by Dawson, H A
Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to be home, and felt a sudden urge for someone to help her get there.
Days previous, Erin had told her if ever she needed help she should ring her. She reached into her bag, fighting to steady her quivering arm, and held the small object in her palm. But as she rehearsed her speech, her independence triggered. This was something she had to do alone. No one could be relied upon, or trusted. Her mother was proof enough.
After a few more minutes, and having grown tired of the curious stares, Brittany started down the road to the bus station. Her heavy breathing had eased, but her legs were still weak and she felt as though lead weights had been strapped to her calves and thighs. She plodded on, fighting her spinning head, and somehow, in a daze arrived at the bus station.
The bus was waiting. She clambered on, showed her pass, and sat at the first available pair of seats. Her relief was instant; she leaned her head against the cool glass and closed her eyes.
The engine roared and the bus shuddered as it pulled away. She drifted into a slumber, but fearing she would miss her stop, she fought, with foggy eyes, to stay awake. Within what seemed like minutes, she had arrived home.
She stood up on shaky legs and headed to the exit. Soon she could sleep.
The fresh air was arousing and she gained clarity in her vision, and headed along the street to her flat. A short distance away someone hurried towards her. It was Erin.
‘I’ve been trying to call,’ she said, breathless.
Brittany looked to her, eyes glazed.
‘I was worried. Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘When your phone went dead I thought something had happened.’
‘I didn’t ring.’
‘You did, about an hour ago.’
Puzzled, she reached into her pocket for her phone. It told her the call had ended. ‘Sorry, I didn’t think I had.’
‘So how did it go? Come on . . . details.’
‘She . . . she doesn’t want to see me again.’
‘Is that what she said?’
Brittany nodded. ‘At least I know now.’
‘Aw. I’m so sorry. That’s rough.’
They walked along the street. Whilst Brittany struggled to shuffle along, Erin was full of vigour, moving in tight steps like those of a boxer and with energy to burn. It made Brittany feel old, and she yearned for the youthful energy she had always been without.
‘She wouldn’t tell me why she had killed Scott Cole,’ Brittany said. ‘She didn’t even seem that sorry. All I wanted was an explanation. Don’t I deserve that?’
‘I would have thought so.’
‘Anyway, it’s done with. I won’t bother her again.’
‘You’ve done okay on your own. And you’ve got me.’
Brittany forced a smile. She should be appreciative.
They turned into the car park and headed to the entrance to the flats. Erin opened the outside door and led them to the steps. Brittany stopped at the bottom, gathered her strength, and not wanting to appear feeble, made a concerted effort, taking one step at a time. By the time she reached the top, her body was quaking, her vision swimming, and perspiration dripped from her face. Erin said something but it was indistinct. She was guided into their home and flopped onto her bed.
Two hours had past when she awoke, greeted by Erin’s cheerful face and effervescent demeanour. Desperate for a wee, she brushed past to go to the toilet, but as was becoming the norm she was unable to release the nagging sensation. Relenting, she headed to the living room and slumped onto the sofa.
‘Shouldn’t you be at work,’ Brittany said.
Erin worked as a fitness trainer in a gym.
‘I took the afternoon off. I only had one client and managed to put him onto someone else.’
‘Not for me I hope.’
‘Of course it was for you, and don’t knock it. Are you feeling better?’
She was exhausted and her head was spinning. ‘A bit groggy.’
‘You’ll come around soon enough. You should have spoken to me at the prison. I’m surprised you got home. You’re a fighter, I’ll give you that.’
‘I shouldn’t have bothered you.’
Brittany looked to the floor and fidgeted with her hands. The pitying stares would not be something she would ever grow used to, and she wished she had kept her illness private. At least Erin wasn’t pursuing the matter, and that was a small blessing.
A sound emanating from the television drew Brittany’s attention. A child was running to her mother screaming with delight. She clutched her mother’s skirt. ‘Come on,’ the little girl said. Her mother was slow to move forcing the girl to grab her arm and drag her forward. The outcome was desirable, and the woman’s interest in her daughter’s activities increased.
Brittany’s heart sank. She had been that child, full of hope and wonder, and with a mother who cared. Once.
‘Are you sure there’s no hope with your mother?’ Erin asked.
‘It’s a waste of effort, and I haven’t the energy.’
‘You’re first visit was bound to be stressful . . . probably for her too. Maybe it’s worth trying again.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Michelle’s insistence that she never returned, pounding Brittany’s head, and her body tightened. Had she ever really known her? Brittany’s early years and their time together seemed like another life, yet in other ways it felt like yesterday. They may not have always had the smoothest of relationships, but there had been a time when she had been there when it mattered.
‘Maybe you should do a bit of investigating for yourself and find out who this Scott Cole was. It might take your mind off . . . you know . . . your health problems.’
