A mother’s job was to make her child better, but Kate couldn’t fix this. Neither could Nick. He was so angry. Every time he’d come to the hospital, he’d shouted at some member of staff, and usually ended up accusing them of not doing enough. He looked wretched, almost as bad as Kate. She knew he was suffering too, but he really wasn’t helping with his aggressive attitude and she’d come to dread his visits.
Kate chewed her lip and tried to think of the best way to word what she had to ask Luke to do. The doctors were quite clear that it would help enormously, which meant it had to be done, but she knew she would be asking a huge amount of him. She hated to do it, wished more than anything she could do it herself, but she wasn’t a match. Instead, it might fall on Luke’s young shoulders. It was just unbearable.
Kate felt a panic attack coming on. She was getting them regularly now. Maggie had suggested a mindfulness course, and she was thinking about doing one. She needed to stop the terror that came over her at night and crippled her, dark thoughts consuming her.
She kissed Jess’s cheek and inhaled her lovely Jess smell. Then she went to get a cup of herbal tea. She tried to control her breathing to keep the panic at bay. As she reached the kitchen she saw the light was on. She could hear voices: her dad’s and Luke’s. She stopped and listened.
‘This is crazy,’ George said. ‘No one can eat this much food.’
‘The coach said I’m not getting enough protein. I should be eating four to five full meals a day. The problem is, I don’t feel hungry. Since Jess’s diagnosis, I’ve lost my appetite.’
‘Does your coach know about Jess?’
‘Yeah, and he cut me a bit of slack at training, but I can’t fall behind or I’ll get dropped.’
‘How about I make you breakfast in the mornings? It says porridge, eggs, nuts and/or smoothies loaded up with protein powder. We can do something different each morning.’
‘Thanks, Granddad.’
‘Sure I’m happy to help, Luke. You need your rugby. I’d say it’s a good switch-off for you.’
‘It’s the one and only place where I don’t think about Jess. I don’t want to get dropped. I need it, Granddad. I feel good when I’m playing.’
‘I understand, son, and I’ll help you. We’ll feed you up but you might need to exaggerate a bit on your diet sheet for the coach. As I said, no one could eat this much.’
Kate pushed open the kitchen door.
‘Is she asleep?’ George asked, as she came into the room.
Kate nodded. ‘Peacefully.’
‘Ah, good. Poor little thing is wiped out.’
Kate sat down at the table. ‘So, how are things here? Are you managing in the café, Dad?’
George patted her hand. ‘Absolutely. Nathalie’s doing more hours for me and continuing to charm and frighten away customers in equal measure. She told Brenda Kent last week that she was an ugly-handsome woman. Apparently this is a compliment in France, but Brenda didn’t see it that way.’
Kate and Luke laughed.
‘She’s kind of mad, but Jess loves her,’ Luke said. ‘She always cheers her up.’
‘For that I love her too.’ Kate smiled.
There was silence. Then Kate took a deep breath. No point in waiting: he was here now and she might as well bring it up. ‘Luke, there’s something I need to ask you.’
He looked at her warily. ‘What?’
‘Jess may need a bone-marrow transplant and I need you to get tested, to see if you’re a match. Your dad and I have been tested already and unfortunately we aren’t.’
‘Sure. What is it? What does it mean?’
‘Well, you’ll have a blood test and they’ll use it for tissue typing to evaluate how close a match you are with Jess. Siblings tend to be the best matches.’
‘If I’m a match, what happens then?’ Luke asked, spinning his cup around on the table, avoiding Kate’s eyes.
Kate hated having to ask him to do this, mainly because the bone-marrow aspiration was supposed to be painful. But at the same time, another part of her was praying he would be a match. ‘Well, I have the information here.’ She handed Luke a leaflet.
He took it from her and read aloud, ‘“You begin by having a peripheral blood stem cell (PBSC) collection. For five days before PBSC collection, a donor receives injections of a white blood cell growth hormone called G-CSF (Neupogen). These injections last five minutes. On the fifth day, a needle is placed in each of the donor’s arms. The person’s blood is circulated through a machine that collects the stem cells. Then the rest of the blood is returned to the donor. This collection takes about three hours and may be repeated on a second donation day. There is very little blood loss. Side-effects may include headaches, bone soreness, and the discomfort of needles in the arms during the process.”’ Luke stopped reading and dropped the leaflet onto the table.
