Take a Moment

by Nina Kaye

  ‘Oh, Lex, I’m so sorry. You’re actually going through this. And I’m falling apart. What kind of idiot friend does that make me?’

  ‘A great one. You’d make a rubbish nurse though.’

  ‘For sure.’ Sasha blows her nose. ‘I’ll try again. Are you coping OK? You don’t need to act all brave in front of me.’

  ‘I’m honestly OK, Sash. I mean it’s a shock, for sure. I had some moments in hospital where I felt as if my whole future had been thrown up in the air like a pack of cards. I questioned everything: my career, the wedding, me and Dom. I cried to the point that my nose was so raw it burned. And I asked the universe why this has happened to me – it didn’t answer, in case you’re wondering – but I came up with nothing productive. So, I decided I have to face it the same way I face everything else in my life. I’m going to take it head on and work through it.’

  ‘You’re amazing, Lex. I’m not sure why I expected anything else. You live life, you don’t let it happen to you. Why would that be different now?’

  ‘Exactly. Either that, or it really hasn’t sunk in, and I’m days shy of throwing myself out of the living room window.’ I grin at her.

  ‘I can tell you’re definitely not about to do that.’ Sasha giggles.

  ‘Couldn’t if I tried – not in my state. One thing that is bothering me, though, is how Dom and my mother and sister are behaving. I may have questioned the wedding in my head during a moment of irrational despair, but they talked seriously about postponing it – and like I wasn’t even there.’

  Sasha ponders this for a second. ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve been planning it for two years. It’s still four months away and I’ll be back on my feet in weeks.’

  ‘So did they back down?’

  I let out a long sigh. ‘They did, but now they’ve taken over the wedding planning. All I’m getting to do is plan my outfit, hair and make-up and turn up for things that I’m needed for.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Sasha winces, feeling my pain. ‘Though maybe it is what’s needed for the next while, until you’re back on your feet.’

  ‘It won’t be that though, Sash. My mum’s already taken it upon herself to mess with the colour scheme and she and Dom have reduced the guest list because they don’t think I’ll be able to cope with so many people being there on the day. It’s like I’ve lost control of my own wedding.’

  ‘I get that you’re frustrated, Lex, but you’ve been through quite an ordeal. We all just want to take care of you.’

  This comment sends a ripple of frustration through me. Not Sasha as well. She’s meant to take my side on everything. To avoid an argument – which Sasha would undoubtedly run a mile from – I change the subject.

  ‘Hey, you want to see something? I was bored in hospital so I ended up writing a song.’

  ‘A song?’

  ‘Yeah, the inspiration came from seeing so many really sick people on the ward – much worse than me – and then it kind of evolved from there. Head was foggy, so it was a bit of a struggle, but a welcome distraction.’

  I hand Sasha my phone with the notepad app open. She quietly reads through my rough lyrics, then looks at me in awe.

  ‘It’s amazing. Comes straight from the heart. How does it go?’

  I start to hum a melody and she joins in, singing the words on the screen.

  We grow up unassuming, we grow up unaware

  We live in a world where too many people, they don’t care

  Take a look around you, tell me what you see

  Illness, conflict, suffering, too much poverty…

  ‘It needs a bit of work.’ I stop our duet abruptly. ‘But it’s not like I don’t have time on my hands.’

  ‘I think it’s brill. I’ve no doubt you’ll turn it into something amazing.’ She hands me back my phone. ‘So, other than the wedding planning, how’s this all affecting you and Dom?’

  ‘It’s been mixed.’ I reach across to the coffee table and take a sip from my glass of water. ‘When they first gave me the news, I was in total denial and he was just so solid. He was like: it’s you and me, and we do this together, no matter what. It really helped me come to terms with things.’

  ‘That’s good. I’ve always wished I could meet someone like Dom. He’s such a great guy.’

  ‘Yeah, he is. His heart is definitely in the right place. It’s just… difficult adjusting, you know? Particularly when his head’s so wrapped up in my illness and when and how it might strike again. He’s treating me like an invalid, though I’ve just made it clear that he needs to let me be me, so I’m hoping that’ll change.’

