous. I don’t know who the voices belong to. It doesn’t even matter; their cheering spurs me on.
‘You can do it, Kayla,’ they say.
My arms burn as I turn the wheels on my wheelchair as fast as I can. The wind whips against my face and I take deep breaths, loving how amazing it feels to be outside, even in the cold. I wonder why I never appreciated fresh air before. I should have.
The grass is bumpy beneath the wheels and the faster I go the more my bum bounces about in the chair. I should probably worry about toppling over or bouncing right out but I don’t. Not even once.
‘Go. Go. Go.’ The chanting is deafeningly wonderful as the finish line comes into view.
I finish last, unsurprisingly, but it doesn’t matter because I’m swarmed by a cheering crowd. Close friends, not-as-close friends and yet-to-be friends. But over their shoulder, a little further down the field, are my once-upon-a-time friends. People I sat beside in class. I confided in these kids when I was having a rubbish day. I was on a debate team with them. Some of them are my fellow basketball teammates. They stay well away, as if I’m contagious. They’re not stupid, they know I can’t infect them with cancer, but getting too close could infect them with uncoolness and that’s the worst disease of all, right?
‘That was awesome,’ Aiden says, wrapping his arms loosely around my neck in the way he’s learned to do so he doesn’t hurt me.
‘What?’ I scrunch my nose. ‘I lost, you numpty.’
‘Yeah, but you also rolled over Roisin Kelly’s foot.’ Aiden is laughing so hard he snorts.
‘No way.’ I smirk. ‘Did I really?’
‘You should have seen her face,’ Aiden giggles. ‘Best race ever, if you ask me.’
‘Well done, Kay,’ Dad says.
‘You’re very slow,’ Molly adds, unimpressed. ‘All the other people passed you.’
Aiden laughs louder than ever. I laugh too.
‘Yeah.’ I nod. ‘I am.’
‘Can I have a go?’ Molly asks and points towards me.
‘In my chair?’ I say.
Molly nods. ‘I bet I can go faster.’
‘I bet you could too,’ I say. ‘But I’m a little too tired to stand up right now. But you can sit on my lap and we can go for a spin. How about that?’
‘Cooolll,’ Molly says.
‘Kayla, I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Dad says. ‘Your knee.’ He points as if I’ve forgotten or could ever forget.
‘I have two knees, Dad,’ I say. ‘She can sit on the other one.’
‘Molly be careful,’ Charlotte warns as Molly rushes over to me. ‘Kayla, are you sure she won’t be too heavy?’
‘Of course you won’t be too heavy, will you, Molly?’ I say. ‘You’re only little.’
‘I am not.’ Molly jams her hands onto her hips in protest. ‘I’m four.’
I laugh some more. ‘Of course, how could I forget how grown-up you are. Now, c’mon. Hop up and let’s go. Aiden will you push us?’
‘Sure,’ Aiden says. ‘Let’s go around the basketball court and Molly can throw a few hoops. See if she has the natural Doran talent.’
Dad lifts Molly onto my lap, taking ages to position her so she’s to one side, avoiding my bad leg. ‘Now don’t wriggle or move Molly or you’ll hurt Kayla.’ I can tell by Dad’s face that he’s nervous.
Aiden starts to push the chair and we slowly begin to roll forward.
‘Faster, faster,’ Molly shrieks.
‘That’s plenty fast enough,’ Dad warns. ‘Take it nice and steady, Aiden. That’s it.’
‘Gotcha,’ Aiden says, though we’re barely moving. ‘I’ll be careful.’
I wave to Mam on the far side of the yard. She’s chatting to Miss Hanlon and she’s smiling and doesn’t notice me at first. When I finally get her attention she suddenly charges across the grass towards us.
‘Stop. Stop!’ she shouts. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Mam. It’s fine,’ I say. ‘Molly is just having a little spin.’
‘C’mon, Molly.’ Mam lifts Molly off my lap and places her down on the ground and she throws Dad a dirty look. ‘What on earth were you thinking?’ Mam says.
I’m not sure who she’s asking.
‘Gavin, really. I turn my back for two minutes.’
‘No harm done, Heather,’ Jack says, appearing at Mam’s side. ‘They were just having some fun.’
Mam sighs and suddenly seems less frantic. Jack has a real calming effect on her. It’s good. And Dad looks as if he appreciates that he’s not going to get his head bitten off after all.
‘It’s time to go inside now,’ Mam says. ‘It’s too cold out here for you and Miss Hanlon says there’ll be music and dancing in the hall soon.’
‘I can’t dance,’ I say, becoming embarrassed that people have started to stare, obviously noticing Mam’s dramatic sprint across the whole yard. Jesus. I wish I thought about how much I’d stand out today before I agreed to come.
I mean, it’s bad enough being stuck in this chair, but my whole family being here too is a bit intense and everyone keeps staring at me as if I’m a stranger and not someone who’s been in school with them for the last four years. I know I look different now. I’m pretty skinny, and even though I like this new bandana Jack gave me it’s still obvious I’m trying to cover my lack of hair. I hope Jack doesn’t tell anyone he’s my doctor. That’s a level of mortification I simply can’t handle right now. It’s as if I’
ve come with a whole team of super-enthusiastic babysitters who make awkward conversation with the teachers and don’t really know where to stand. I just want some space. I really thought today would be different. I thought it would be just like a regular day at school. But it’s nothing like that at all.
‘Kayla, I’m sorry.’ Mam’s smile falls. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I just mean it’s warm inside and I don’t want you to get sick.’
‘I’m already sick,’ I say.
‘Kayla.’ Dad says my name the way he used to when I was a little girl and I did something naughty.
I roll my eyes. I’m pretty pissed off that I’m clearly not supposed to mention the obvious. That I am sick. Dying in fact. I don’t think a light breeze is going to change much.
‘It’s fine out here,’ I say. And it is. Google is saying it’s something mad; like it’s ten degrees warmer than it usually is at this time of year. I don’t even need a coat. Although Mam insisted I bring one. I’m surprised she hasn’t noticed I took it off and asked Aiden to stuff it into his locker for me.
‘Kayla, I’m not going to argue with you,’ Mam says.
‘Okay. Good. You go inside if you want, then. I’m staying out here.’
Dad’s eyes narrow. ‘Kayla,’ he warns. ‘Don’t speak to your mother like that.’
‘It’s not cold,’ I snap. ‘What was the point in driving all the way down here if I can’t even hang out with my friends? I might as well have stayed in bed in the hospital.’
‘Kayla that’s not fair to say,’ Dad says. ‘You know we’re worried about you.’
‘Why did you even let me come today if you were going to be like this?’
‘Like what?’ Dad asks.
‘All overprotective and stuff. It’s embarrassing.’
‘Kay…’ Dad says, crouching next to me. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. Today is supposed to be fun for you and we don’t want to ruin that.’
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