‘It’s a lot to take in and you might not be a match, but I think it makes it out to be worse than it is.’ Kate tried to hide the desperation in her voice. ‘The boy in the room next to Jess had his sister do it and she said it was okay.’
Luke gripped the table. ‘If I’m a match I’ll do it, of course I will, but will it interfere with rugby, Mum? I can’t get dropped.’
Kate nodded. ‘We’ll work around it, I promise.’
‘Please, God, you will be a match. It’d be the best thing you could ever do,’ George said, patting Luke’s arm. ‘With your healthy bone marrow, Jess would definitely get better. No doubt about it.’
Luke’s shoulders relaxed a little and he gave his granddad a small smile. Kate exhaled. Her dad was right. Luke’s brilliant bone marrow would heal Jess and get rid of the goddamn leukaemia.
16
Chloë marched up and down at the end of Jess’s bed in a gown and mask. ‘OMG, I feel like I’m in an actual TV show and I’m a surgeon about to do a serious, lifesaving operation.’
Jess smiled. It was nice having Chloë visit. She’d only seen family in the last week because she’d been told to keep visits to a minimum, but Chloë had begged to come and see her so they’d said she could, but only if she wore protective clothing. Jess’s blood count was so low that her risk of infection was very high so she’d been isolated to protect her.
The second round of chemo was even worse. Jess felt totally wiped out and, again, could hardly eat. She felt as if she was being blasted with poison, which was just making her sicker and sicker. It didn’t seem possible she could ever feel well again. The doctors said things were going well and that the cancer cells were being destroyed, but that the ‘good’ white cells were being affected by the chemo too, which was why she felt so ill.
All Jess knew was that she was sick of being sick. She wanted to go back to school, to sit in class listening to Mrs Fingleton talking about wars and books and maps. She wanted to be normal again. She wanted to sit beside Chloë at lunchbreak, giggle about boys, look up cool Instagram photos, play tennis and hockey, and just be the old Jess.
She wanted her life back, the good one, the one where she didn’t vomit every ten minutes and she had energy and everyone didn’t treat her differently.
Chloë stopped prancing, went over to Jess and held her hand in her gloved one. ‘Hey, I know this sucks for you.’ Her voice was slightly muffled because of the mask over her mouth. ‘But I promised my mum that if she let me see you, I’d cheer you up. She said I had to make you laugh and distract you so you forget about cancer for a little bit. She said when she was in hospital after giving birth to me, she was feeling awful, so she had a team of people come in and do her nails and hair and make-up, and she felt waaaay better after. Obviously I can’t do your hair,’ Chloë said, as Jess grinned, ‘but I did bring you loads of clothes for when you get out, and some cool hats.’
She bent down and heaved a large bag onto the chair beside the bed. ‘This is from Mum. She is, like, totally freaking out that you have cancer so we both went shopping and bought loads of stuff for you. You should have seen her, Jess, she w
as like a crazy woman. She was charging from shop to shop and kept telling me to buy more. I hope you like the stuff. If you don’t, I can take it back. We kept all the receipts.’
Jess sat up. This was fun! Lots of new clothes – cool ones, too. She felt excited for the first time in ages.
Chloë reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of pink jeans. She looked at the jeans and then at Jess’s spindly legs. ‘My God, Jess, I didn’t realize how skinny you’d got, but hopefully they’ll fit you.’
Chloë spent the next half an hour pulling clothes out of the bag and holding them up. ‘Now all you have to do is put your thumb up if you like it or down if you don’t,’ she said. ‘That way you won’t use up too much energy.’
Jess gave a thumbs-up to everything, even the clothes she knew were too big or that she wasn’t crazy about. There was no way she’d send any of it back. Chloë had got her three gorgeous beanie hats with diamanté across the front. Jess put one on.
‘Amazing!’ Chloë clapped her hands. ‘It’s fab on you. The blue one is the nicest.’