  ‘Did you ask your doctor about how to handle it?’

  ‘We did.’ I nod. ‘We spoke to the consultant. He said I can help myself by living healthily, which I’m trying to do anyway. But in terms of relapses, it’s like trying to predict the lottery numbers, so there’s no point in putting so much focus on it.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Sasha chews her lip for a second, showing me that she’s not totally convinced by this. ‘And what about work?’

  ‘Same strategy.’ I grimace. ‘It’s killing me that Alan’s been put in charge of the project while I’m off. He’s a good guy and capable, but he’s not quite there yet. I really hope Laura’s giving him the support he needs, otherwise I could go back to a complete car crash.’

  ‘That’s the last thing you’ll need on your return. Hopefully you won’t be off long enough for him to cause too much damage.’

  ‘I really hope not, Sash. Not least, because I don’t have the patience to be stuck like this for too long.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘This just doesn’t feel right,’ I complain, as I slowly extricate myself from the front passenger seat of the car. ‘I shouldn’t be out doing our menu tasting while I’m signed off work. What if someone sees me?’

  ‘No one’s going to see you.’ Dom closes the car door behind me and locks the car. ‘We’re going straight into the hotel and straight back home again, and your mum explained how important it is to test the food well in advance to allow for changes.’

  ‘Yeah, and she’s right about everything,’ I mutter, earning myself a look.

  The gusty wind whips playfully around me, lifting my skirt and plastering my hair to my Candy Kiss lip butter. This is Scottish weather in its full glory. After a rare two weeks of uninterrupted sunshine and warm spring days, a stormy weather front has brought a never-ending dusk and teeth-chattering highs of seven degrees Centigrade.

  In front of us, the Eastwood Hotel, a beautifully renovated Victorian building, looms ominously in the half-light, surrounded by thick, rolling dark clouds like a scene from Ghostbusters. It’s such a contrast to how it looked on the day we first visited, if I were superstitious, I’d think this were a sign.

  ‘There they are.’ A haughty voice carries towards us.

  I look round and see my mother and stepdad, John, battling their way through the wind.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you inside.’ Dom puts his hand on the small of my back and gently urges me forward. ‘They can catch us up.’

  ‘I’m fine here.’ I stubbornly resist his instruction. ‘We used to go out running in this, remember?’

  ‘Right.’ Dom purses his lips and removes his hand from my back. ‘So, are you going to give me a manual then?’

  ‘What?’ I look at him searchingly.

  ‘You know. So I know when I’m allowed to be caring and when you want me to back the hell off.’

  ‘Dom, don’t be like that,’ I say through gritted teeth, trying my best not to lose my patience with him. ‘I’m just… I’m OK here.’

  ‘Alex, dear, you shouldn’t be out in the cold.’ My mother rushes towards me, my stepdad trailing behind. ‘Dominic, get her inside. She’ll catch her death.’

  ‘Hasn’t that already happened?’ I plant a sarcastic look on my face and greet them both with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘You doing all right, love?�
� John asks me, his kind features almost glowing in the half-light.

  ‘Improving every day.’ I smile brightly at him. ‘Shall we go inside?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ My mother grabs her scarlet chiffon scarf before it shoots off across the car park.

  Making our way towards the hotel entrance, I deliberately take my time, so no one can see me struggle when I hit the invisible wall that’s materialised in my stamina. It wasn’t a lie that I’m improving, but it’s going a damn sight more slowly than I’d hoped.

  As we approach the hotel reception, our wedding coordinator, Jasmine, appears from the direction of the bar and spots us.

  ‘Alex. Dominic. Lovely to see you both,’ she gushes, in her very wedding coordinator-esque way, her tonged blond hair bouncing energetically around her shoulders. ‘Alex, you are looking so much better than I expected. I was ever so upset for you when your mother told me, but don’t you worry about a thing. My team will make sure all your needs are accommodated.’

  ‘Err, thanks.’ I shift uncomfortably on the spot, wishing she wouldn’t be quite so theatrical and public about it. I’m also willing her to take us somewhere else, as my listless body nags at me for a seat. ‘Where are we tonight?’

