The Forever Gift

by Brooke Harris

  ‘Did you know. Did you know about it?’

  ‘No,’ Dad says. ‘No. I didn’t. How could I?’

  ‘Charlotte was in on this,’ Mam says. ‘Aiden told me. Oh, he didn’t want to confess. But his mother dragged it out of him. Did you know Mary had no idea he’s been skipping school every Tuesday to come visit Kayla?’

  My mouth finally opens. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. My lips sting and I know they’re all cracked and dry. Stupid hospital air. And my throat is on fire. I mean actual fire. Jesus. But I think I can manage words. I still can’t open my eyes, that seems to be too much effort for my stupid body right now.

  ‘Charlotte and Aiden helped me,’ I say. ‘But it was my idea.’

  I sound like a one-hundred-and-ten-year-old smoker. It’s weird and kind of funny but Mam and Dad are all super serious so I can’t laugh right now.

  ‘Oh, Kayla,’ Mam says. ‘Oh, you’re awake. You’re awake. God you scared me.’

  ‘Hey there, kiddo,’ Dad says.

  ‘Drink…’ I croak. Okay that noise deserves at least a giggle, I decide.

  But Mam and Dad don’t make a sound.

  My eyes flutter open and the room is horribly bright. I close them again. I count backwards from three in my head and try again.

  ‘There she is,’ Dad says, looking at me. ‘Hey you. Hey.’

  ‘Hey,’ I crackle back, blinking a lot. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘How about what day is it?’ Mam says.

  ‘Dad?’ I ask, confused.

  ‘You’ve been out of it for a couple of days, Kay,’ Dad explains as he pours some water. ‘You hit the stage like your mother hit the Barcadi Breezers after you were born. Hard.’

  ‘Hey,’ Mam says, semi-giggling, semi-offended.

  It’s so good to hear her laugh. Dad always makes her laugh.

  ‘What?’ Dad says, carrying a glass of water over to my bed. ‘Don’t you think it’s time Kayla knew the truth? I snuck a couple of Barcadi Breezers into the hospital the night you were born, Kay, and your mam and I celebrated like a couple of teenage rebels.’

  ‘Except I couldn’t actually drink mine because I was breastfeeding,’ Mam says as she slides her arm behind my back and helps me to sit up.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Dad says smiling as he passes Mam the glass of water that she helps me sip. ‘That’s right. I drank them all, didn’t I?’

  Mam and Dad laugh and try so hard to keep the atmosphere light. It works, and I love that they have so much history together. But a horrible feeling grips me as I listen to them reminisce and tease each other the way old friends do.

  ‘You’ll stay friends forever, won’t you?’ I say, suddenly very short of air.

  ‘Hmm, sweetie?’ Mam says, and their giggling stops instantly as she gives me her full attention.

  ‘You and Dad. You’ll stay friends, won’t you?’ I puff out. ‘Even when I’m gone?’

  ‘Kay. C’mon,’ Mam says, shaking her head.

  Dad looks at me. I can see his eyes glistening. ‘You’re mother and I will always be friends. Always, Kay. That’s not something you have to worry about, okay?’

  ‘It’s just, you guys have stayed in touch all these years because of me.’ My eyes are so heavy. ‘And when I’m not here anymore…’

  ‘Kayla please,’ Mam says, the same way she does every time I start to talk about the future. A future without me. ‘Let’s talk about something else, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘you can’t be cross with Aiden and Charlotte.’

  ‘Kayla I’m not cross,’ Mam says.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ I say, licking my stinging lips. ‘I know you. You’re all embarrassed. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Mam says, and her ‘I’m trying to be all cool and breezy because you’re sick’ voice comes out and I’ve learned that this voice really is her ‘if you weren’t sick you’d be in so much trouble right now’ voice.

  ‘I put Charlotte in a mad awkward position. I asked her for help. I told her not to tell Dad. Or anyone.’

  ‘And Aiden?’ Mam asks. ‘He’s been skipping school.’

  ‘Just Tuesdays,’ I say, and I have to pause to draw some breath.

  ‘Well.’ Mam takes a deep breath, almost as deep as mine. ‘I think what you tried to do is very, very kind, Kayla. But you must know we can’t go ahead. We can’t expect people to buy us a bakery. Where would we even buy, for goodness’ sake?’

