by Grace Lowrie
‘You still should have told me,’ he said, his jaw rigid with hurt.
Instinctively I reached out and took his left fist and the familiar feel of him sent a shock-wave of emotion through me. ‘I didn’t want you involved in all this.’
‘But I am involved – I’m involved heart, body and fucking soul,’ he said, his confrontational tone morphing into despair.
Traitorous tears leaked out of my eyes. ‘I’m sorry – I never meant for that to happen – I never wanted to add to all your pain.’
‘What pain? I was doing just fine and dandy before you came along.’ His smile was more of a grimace and didn’t reach his eyes.
‘You know that’s not true – you’re still grieving for your last girlfriend…’
He frowned.
‘Vesper,’ I clarified. ‘You didn’t kill her; I know that because I know you – you’re a good person. And yet you blame yourself for her death. You’re still in love with her, aren’t you…?’ Comprehension dawned on his face as he stared at me. Here I was asking him the one question I didn’t want to know the answer to, in a last, feeble effort to push him away, while my entire being was screaming at me to grab hold of him and never let him go.
‘No… Vesper wasn’t my girlfriend; she was my sister; my half-sister in fact.’
I blinked at Bay in surprise and he finally broke the intense eye-contact between us and sat down on the edge of my bed, huffing out a long breath. He kept hold of my hand and tightly laced his fingers through mine. ‘Tell me,’ I said.
‘Haven’t we got more pressing things to talk about?’
‘I want to know.’
He sighed again, resigned. ‘When Dad died I found these photographs hidden away in an envelope – nineteen of them. They were all of the same girl; one for each year of her life as she grew up. It didn’t take me long to figure out that Dad had cheated on my mum sometime after Baxter died, and that the woman he had an affair with, Valerie Page, had been sending him pictures of their daughter, Vesper, ever since.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I squeezed his hand in sympathy and he returned the gesture. ‘Do you think your mother knew?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t think so, I don’t think Ash does either, but I was curious to meet my sister. She was easy enough to track down through Facebook – she was living in London and the lead singer in a rock band, so I befriended her and her band mates.’
‘Like Tom,’ I murmured.
‘Yeah, Tom played bass for the band – Bleeding Trees – they were actually really good…’ He tailed off.
‘So… how did Vesper feel about having a half-brother?’
‘That’s where I really fucked up. She had no fucking clue,’ he said bluntly. ‘I always intended to tell her eventually. I just wanted to get to know her first, see what she was really like, before I dropped the bombshell. She’d never known who her father was and didn’t seem to care, but she was great y’know – she was fun and we had loads in common. We hung out, got high, and when she needed a place to stay I let her crash at mine. That was when I should have told her – right then – I had no idea that she might develop feelings for me; it never crossed my fucking mind.’ Bay rubbed irritably at his jaw with his free hand as the last pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place.
‘She fell in love with you.’
Bay nodded. ‘It was awful. One minute we were getting wasted and the next she was trying to kiss me, and it was like some nightmarishly bad trip. I pushed her away and blurted out the truth, just like that, in the worst fucking way imaginable – told her she was my sister and that she couldn’t possibly feel that way about me because that would be sick and twisted. I was a complete fucking bastard. And then, to top it all off, having rejected and humiliated her, I just fucked off out and left her all alone…’
‘And that’s when she…’
Bay swallowed and nodded again, still avoiding my eye. ‘I found her in the garden – she’d jumped off the roof and landed in the trees – a broken branch went right through her…’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered.
‘I didn’t know she’d tried to do it before; I never knew she had a history of it; if I’d known…’ he tailed off bleakly. ‘I’ll always blame myself. I handled things badly. I didn’t know her very long, but I really cared about her.’ He turned to me at last, his expression weary. ‘But, you are the only person I’ve ever loved like this, Cally. I can’t even explain how much I love you…’
‘Don’t,’ I said, fresh tears springing to my eyes. ‘I love you, too.’
He raised a sceptical pierced eyebrow. ‘Even after everything I’ve just said?’