  ‘We’ll be in Whitecraigs, our AA Rosette restaurant, for the tasting.’ She seems to suddenly think of something. ‘Oh now, I meant to call you… I contacted JLP Karaoke to ask about AV requirements and they said you’d cancelled them. I wasn’t aware.’

  ‘What?’ I assume a puzzled expression. ‘I didn’t cancel them.’

  ‘That was me.’ My mother pitches in. ‘You won’t have the energy for karaoke, Alex, and it’s a little… cheap.’ She says this as if it’s a dirty word.

  My hackles immediately rise. ‘It’s not “cheap”. It’s called fun, Mother. You should try it some time.’

  My mother’s look borders on acidic. She’s happy to hand out the shit, but if anyone dares challenge her, they’ve caused a scene and embarrassed her.

  ‘Maybe the karaoke is too much now, Lex,’ says Dom. ‘I mean, we don’t even know if you’ll be up to enjoying it.’

  I lock eyes with him. ‘The karaoke stays. End of.’

  Dom assumes a resigned expression and takes a step back to disengage from the conversation. My mother simply shakes her head in disapproval.

  ‘Let’s get you seated then.’ Jasmine’s eyes dart back and forth curiously between us, aware that something’s not quite right.

  We trail behind her into the restaurant, where she takes our drinks order as we take off our coats and settle ourselves. Although I could murder a gin and tonic – to numb my senses enough to ignore my mother’s inevitable judgemental comments – I refrain and opt for a tomato juice.

  ‘How are you feeling, Alex?’ my mother asks the moment Jasmine is out of earshot, our earlier confrontation already buried deep. ‘You’re looking a little peaky.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ I offer her the same bright smile I gave John outside, trying put her off.

  ‘Is that true?’ She looks straight past me to Dom. ‘I never know when I’m getting the truth out of this one.’

  I attempt to bring her focus back to me. ‘Mother, that’s not—’

  ‘I’m asking Dominic, dear.’

  I flinch in response to her flippantness. Though I don’t know why. This is exactly how she’s always been with me, so untrusting of my ability to know what’s best for me. Normally I can hold my own with her though.

  ‘Alex is doing great,’ Dom replies. ‘She’s been taking it easy and has stopped constantly checking her work emails – though I practically had to pry the laptop from her.’

  ‘Good.’ My mother looks at him pointedly over her wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘She’s incapable of taking advice from those who know better. It’s like talking to a steam engine.’

  As I listen to this exchange, I feel completely patronised. Dom’s talking about me like I’m a toddler who made it through her first day at nursery, while my mother, who always behaves with a grandiose air, is putting on an enhanced performance. They continue their competing assessments of my progress and general existence. I’m particularly irritated by my mother’s ill-informed diatribe about MS and how it will affect me – information she’s clearly just googled and is now pretending to be an expert on. Eventually, I decide I’ve heard enough.

  ‘Eh… hello? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m right here, and perfectly capable of speaking for myself. You don’t need to discuss me like some case study.’

  I glance at John, who has actually (and thankfully) been a calming influence on my mother – until now, it seems. He leans forward and pats my mum’s knee.

  ‘Isabel. How about we change the subject?’ he gently encourages her. ‘Alex is living with this every day. I’m sure she’d appreciate a night off.’

  My mother looks at him, then laughs, almost sheepishly. ‘Of course. Let’s have a relaxing drink – then we can talk about Alex’s treatment plan over dinner.’

  I’m about to protest that her proposal doesn’t just fail to meet the definition of a night off, it’s completely inappropriate and intrusive, when Jasmine reappears at our table with our drinks.

  ‘Here we are.’ She plonks them down in front of us theatrically and beams at us like an overenthusiastic streetlight. ‘Your starters won’t be long. Oh, and Alex, you must tell me if any of your dietary requirements have changed following your diagnosis.’

  I’m left telling her disappearing backside that a diagnosis of MS most definitely doesn’t mean a change to the menu for our big day. As well as wondering how the hell I’m going to get through this evening on soft drinks.

