by Dani Atkins
‘Because something went wrong?’ My voice was small and fearful.
Liam shook his head and the smile was back, if anything even broader than before. ‘Because everything went right. Apparently, that’s one hell of a kidney you gave away. It’s already doing a great job.’
I fluffed up with pride at the organ everyone had hoped would change Noah’s life for the better. ‘Did you see Izzy?’
‘No. She was already in with Noah,’ Liam replied unthinkingly. Of course she was. That was a mother’s place, at her child’s bedside. There was an ache inside me, an emptiness and a feeling that something was missing; something far more vital and important than just a functioning kidney.
*
I prodded at the food on my plate, and then pushed the dinner aside.
‘I’ll bring in something tastier tomorrow.’
I looked over at Liam, who’d settled himself comfortably in the visitor’s chair and showed no signs of intending to leave. He’d been there all afternoon while I dozed the rest of the anaesthetic out of my system.
‘You really don’t have to come back again, you know.’
The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the muted strains of a Christmas carol playing on a radio in the ward.
‘It’s not a question of having to, but of wanting to.’ I swallowed the lump in my throat as his eyes held mine and wouldn’t let go. ‘I realise I’ve still got some explaining and apologising to do, and I know that now’s not the right time to do it. But leaving you here alone without your family, without visitors…’
He paused and suddenly the confidence I was so used to hearing in his voice was strangely absent. ‘Don’t fight me on this, Beth. Please. Give me one more chance, even though I don’t deserve it.’
‘I don’t think I’ve got the strength to fight anyone right now,’ I said quietly. It was a sitting-on-the-fence reply, which effectively dodged anything personal. Liam took a moment and then nodded, apparently satisfied that I was willing to keep the door ajar, rather than slamming it shut.
A little later, when a young ginger-haired nurse stuck her head around the doorframe and politely reminded us that visiting hours were technically over, Liam somehow managed to wangle a thirty-minute extension. ‘Oh, go on then,’ the nurse said, looking slightly dazzled by the charm of his smile. ‘You’re such a lovely couple, and after all, it is Christmas.’
Her words lingered in the room after she’d gone, begging one of us to correct them. ‘It’s not Christmas yet,’ I said eventually. ‘And we’re not—’
‘—telling anyone that you plan to go back to an empty house in a couple of days’ time,’ Liam completed, not at all fazed that my lie was tangling us up in knots that were becoming too complicated to undo.
I shrugged, all at once too exhausted to work out how I felt about the silly charade I had created. I could feel my eyelids growing heavier, and although I fought against sleep like a determined toddler, it came and claimed me before I could work out a suitable riposte.
*
Someone had turned off the main overhead light while I slept. I blinked sleepily in the low-level amber glow that filtered down from a panel above the bed, casting the room in shadows. The sheets scratched in the silence as I stirred and turned my face towards the figure still sitting on the visitor’s chair.
‘Liam?’ My voice was a whisper, but the figure in the chair jerked as though shot.
The shape got to its feet, too slight and short to possibly belong to the man who had occupied that seat for most of the day.
‘No,’ a female voice replied. My heart gave a lurch, which if I’d still been hooked up to a monitor would probably have brought the medics running to my room.
‘It’s Izzy,’ my unexpected visitor announced.
My mouth went inexplicably dry. ‘Is everything all right? Is Noah okay?’ This new level of worry felt completely alien to me. Was this how parenthood was for everyone? How could anyone possibly function in this perpetual state of anxiety? The woman stepped forward and into the pool of light, and I saw exactly the cost of that love. It was there in the deep lines radiating from her eyes and the black circles beneath them. I knew Izzy was a year or so younger than me, but at that moment she easily looked a decade older.
‘Noah’s doing well. Exceptionally well,’ she said, a smile of pure relief making her look instantly better. ‘The doctors are actually amazed at how quickly the new kidney began to work.’
‘That’s wonderful news. I hope he’s not in any pain.’