‘Yes. Of course. You know I do.’
His eyes bored into mine as if he desperately needed to believe what he’d surely known, on some level, all along.
‘But you have to stop punishing yourself,’ I said. ‘You’d never intentionally hurt someone you cared about, and, ultimately, you’re not responsible for other people’s actions. You have to let go of your guilt or it’s going to destroy you.’
‘What’s the point – losing you would destroy me anyway.’
Pain lanced through me and I closed my eyes, hating myself all over again. How could I have dragged him into this?
‘Tell me what we’re dealing with.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Marguerite said it was cancer and that it might be terminal, but I want to hear it from you.’
Looking down at our joined hands I traced the worn cuff of the battered leather jacket he was wearing. ‘Back in March I went to my doctor because I was having some irregular bleeding. I thought it might be something to do with the pill I was on, but after giving me a physical and taking blood and urine samples, she referred me here for more tests. An ultrasound showed a tumour in my womb so they did a biopsy and sent off for the results. On April first, the gynaecologist told me it was cancer. No joke.’
Bay’s hand tightened around mine.
‘He said I’d need more tests before they could begin treatment to determine the stage and see how far it had spread. But I didn’t keep the appointment – I ran away to London instead. I know it was stupid and reckless, but I was frightened. You have to understand, my life before I met you was no life at all. It was safe, quiet and boring – I ate, slept, worked in a call centre… I never went anywhere or did anything. The thought of enduring months of chemotherapy and dying before I’d even lived was unbearable…’
‘So… you don’t know that it’s terminal – you’re just jumping to conclusions.’
‘OK, but even if it doesn’t kill me, I’ll have to have a hysterectomy – I won’t be able to have children, Bay. Ever.’ My voice broke and my vision blurred with tears and I kept my head down; I couldn’t face him. I had no idea if Bay ever wanted to be a father, but he needed to know it was never going to happen with me.
‘Cally, Look at me.’ His voice was gruff with emotion. I shook my head but he lifted my chin with the fingertips of his other hand. The expression in his eyes as they met mine was so loving, so sincere, that it only made me feel worse. ‘I’m sticking with you through this, OK? There’s still hope.’
I shook my head again. ‘I’m going to be sick for months; I’m going to lose all my hair…’
‘So what? I’m not going anywhere – you’re always saying how lovely Wildham is, and with Ash developing The Tower I need a new place to live.’
‘But I don’t want you to see me like that.’
‘Tough shit.’
Despite everything, he made me smile. Reaching over beside the bed he passed me a box of tissues. Unwilling to lose the physical connection between us, I dried my eyes and blew my nose one-handed. The clinical gown the nurse had insisted I wear made me feel distinctly unattractive, condemned, entirely at the mercy of strangers. But the familiar weight of Bay’s hand in mine was profoundly comforting. ‘You really like Wildham?’
‘Cobbled town square, two pubs and a garden centre, what’
s not to love?’
I snorted, more pleased than I wanted to admit. ‘Actually, a man was shot dead at the garden centre a week ago by a hitman for the Russian mafia.’
Bay’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope. Marguerite just told me.’
‘How the hell did that happen?’
‘It’s a long story – I’ll tell you later.’
Bay looked back at our linked hands. ‘So what happens now? More tests?’
‘Yes. They’ve already given me a pelvic exam and taken more samples. I think they’re going to give me another ultrasound next.’ I gestured at the sonography equipment lurking in the corner of the room. ‘I hope it’s soon because I’m not supposed to empty my bladder until after the scan and I’m bursting for a pee.’ Bay smirked but didn’t comment. ‘Then I’ve got to have another biopsy, and a CT scan, MRI, PET… I don’t know; a whole load of acronyms…’ Bay released my fingers to rub his face with both hands. ‘You look exhausted, have you had any sleep?’
He shook his head. ‘My bed feels all wrong without you.’
I swallowed, determined not to cry any more. ‘Lie down here,’ I said, shuffling sideways and patting the bed next to me.