Jess lay back on her pillows, exhausted from the visit but happy. ‘Thanks, Chloë, and please say thanks to your mum. This is just so kind. I can’t believe it.’
‘Hold on, there’s a couple of pairs of pyjamas too – Mum wanted you to have these. Apparently she got them online and they’re, like, super-soft cotton or something. Anyway, I’ll leave them here for you.’
Jess smiled, then a wave of nausea hit her and she threw up into the bowl beside the bed. ‘Sorry,’ she said, wiping her mouth with a tissue.
Chloë sat on the chair beside the bed and handed her another. ‘Don’t be sorry. Is it awful?’
Jess nodded. ‘I just don’t understand it. Where did it come from? Did I do something to make it happen? Should I have eaten more vegetables?’
‘Don’t be mad. If it was cos you didn’t eat vegetables, I’d have it too. I hate vegetables. There’s nothing you did wrong, Jess. Cancer is just … well … cancer and it hits people for no reason. Sure if they knew why you got it they could cure it.’ Chloë blushed. ‘I mean cure it for everyone. Obviously you’ll be cured. I know you will.’
‘What if I’m not?’
Chloë jumped back in her chair. ‘Jeepers, Jess, don’t even say that.’
‘It’s possible.’
‘No way. Kids hardly ever die from cancer – Mum said so and so did Mrs Fingleton.’
‘Did she?’ Jess thought Mrs Fingleton would be a very reliable and well-informed source.
‘Yeah, totally. She said she expected you to be back in school after Christmas. I hope you are – I miss you. I have to hang out with Denise and Judy now.’
Jess smiled. ‘They’re not that bad.’
‘They’re sooooo annoying. All they talk about is Judy’s neighbour, Jack, and how hot he is. I’ve seen him. He’s a dork.’
Jess wished she could be sitting with them, talking about Jack. She’d gladly talk about anything, just to be out of this hospital and back to actually living.
She’d never complain about school again, ever. She’d skip in and do her homework without a grumble. Mrs Fingleton had been sending in work for her, but a lot of the time she was too sick to do it. The best part of her day was when Mum read to her. She loved that. She didn’t have to talk or think, just lay back, listened and let herself be transported by the stories. She was reading Pride and Prejudice and even though some of the words were olde-worlde, she loved the sisters – they reminded her of Piper and hers – and she adored Lizzie Bennet and the way she stood up to Mr Darcy.
When it was just her and Mum and the stories, Jess could forget … for a while.
Chloë tucked her legs under her on the chair. ‘What’s the story with the guy who was leaving when I arrived?’ She giggled. ‘He was kind of cute.’
Jess grinned. Trust Chloë to spot him. ‘That’s Larry. He’s been here some of the time I have. He’s really nice. When we’re allowed, we play cards together and sometimes watch a movie.’
‘Oooooooooh.’ Chloë’s eyes widened. ‘Love in a cancer ward. Maybe I don’t feel so sorry for you, after all.’
Jess laughed. ‘He’s just a friend. He feels like a brother. He gets it, you know. He understands. With Larry I don’t have to explain how I feel because he feels the same. We’re just buddies.’
‘Well, if you don’t want him, will you introduce me to him?’ Chloë batted her eyelids.
‘When he’s feeling better I will.’
‘Okay.’ Chloë’s phone buzzed. ‘Oh, my God, look at these.’ She sat up on the bed beside Jess and they scrolled through hundreds of Instagram pictures. After a while there was a knock on the window. It was Chloë’s mum, Hazel. She waved cheerily and held up a sign: ‘We love you, Jess. Get well soon.’ Jess waved back and smiled. She was glad Chloë was going – she was exhausted. She could feel her eyelids closing. It had been wonderful to see her, but she needed to sleep now.
Chloë groaned, then gave Jess a big hug. ‘I love you, Jess. Focus on getting better, then come back to school and save me.’
‘I will.’
‘Bye for now. I’ll text you later.’
Jess watched her friend leave, envying her the freedom to walk out and go back to the real world. Hazel helped Chloë out of the protective gear, then with one last wave, they were gone. Back outside, into fresh air, walking on their strong legs, safe inside their not-sick bodies. Jess curled up tighter and cried herself to sleep.