  Dad winks at me as Mam rambles on and on and on. And when Mam is distracted by a knock at the door, Dad whispers, ‘I have an idea, Kay. I have a great idea.’

  ‘Hi, Jack,’ Mam says, as she opens the door. ‘Come on in.’

  ‘You know what, Mam?’ I sigh, exhausted again but also excited to know what Dad’s idea is. ‘Maybe you and Doctor Patterson could talk in his office, while I get some asleep?

  Doctor Patterson looks at me with a sceptical smirk, but he nods, smiles and agrees. ‘Sure. You get some rest, Kayla. I’ll be back around later.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  Dad gets ready to leave too, believing me.

  ‘Dad,’ I whisper gently. ‘Will you stay with me for a while.’

  ‘Sure, kiddo. I’d really love to.’

  Fifty-Two

  Charlotte

  December

  ‘How do you spell unicorn?’ Molly asks, sitting at the kitchen table with a pink pencil in her right hand and an even brighter pink notepad in front of her.

  ‘U-N-I-C-O-R-N,’ I reply, washing up after dinner. ‘Molly that’s about the tenth time I’ve spelt that for you today.’

  ‘It’s a hard word,’ Molly says, poking her tongue between her lips and scrunching her eyes as she concentrates on writing the letters.

  ‘Are you writing your Santa list?’ I ask, trying to scrub a stubborn stain off the baking tray.

  ‘Yes,’ Molly replies, twitching with excitement. ‘I’m going to show Daddy when he gets home from the hostable.’

  I let the scrubbing brush fall into the sink as I turn to face my little girl. ‘Sweetheart, it might be bedtime before Daddy gets home.’

  ‘Is Daddy helping Kayla write her Santa list?’ Molly asks.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I can’t wait for Christmas,’ Molly chirps. ‘I’m going to sit aside Kayla for dinner and I’m going to let her play with all my toys. Even my unicorn.’

  Tears gather in the corners of my eyes and I look away.

  ‘Don’t be sad, Mammy.’ Molly hops off her chair and walks over to wrap her little arms around my legs. ‘You can play with my toys too.’

  I exhale slowly and run a hand through my hair, wincing when my rubber glove lands suds into my hair.

  ‘What are you asking Santa for, Molly?’ I ask, fishing the scrubbing brush out of the sink, desperate for a distraction.

  Molly hurries back to table and sitting down she takes a big, deep breath. ‘Barbie with pink hair to brush. Scooter that’s got shiny lights and can go fast. Fairy door so I can get new fairies.’ Molly pauses for another deep breath. ‘Mary Poppins dress-up dress and a unicorn teddy that’s all pink and purple with multicoloured hair.’ Breathless, she nods. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘Oh, Molly,’ I say, taking off my rubber gloves to come and see this mammoth list for myself. ‘That’s quite the list, isn’t it?’ I read the words over her shoulder.

  ‘I did my best writing so Santa will know I’m a good girl.’

  ‘Your writing is lovely,’ I say, proud. ‘And you are a good girl. But I really think three gifts is more than enough on any Santa list, okay?’

  ‘But… but… but…’

  ‘Molly,’ I say.

  ‘But I gots to put on even more things.’ Molly looks at me with wide, desperate eyes. ‘I’m not finished.’

  ‘Well’ – I walk back to the sink, slipping my hand back into my gloves – ‘you’re just going to have to choose the things that matter most, Molly, and ask for those. Put the most important thing at the top.’

  I watc
h Molly expecting some objection or perhaps some sulking, but she smiles and nods. ‘Okay,’ she says, tearing the list she worked so hard on out of her notepad and turning over a fresh page to start again.

  ‘I know the thing that matters the mostest ever. I’ll ask for that.’

  ‘Good girl,’ I say., wondering where I’m going to get a very specific pink-and-purple unicorn with multicoloured hair. I pick up her finished letter, which she has carefully folded. ‘Okay, Molly. Put your coat on please, it’s time for piano lessons. We can post this on the way, if you like.’

  ‘But I don’t want to go to peenano.’ Molly drops her pencil and folds her arms. ‘I want to stay at home and watch Teen Titans Go!’

  ‘Molly, please,’ I say, too exhausted for a tantrum. ‘This is your last lesson before Christmas. You’ll have a lovely long break then, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Molly says, closing over her notepad. ‘Can we go see Kayla after peenano?’