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You won’t – I’m not suddenly made of glass.’
With a glance towards the door, Bay shrugged out of his jacket, kicked off his trainers and lay down beside me. Drawing me close into his body, he enveloped me in his distinctive smoky scent, suffusing my body with warmth from head to toe.
For two days I’d thought I’d lost him – that I’d never experience being held by Bay, like this, again. A whimper of relief escaped my lips as I pressed my face into his chest and he hugged me tighter. We lay like that for a while, not talking. By focusing on the steady, soothing beat of Bay’s heart I tuned out the busy sounds and smells of the hospital – the bustle of other patients and nurses, the ringing and beeping of phones and equipment, the stench of disinfectant and illness.
It seemed miraculous that the man I loved was really here and willing to journey through Hell with me, despite the losses he’d already endured, and even knowing I had no future to offer him; only pain. If he wasn’t so obnoxious he’d be a saint. But the idea of dying and leaving him all alone still worried me.
‘You should tell Ash about Vesper,’ I said.
‘Yeah, maybe.’ His breath was warm in my hair.
‘She was his sister, too. I know you’re afraid of losing him – I know you think you’re cursed, but it’s not true. He’s your brother… let him in; let him help you.’
‘He told me what you did. You went behind my back and showed him my work.’ I held my breath wondering if he was angry. ‘I have nieces. He wants me to fly out to LA and meet them.’
Drawing back my head I smiled up at him. ‘That’s wonderful – are you going?’
‘Yeah, once you’re well again – you can come with me.’ He smiled and kissed me lightly on the mouth.
‘Bay—’
‘C’mon, if a free trip to LA isn’t an incentive to get better, I don’t know what is.’
His smiles were so rare and precious that I was reluctant to lose this one by being stubbornly pragmatic. And I loved the idea of the two of us flying off to America together – it was a vision far more appealing than reality. Instead of arguing I kissed him back, but slower this time, and we lost ourselves in each other; revelling in our togetherness, no matter how temporary it might be.
Chapter Sixty
The doctor did a double-take as he swept into the room – he wasn’t expecting to see two people on the bed. A short, compact sort of man with a receding hairline, he donned a neatly-knotted, expensive-looking, cerulean-blue tie beneath his clean white coat. Giving me an obvious look of disapproval, he cleared his throat while I disentangled myself from Cally’s embrace and climbed off the bed. It might have irked me if I wasn’t so afraid of him or, more accurately, afraid of what he was about to find lurking inside Cally’s body.
‘Hello, Calluna, I’m Doctor Whitlow, I’ve come to do your sonogram.’
‘Hi,’ she said quietly.
‘If you’d like to wait outside, there are some seats further down the corridor…’ With the terror ringing in my ears it took me a second to realise he was addressing me.
‘I’m staying,’ I said, squeezing Cally’s hand tighter.
‘I’m sorry but—’
‘Please, let him stay,’ Cally said. ‘I want him to stay, please…?’
‘You’re sure?’ he said sternly.
Cally nodded and Whitlow conceded without further argument. As he wheeled the ultrasound equipment closer to the bed and faffed about setting it up, I just stood there ineffectually. He asked Cally to raise her gown to expose her stomach, and my chest ached. Her lovely tummy – smooth, soft and creamy, punctuated by the delicate whorl of her belly button and a small freckle near her ribcage – so familiar; so perfect. It seemed inconceivable that such a beautiful body could be harbouring such a dark, ugly secret.
‘I’m going to apply some lubricating gel now; I’m afraid it will feel rather cold,’ he warned. As the doctor applied the probe to Cally’s skin I couldn’t watch – it was too scary; too bitterly ironic. Most couples had ultrasounds for happy reasons; in order to see their baby for the first time, not to stare death in the face. I turned back to Cally and her bright eyes latched onto mine, instantly steadying me. Whatever the results, however long she had left, we would spend it together, just her and me. I would be strong enough for both of us, no matter what.