The following morning, she was getting ready for her chemo session when she heard Larry in the room next door, screaming. He was shouting and roaring at his parents, yelling that he hated them. They were to get out and leave him alone. Jess listened, her heart beating faster. It sounded so horrible, like Larry was possessed by a demon. She couldn’t understand it because he was really nice and his parents were too. They talked to Kate all the time and reassured her. Larry had had two relapses, but he was still alive and seemed to be reacting well to his latest bone marrow. Jess tried to ignore his crazy shouting, feeling sorry for his parents.
Now that she was in isolation, she couldn’t play cards with him on long, boring afternoons, and she missed it. Now they just chatted on the phone and sent each other goofy photos. She decided to send him one now. Maybe it would cheer him up a bit. She found a video on YouTube of a bear dancing to some funky music and forwarded the link to him. It wasn’t much help, but it might just make him smile.
Later in the afternoon, when she was back from chemo and had had a nap, she phoned him.
‘Hey, you, what’s going on?’
‘Infection,’ he said shortly.
‘Oh, no. I’m sorry. Did it come on last night?’
‘Yep. I’m in isolation too now.’
‘Sucks.’
‘Sure does.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Yeah, me too. It’s back, Jess, I know it is.’
‘It’s just an infection, not the cancer.’
‘Jess, it’s not just an infection. I know it’s back.’
‘How?’
‘Fingernails. If the bone marrow works, the dark ridges on your fingernails disappear. Mine haven’t. We get the results tomorrow, but I already know.’
Jess swallowed the bile rising in her throat. This time it wasn’t the chemo making her nauseous: it was fear and sorrow. ‘But you can’t be sure,’ she said, although she knew she didn’t sound convincing.
Larry sighed. ‘Jess, I’ve been through this three times. It’s not working.’
‘Maybe they just need to try something new. You’re young and strong, you can fight this. The infection is making you feel low.’ Jess couldn’t let it go: she wanted him to say there was hope.
‘I need everyone to stop saying that,’ Larry snapped. ‘I can’t pretend any more. It’s over, Jess. That’s why I shouted at my parents. I want them to hate me. They have to really hate me so when I die it won’t hurt so much.’
Jess could tast
e the salty tears running down her face onto her lips. ‘Larry, they could never hate you. They adore you.’
‘That’s the problem.’ His voice was quiet and sad, so sad. ‘I need them to stop. I need them to stop hoping and trying and praying and wishing … I need them to stop looking as if their hearts are breaking. I can’t take it. It’s too much.’
Jess stayed quiet while Larry cried. Sometimes there was nothing to say. In six weeks she had learnt a lot about pain, suffering, fear, death and heartbreak. She had learnt that listening silently was often the very best thing you could do.
When she heard his sobs subside she said, ‘No matter what you do, no matter how much you push them away, they’ll love you just the same. Don’t make your time with them awful. There’s no point. Make it special.’
‘I don’t want to die, Jess,’ Larry whispered. ‘I want to grow up and be a pilot. I want to fly all over the world. I’m not ready to die – I’m thirteen. It’s not fair.’
‘It’s just … cruel, that’s what it is. Look, I know you don’t want false hope but maybe –’
‘Don’t, Jess, please. I need to be honest with someone.’
‘Well, then, it sucks, it really sucks.’ Jess wiped tears from her eyes. ‘How can there be a God who lets kids suffer like this?’
‘I stopped believing in God after my first relapse. I don’t believe in Heaven either. I think this is it.’
‘Why us?’
‘You can’t ask why, Jess. It’ll melt your head. We can’t change the fact of having cancer, we can only fight the cancer. But I think I’m coming to the end of fighting. I want to live, but I don’t think I can. I keep thinking about … after, you know?’
‘You mean, like, the afterlife?’ Jess said quietly.
‘Kind of. I don’t think there’s a Heaven, but some people say that our energy lives on. I was thinking, you know, if I die, I’d like to send a sign to my mum and dad.’
The Good Mother Page 11