Izzy shook her head. ‘A little, but he’s being really brave.’
Something unexpected clutched at my heart and I turned involuntarily to look at the photograph of Tim. ‘His father was the same. I never once heard him complain, however bad things got.’
Izzy’s eyes flashed to the photograph on the locker, which showed her son’s features on a much older face.
‘I mean Tim,’ I immediately corrected. ‘My late husband, and not Pete. Obviously.’
There was a serenity on Izzy’s face as she continued to stare at the image of the man I had loved. ‘No,’ she acknowledged quietly. ‘You were right the first time. Noah takes after his father, Tim… and also his dad, Pete.’ It was far more than just an olive branch she was holding out to me, it was the whole tree. ‘He’s a hybrid of all four of us: the best parts of each one, I’d like to think,’ she added softly.
I was too choked to speak, which was perhaps just as well, for there was nothing I could add to such a generous comment. With what looked like considerable effort, Izzy pulled her gaze away from Tim’s smiling face. ‘That’s why I’m here now, in the middle of the night,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve come to take you to Noah. If you want to see him, that is.’
Seeing him was all I had ever wanted, from the moment all those months ago when I had first learnt of his existence.
‘But we agreed,’ I began hesitantly, wondering why I was protesting when my heart literally yearned to be beside the child Tim and I had made. ‘I thought we said we would wait until he was fully recovered from the operation before I met him.’
‘We did. We shall,’ agreed Izzy solemnly. ‘They’ve given him something strong to help him sleep, so he won’t wake up.’ Her smile looked a little sad, and I was shocked to see the sympathy in her eyes was for me. ‘He won’t know you’re there, but you will. After what you did today, you deserve to see…’ A small pause that must have cost her a thousand heartbreaks. ‘…you deserve to see your son.’
It was too dark for her to see that I was crying, but somehow she must have known, for she waited a long moment before stepping to one side, and drawing something out of the shadows. The chrome on the wheelchair caught a shaft of moonlight slicing in through the curtainless window. ‘Your chariot is waiting,’ Izzy said, hinting at a sense of humour I hadn’t even suspected existed.
‘You stole a wheelchair from somewhere?’
I heard her soft snigger in the darkness. ‘More borrowed than stolen,’ she admitted.
‘Am I allowed on the ICU ward? Or out of bed, come to that?’ I asked, even though I was already throwing back the covers.
‘I never imagined Beth Brandon was the type of person who was scared of breaking a few rules,’ Izzy challenged, with just the right amount of goading for me to slide my legs to the floor and ignore the tug of protest from my stitches.
‘Slow down,’ Izzy warned, as I went to stand up. ‘You’re going to have to let me help you.’
How many thousands of miles had we travelled since we had first learnt of each other’s existence? The distance was practically immeasurable. She held out an arm and I took it; I had to, when the alternative was to crumple to the floor at her feet. Even though she’d pulled the chair as close to the bed as possible, the effort to manoeuvre me into it took its toll on both of us. My hospital gown was plastered unpleasantly to my back by the time I was securely seated, and there was a fine sheen of perspiration on Izzy’s forehead when she finally straightened
up.
The corridor was dimly lit, although in the distance I could hear the muted sound of nurses talking, leaving me to wonder how we were ever going to get off the ward without anyone noticing us. Izzy pushed the chair, keeping to the shadows on the far left of the corridor whenever possible. The exit was almost in sight when the doors swung inward and a nurse I’d not seen before came through them. I closed my eyes and braced myself for a confrontation, or maybe barrelling straight through the opening, but instead the nurse just looked at Izzy and gave her a small nod of approval. ‘You managed okay by yourself?’ she questioned.
I looked up at the woman who was currently holding on tightly to the handles of my chair. ‘Yes. No problem. Thanks for all your help.’
The nurse smiled and then reached down and squeezed my shoulder gently. ‘Happy to assist,’ she said, holding open the double doors she’d just walked through so Izzy could negotiate the chair through the opening.