  I nod, smiling. ‘Okay. But just for a little while. Remember Kayla is very tired.’

  ‘Yay!’ Molly says and scampers off to get her coat.

  Fifty-Three

  Heather

  My phone is riddled with messages and emails. RTÉ and all the papers want to talk to me. I actually had someone from the Taoiseach’s office contact me asking if I could call them back. I haven’t had a chance. I don’t even know what I’d say if I did. I can’t deny that my heart skips a beat knowing my daughter’s plight has reached the government. But, as much as I’d like to, I don’t have time to entertain politicians. Every time I think Kayla is getting a hold on this thing, she slips a little. And every time I think she’s slipping, she fights back. My head is spinning and the sudden attention from everyone at the hospital, nurses, doctors, the other parents, combined with a media frenzy has me completely frazzled.

  ‘Mam,’ Kayla says, waking from what seems like endless sleeping. ‘Can we go home?’

  ‘What?’ I ask, rousing from the semi-sleep I fall in and out of all the time.

  ‘Please?’ Kayla breathes out.

  I sit up straight. Instantly fully awake. I wonder if she’s dreaming. She mumbles in her sleep a lot lately. I spend hours watching her sleep. Sometimes her lips twitch and curl into a smile and I hope she’s dreaming about something wonderful. I usually ask her what she’s been dreaming about when she wakes but most of the time she’s too exhausted to tell me, or she can’t remember.

  ‘Home,’ Kayla sighs. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Kayla. Sweetie. The last time you left the hospital…’

  I wait for Kayla to argue back the way she always does when I shoot down her suggestions with logic but all I hear is deep breathing.

  ‘Kayla?’

  Nothing. She’s asleep again.

  I curl into a ball on the bedside chair. It’s the same ball I’ve slept in for the last countless days.

  Gavin drops in and out. I know he’s trying to juggle work and home life and hospital time. But his visits are becoming more and more frequent and he’s staying for longer each time. Sometimes Kayla is awake and is delighted to see him. Sometimes she’s asleep but he’s still delighted to see her. Charlotte often drops by with Molly too, though Charlotte and I don’t really speak. It’s painfully awkward since I know she went behind my back with all the Help Fund Me stuff. And it’s also very uncomfortable since neither of us have ever acknowledged that it’s been Kayla’s pride and joy recently, the one thing that’s given her light despite any of our grown-up reservations.

  Molly on the other hand is a treat. She waltzes into the room with her hand on her hip, confident and ready to chat. She fills me in on her mean piano teacher who makes her practise and practise, and tells me about how she loves swimming and diving right down to the bottom to get the shiny beanie dolphin that her instructor throws in. I’ve come to enjoy Molly as a wonderful breath of innocent fresh air. Charlotte’s visits are becoming more frequent. They started out once a week, then twice weekly. Now she’s here almost every day when Molly finishes school and I wonder when they find time for piano and swimming, but I don’t ask.

  ‘It’s nearly Christmas,’ Molly says, flinging back the door of Kayla’s room and charging in full of energy and excitement.

  Kayla stirs from sleep at the mention of her favourite time of year, but she doesn’t wake enough to open her eyes or to speak.

  ‘Shh, Molly,’ Charlotte says, placing her finger over her lips. ‘What did we talk about in the car? Kayla is very sleepy. We need to be calm and quiet.’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘Kayla has been asleep most of the day. It would actually be great if she woke up for a little while.’

  Charlotte looks at me, unsure. I know she wants to enquire about Kayla. But she doesn’t say a word. I’m sure she’ll ask Gavin at home later instead.

  ‘Sorry,’ Charlotte says. ‘We should have called ahead.’

  ‘No, no. It’s fine,’ I say, honestly. ‘It’s nice to have some company.’

  ‘Santa is coming soon,’ Molly reminds me, as she climbs into the chair beside me and smiles up at me with beautiful, happy eyes.

  ‘Yes. Yes he is,’ I say. ‘I hope you’ve been a good girl.’

  ‘I bee’d so good,’ Molly says.

  ‘That’s great, Molly,’ I say.

  ‘I even goed to peenano tonight just so Mammy could be not wibbly wobbly.’