Whitlow was quiet as he worked – gently manipulating the probe, scanning, tapping at buttons on the machine –seemingly oblivious to the intense anxiety that filled the room like a toxic smog. At least he had the screen angled away from us; the horror hidden from view. Holding on to Cally’s hand, I stared into her wide Prussian-blue gaze and gently stroked her hair; focusing on how good it was to be near her and resolutely blocking out the screaming in my skull.
Eventually, after what felt like an hour but was probably less than half that time, the doctor cleared his throat.
‘OK, I don’t know quite how to tell you this…’ Cally and I wrenched our eyes away from each other to look at him, her fingernails digging into my hand. ‘I’ve identified the remains of the original tumour, and I can’t find any evidence of any others. So that’s good news.’
‘Remains?’ Cally’s voice was hoarse.
‘Yes. It seems that the original mass in the wall of your womb, instead of growing as we would have expected, has actually shrunk in size and all but… disintegrated.’
We gawped at him, speechless, like two of Sidney’s fish.
‘Obviously we’ll need to do more tests to confirm and to make sure the cancer hasn’t spread to anywhere else, but the signs are looking good.’
‘But… the nausea, the weight loss… why…? How…?’ Cally began.
‘Good questions,’ Whitlow said with a smile. ‘I think it may have something to do with the fact that you are pregnant. Approximately twelve weeks I’d say.’
I couldn’t breathe or swallow, let alone speak. I gaped in shock, trying to register what was being said and failing entirely.
‘What…?’ Cally breathed. I glanced at her and her face was as white as the sheet beneath her, eyes wide with alarm.
The doctor calmly rotated the monitor screen around towards us. ‘It’s widely known that pregnancy hormones – oestrogen, progesterone and so on – have various beneficial effects on some women and can actually improve their health,’ he said, making further adjustments to the machine. ‘Some pregnant women experience relief from diseases such as psoriasis and rheumatoid arthritis. It seems that in your case, getting pregnant may have shrunk your tumour.’ As he reapplied the probe to Cally’s stomach the screen flickered into life and a shape emerged out of the grainy shadows; a recognisable shape; a foetus.
Cally clapped her other hand over her
mouth and began to shake. I suspected she was crying but I couldn’t move, couldn’t take my eyes off the image on the screen; a head with a prominent little nose, a rounded stomach and jerky little limbs kicking with life – my child.
‘I think you should sit down – you look like you might keel over.’
Again it took me a moment to realise the doctor was talking to me, but he was right, my legs had turned to jelly and I felt light-headed; completely stoned. With one hand I dragged a chair closer to the bed, while Cally clung on to my other, and then collapsed heavily into it.
‘You’re the father, I take it?’ Whitlow said.
In a daze I turned to Cally for confirmation and she nodded, tears cascading down over her cheeks. I passed her the box of tissues and she extracted one with trembling fingers and wiped ineffectually at her face. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ she muttered and I reflexively drew her hand to my mouth and kissed her fingers, still at a loss for words.
‘It’s quite alright,’ he said. ‘This must be a shock for you – it’s a lot to take in.’
‘Is… is the baby OK?’ Cally whispered.
‘As far as I can tell at this stage, yes, everything looks perfectly normal and healthy.’
We exchanged a look, Cally and me. Her nose was running and tears dripped off her chin, but her mouth curved up into a tremulous smile which seemed to make my heart lurch into life in my chest and start beating again. Was this really happening? Was she going to live? Were we really going to be parents? God I loved her…
‘There’s just one more thing that I need to tell you and then I’ll give you some time alone,’ Whitlow said.
Mentally bracing ourselves, we turned back to the doctor in unison. He re-adjusted the probe and the image on the screen shifted, disappeared and then reappeared in reverse. For a long moment he looked at us expectantly while we gazed blankly back.
‘Twins,’ he said at last. ‘You’re expecting twins.’
Epilogue
Carefully I pick my way along the frosty pavement with my head down and my chin tucked into my scarf; my breath condensing in the wool. As I hurry from one patch of lamplight to the next, my mind is back in the doctor’s office; his words swirling around my head on repeat.