‘I thought this was an illegal outing?’ I asked, as Izzy summoned the lift for the ground floor, the level that was home to the paediatric intensive care unit.
‘It still is… in a way, but I needed to make sure it was okay for you to be moved so soon after surgery.’
As she pushed me into the lift, I was no longer sure what my feelings were about this woman who I had once been so certain was my enemy. I wasn’t sure if I liked her; perhaps such a leap would always be too far for either of us to take. But I knew one thing for sure, she fought for the things and the people she believed in, and I admired the hell out of her for that. As role models for my child went, I doubt I could ever have picked a better one.
*
We met one nurse who almost thwarted our plans. Within metres of the ward where Noah slept, oblivious to the activities of his mothers, we were pulled up by a uniformed figure who appeared better suited to a career in border control than nursing.
‘Halt right there,’ she cried, even holding up a hand like a policewoman directing traffic. ‘Where exactly are you both going at this hour?’ We’d travelled down three floors in the lift and walked the entire length of the Children’s Unit without passing a single soul, but it looked as though our luck had just run out.
‘My son, Noah Vaughan, is in there,’ Izzy said, her head pointing in the direction of the doors bearing the acronym PICU upon them. ‘He had transplant surgery today.’
‘Fine,’ said the nurse, with no appreciable softening to her tone. ‘Then of course you’re allowed in, but we permit only one visitor per bedside after visiting hours. And that’s usually the mother.’
I could feel my heart sinking lower in my chest. This was probably the only chance I was likely to get in months to actually get close to Noah, but short of running down this nurse with the wheelchair, it now looked as if that wasn’t going to happen.
‘She is the mother,’ said Izzy. I could feel she was trembling, so strongly that it shook the frame of the chair, but there was no trace of it in her voice. ‘I’m going to push her to Noah’s bed and then I’ll wait out here.’
She never gave the older woman the chance to either protest or enquire exactly how many mothers this child had. But I did catch a very satisfying glimpse of her mouth dropping open slightly as Izzy wheeled me through the door.
Noah was in a bed beside the window. There were six bays in the unit, but only three of them were currently occupied. A mother sitting beside a toddler’s cot looked up from her vigil and flashed a brief sympathetic smile at Izzy. Each bay appeared to have a dedicated nurse, whose only task was to monitor their designated patient. Noah was in good hands; I could tell that by the kindly smile from the nurse who had just finished adjusting a drip attached to the figure in the bed. His whispered hello included both Izzy and me, and from the fleeting twinkle in his eye as he looked down at my mode of transport, I suspected he was the one who’d helped Izzy get hold of the wheelchair. ‘I’m going to be just over there,’ he said, indicating a small table a few metres away from Noah’s bed.
Izzy carefully manoeuvred the wheelchair as close as she could to the bed, mindful of the Spaghetti Junction of wires and tubes surrounding it.
‘I’ll come back in a little while,’ she whispered into my ear, and before I could thank her she turned with a sound that might have been a smothered sob and strode quickly to the door.
It was then and only then that I allowed my gaze to travel up the length of the figure lying in the bed. I started at his feet, moving slowly upwards, as though afraid of what might happen when I finally saw his face. For the rest of my life I knew I would always remember this moment. I had seen Noah from a distance; I had a copy of his photograph on my desk at the shop, beside my bed, and even in my handbag, but nothing, nothing, could ever have prepared me for the explosion of emotions that engulfed me when I saw the child Tim and I had longed for that very first time.
My gasp was low, but sounded as loud as a scream in the hush of the ward. The nurse in charge of Noah looked up, and then nodded encouragingly as I gestured towards his hand lying on the hospital blanket. Noah’s skin was warm; his fingers were long, just like Tim’s had been. It was a pianist’s hand, I thought, wondering if Noah was even interested in music. I knew practically nothing about this small boy lying before me, hooked up to monitors and softly bleeping machines. I had no idea what he liked to do, or the things that made him happy. In fact, the only thing I knew for certain, knew it with every fibre of my being, was that I loved this child with all my heart. And that there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. The unconditional swell of love that hits new mothers when their infant is first placed in their arms might be eight years late, but it still rocked me to my core.