  I look at Charlotte, concerned. She doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Mammy was going to cry when she was scrubbing the dishes, but I said I’d go to peenano and then she didn’t need to cry.’

  I look at Charlotte. Her eyes are glassy as she watches Kayla. I think about asking her what her plans are for Christmas. Gavin will no doubt want to spend some time here. Will Molly and Charlotte come with him, or would Molly prefer to stay at home with her presents? I’m plucking up the courage to ask when Molly pushes my hair behind my ear as she does often when she has a big secret to tell. Usually it’s about that mean boy in school who won’t let her build a colourful tower, but today she takes a deep breath and presses her gorgeous little nose even closer than usual.

  ‘I asked Santa for a secret,’ she whispers, her warm breath tickling my ear.

  ‘A surprise,’ I say, knowingly. Kayla always asked Santa for a surprise when she was Molly’s age. My favourite thing on Christmas morning was waking up and seeing her little, stunned face.

  ‘No.’ Molly pulls back a little but stays in whispering distance. ‘A secret.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘A secret sounds very special, Molly. I hope Santa brings it.’

  ‘He will,’ Molly says, confidently. ‘Santa is magic.’

  ‘He is,’ I say, nodding.

  ‘It’s okay, Heather,’ Molly says pressing her lips right against my ear, and her small chubby arms tighten a fraction around my neck. ‘Santa can do anything. Ben in my class said so.’

  ‘Oh, Molly,’ I exhale, wishing life were that simple.

  ‘I can’t wait for Christmas,’ Molly says.

  ‘Me too,’ I lie with a heavy heart.

  Fifty-Four

  Charlotte

  I drive onto our road some time before midnight. Gavin is still at the hospital with Kayla and Heather. Molly is asleep in her car seat in the back. Somehow our brief visit to the hospital turned into hours. Kayla woke up shortly after we arrived and when Gavin came back to the room, she took a couple of mouthfuls of Heather’s coffee, much to Gavin’s disgust.

  ‘Seriously, Heather, you don’t let her drink coffee, do you? That’s so bad for her,’ he said, wide-eyed.

  ‘Really, Dad?’ Kayla whispered, straining to make sound pass her lips. ‘Coffee is what you’re worried about. You do see the irony, right?’

  Everyone laughed. Even Gavin. But there was a sad acceptance that followed our giggles. That’s how most of the evening played out. Laughing and talking could only lift us for so long before the weight of sadness inevitably followed.

&nb
sp; No one came to tell us visiting hours were over, the way they used to when we outstayed our welcome. The nurses popped in and out to perform their usual checks. We’re so accustomed to them poking and prodding Kayla that conversation went on around them, or we paused to include them. There was no awkwardness and it all felt very normal, as if this is what life has become for us all now and we’re so familiar that we fit in to Kayla’s hospital life like pieces of old furniture that have always seemed to be there. Jack stopped by too before he headed home for the night. And I got the distinct impression he was checking up on Heather as much as Kayla, but I didn’t say anything. Besides, he didn’t stay very long. Heather assumed he was exhausted after a full shift, but I think he was leaving us alone to enjoy some precious family time that we so desperately needed. It was the most wonderful evening I’ve had in a very, very long time and I hope Molly asks if we can go to the hospital again tomorrow after swimming. Because my answer will be a resounding yes. We can go every single night. We will go every single night.

  I pull into my driveway and the porch light doesn’t come on as expected when I park and I guess the sensor is broken. I’ll ask Gavin to fix it tomorrow when I see him for breakfast. He’s staying over at the hospital tonight. He said something about watching some episodes of Friends with Kayla and Heather for old times’ sake. I know Kayla will enjoy it.

  I turn off the engine and look over my shoulder to check Molly is still sleeping. She’s snoring gently, exhausted after a busy day, and I think I’ll have to leave her to have a lie in tomorrow. I can drop her in to school after little break. I’m sure Ms Martin will understand.

  Our little cul-de-sac is silent. The houses dotted around the horse shoe are mostly in darkness, with the odd light left on in an upstairs bathroom or the landing. I drop my head back and stare out of the sunroof above me. It’s a cloudless sky and beautiful twinkling stars stare back at me. I sit for a moment, savouring the silence and enjoying the beautiful view and I don’t bother to wipe away the tears that trickle down my cheeks.