  * * *

  ‘How is the food?’ Jasmine has skirted across the oval-shaped restaurant to our table like a heat-seeking missile. ‘I do hope it is meeting your expectations – and more.’

  ‘It’s wonderful.’ My mother doesn’t look up from devouring her cuit rosé saddle of lamb with redcurrant and rosemary jus. ‘The dauphinoise potatoes are to die for.’

  ‘Super.’ Jasmine claps her hands in delight. ‘I am so pleased you are enjoying it. And the beef?’

  Feeling her eyes on me, I rush to swallow my half-chewed mouthful so I can answer. I glug at my mineral water to help it along, but this causes me to choke and I start coughing and spluttering in an undignified way.

  ‘Oh, my word.’ Jasmine looks shocked.

  I wave my hand to signal I’m fine, but Dom overreacts and slaps me on the back vigorously, making things worse.

  ‘Stop. Stop!’ I splutter as soon as I have enough breath to do so. ‘I just need a moment.’

  All eyes round the table are on me as I compose myself.

  ‘The beef is really good too,’ I eventually manage to tell Jasmine.

  Instead of her usual over-the-top response, Jasmine just nods and smiles sympathetically, then excuses herself. Confused by this, I look round at my table companions and notice they’re sat stock still.

  ‘What’s with the mannequin challenge, people?’ I raise an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Should I join in?’

  My attempt at humour is returned with awkward expressions and an equally awkward silence.

  ‘Alex, dear,’ says my mum. ‘I think we all just got a bit of a shock there.’

  ‘Because I choked?’ I laugh in disbelief. ‘I’m fine. Hardly a butt-clenching moment.’

  My mother flinches at my use of language. ‘It wasn’t because you choked. It was why you choked. You do realise that MS can cause issues with swallowing.’

  This statement flattens me like a ten-ton truck. That’s what this is about? I take in the screamingly uncomfortable body language of John and Dom. They’re all thinking the same thing. Is this how it’s going to be? Now I have a ‘disability’, perfectly plausible explanations like ‘I didn’t chew my meat properly’ are no longer viable? No, I can’t allow this.

  ‘Hold on a minute.’ I flatten my palms on the tabletop to channel my frustration. ‘What happened the
re was nothing to do with my diagnosis.’

  I stare accusingly at my mum, then Dom and John, who at least have the grace to look ashamed.

  My mother shifts in her seat and purses her lips. ‘Alex, darling, you don’t need to hide it. We’re all here for you and we’re going to manage this together.’ She puts her hand on mine and I immediately pull it away in annoyance.

  I almost can’t bear to listen to any more of this. I take a deep, slow breath to keep my temper from boiling over.

  ‘I’m not hiding anything. If you’d bothered to read up on it properly, you’d know that people with MS don’t experience every possible symptom listed, and it could also be years before I need proper care.’

  ‘Oh, I know that, darling.’ She tuts at me and returns her attention to her food. ‘We can talk about it another day, when you’re feeling a bit calmer.’

  This final comment infuriates me, but I’m too aware of our surroundings to let this show. Instead, in a gesture of protest, I clatter my knife and fork into the six o’clock position on my plate and push it away, leaving my food unfinished.

  This was meant to be a pleasant experience, an exciting adventure for a dizzy bride-to-be. Instead, all I feel is anger and dread. I had thought the worst part of being diagnosed with MS was going to be my physical symptoms and limitations. Now I’m starting to wonder – is that going to be outdone by the behaviours of those who supposedly love me most?

  Chapter 8

  A few weeks later – and for the first time in two months – I’m crammed into the pokey clementine-coloured subway carriage on my way to work. As I cling to the handrail, jerking from side to side, the windows of the train’s automatic doors within licking distance, I feel a mix of emotions. A big part of me is excited to get back to work and resume normal life; the independence that’s driven me all my life is still well intact. It will also helpfully show Dom that I don’t need him breathing down my neck and questioning almost every move I make – this being a continuing and rather significant bone of contention between us. But there’s also an unpleasant swirling in my stomach, which, alongside the vibration and shaking of the carriage, makes me feel a little nauseous.