It’s impossible to gauge how long I sat at Noah’s bedside, silently planning the future we would have together. I imagined a time when we would slowly get to know each other, hoping that he would one day realise that having four parents who’d loved him unreservedly made him the richest little boy in the world, even if one of them was sadly no longer around to tell him in person.
‘I’m going to tell you all about your daddy,’ I promised into his small, shell-like ear. ‘He would have loved you so very much, Noah,’ I whispered, my tears falling and making a small damp spot on the pillow beside his face.
Noah never stirred, not even when I reached up to touch the springy shock of dark hair. My heart contracted at the memory, for it had been many years since I’d felt that familiar texture beneath my fingertips.
A shaft of light split the darkness of the ward and I glanced towards the doorway to see Izzy silhouetted within its frame. It was time for me to go. I craned closer to the sleeping child, scarcely noticing the stab of protest from my incisions. ‘I love you, my darling boy, and even though when we meet you won’t know who I am, I hope someday you’ll understand it wasn’t just science that brought you into the world, it was also love.’
Izzy was now halfway across the room, and I glanced towards her, before stretching across to leave a single feather-light kiss on Noah’s velvety cheek. ‘And another love – just as strong as ours – helped you grow into the amazing little boy you are today.’
39
Beth
Even though I told myself not to expect him, that he was probably far too busy in the run-up to Christmas to take another day off work, I couldn’t quite manage to stop myself from glancing towards the door as the afternoon visitors began to arrive. For someone who’d been so determined to handle this thing alone, I was suddenly craving the support of a friend.
With a helping arm from one of the nurses I’d managed the short walk to the bathroom at the end of the ward, which filled me with ridiculous pride, even though an eighty-year-old could easily have beaten me to the finishing line. The effort of taking a shower, even with the nurse’s assistance, absolutely exhausted me, but it was so worth it.
It had felt especially good to finally ditch the unflattering hospital gown in favour of the new blue satin pyjamas I’d brought with me. That’s qu
ite a lot of effort you’re making, for someone who isn’t expecting visitors, my reflection observed mildly, as I combed my hair dry in front of my handbag mirror. I snapped the compact shut, before it said anything else I didn’t want to hear.
‘Just remember you’re going to have to take things very carefully over the next couple of weeks,’ advised the kindly red-headed nurse, who I was beginning to suspect had developed a small crush on Liam. ‘Let that lovely hubby of yours look after you. I’m sure he can handle the Christmas preparations for one year,’ she said, as she settled me into the upright chair beside the bed. Her fascination with Liam didn’t concern me. I imagined lots of women must find him attractive. He was attractive, I acknowledged objectively. Just not to me.
What was beginning to worry me was how everyone kept emphasising how much help I would need when I left the hospital, which could happen as soon as the very next day. I’d been so focused on the surgery to give Noah my kidney and on his recovery, I realised a little late that I hadn’t given much thought to my own recuperation.
The sound of footsteps coming to a halt outside my room brought me back to the present, and this time when I looked up it was to see Liam standing in the doorway. He paused for a moment, watching my expression change from greeting, to astonishment, and then finally to amusement. By the time he’d entered the room, I was already laughing hard enough to aggravate my stitches.
‘Don’t say a word. You don’t have to. I’ve already heard it all from every passing cab driver in town. They’re an incredibly witty bunch, you know.’
I tried to smother my laughter, but it was practically impossible as I watched him disentangle himself from the myriad of strings attached to the most enormous bundle of helium balloons I’d ever seen. He knotted them loosely to the end of the hospital bed frame and then turned to face me with a rueful expression on his face. He was waiting.
‘Did you mug a clown on your way in?’ I asked innocently, and then ruined my own quip by dissolving into giggles.