Brittany chewed her lip. ‘Could do.’
‘If it was me, I’d want to know if there was anymore to it. Do you know anything about him?’
Brittany nodded. ‘I got the impression my parents knew him.’
‘It wasn’t a random guy then?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘So it could have been self-defence?’
‘I suppose they could have got into an argument. My father’s theory that it was stress does kind of fit. I hadn’t been responding too well to treatment, and I was spending longer periods in hospital. She may have just lost her temper.’
‘Then ask your father again.’
‘I’ve asked him loads of times over the years. He was always adamant that there’s nothing else to tell. When I was younger, I grew suspicious of his curt responses. I believed he was covering up for her.’
‘Could they have been involved in something together?’
Brittany raised her swollen ankles to a stool. ‘I hope not. I couldn’t bear it if they both had lied to me.’
‘It might not be as bad as you think.’ Erin paused, pensive. ‘Did Scott have any family?’
‘I think he was married.’
‘Then how about visiting his widow.’
That was an option, and an appealing one. Her father would know who she was and where she lived, and, if she got a few answers to her questions, it may allow her to forgive her mother for what she had done. Only then would they be able to restore their relationship.
The telephone rang. Erin flew across to the handset, said hello, and caught Brittany’s gaze.
‘It’s your doctor.’
Shaking and with her pulse racing, Brittany said a silent pray and spoke into the receiver.
Chapter 3
Brittany hated the hospital. It reminded her of the missing bits in her childhood: the games in the schoolyard, the annual school play, the daytrips, and the holidays. Something had always prevented her from participating, whether it was another bout of illness, dialysis, or simply a hospital appointment. She had been the sick child, the one the others curiously asked questions to for gossip and excitement. ‘Are you going to die?’ had been the most common enquiry. As always, the reply had been a very forceful no.
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By the time her illness had progressed to end-stage kidney failure, the friends she had acquired had moved on. No one wanted a friend they could not rely on, nor did they want someone they could not associate with. They did not understand the implications of her condition, nor did they know how it felt to have a vastly shortened lifespan. Scared they may too catch kidney disease they started to make excuses. It didn’t take long for Brittany to receive the message that she was considered a freak.
She entered outpatients and headed to reception. After a short time queuing, she registered her arrival and followed a familiar trail to waiting area three where a nurse confirmed her appointment. Nervously, as she sat and waited, she continued mulling over her prospects.
For Brittany, the expected lifespan of eighty years was nothing more than fantasy, and only for the very lucky. If she had received an organ from a living donor, she may have reached forty years of age as they tended to do better than cadaver organs, but even that was doubtful and often the exception. Even if she kept scrupulously clean and always did her utmost to avoid infection, she was still going to succumb to organ failure. Dutifully, Brittany washed her hands before touching food, scrubbed her nails with regularity, avoided others with infection, and even avoided gardening and pets. Looking back, it felt as though her efforts had been wasted.
Recognising her morbid thoughts, she told herself to focus on the positive. Someone had been generous enough to carry a donor card. Without that person, her life would have already ended. She should make the most of her time and try to live each day as though it was the last. Being happy was a choice she must make.
A doctor appeared from the end of a short corridor. He called out her name and signalled her to follow him into a room. Her heart pounded and her gait stiffened. It was the time for the truth.
The door closed. She took her seat at the near side of the desk and waited for him to read her notes and scan her blood test results.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Exhausted, difficulty taking a wee, short of breath.’
Dr Larson nodded. ‘Anything else?’
‘My ankles have been swollen but they’re okay now. What does the blood test show?
‘Your kidney is not working as well as it could be. Your creatinine levels are up a bit, but not a great deal, and you seem to have an infection. Do you ache around the site of your kidney?’
‘Not today, but I have done.’
‘Pop onto the bed and lift your top. I’ll have a feel.’
She stepped across the room and lay down. His hands were cool on her skin as he pressed around the area. There was no pain.
‘It’s a bit swollen.’ He moved away. ‘Return to your seat. I’d like to take your blood pressure.’
She did as instructed, rested her arm on the desk, and allowed Dr Larson to attach the strap. ‘Have you been keeping check?’
‘Yes, it has been up a bit.’
‘Are you stressed?’
‘I’ve got a few things going on.’
‘It is a bit high,’ he said, ‘I’d like to change your medication, but you must try to keep it under control. Do you exercise?’
‘I’m too tired.’
‘It’s important you at least try. It’ll help you get stronger. Blood pressure is key in helping your kidney.’
‘I know.’
He returned to his seat and made notes. ‘Your red blood cells are low. I’d like you to have an injection of eyrthropoietin to help increase them. Is that okay?’
Brittany nodded.
‘Good. Do you mind going up to renal for it? We’ve ran out down here and it may take a while to fetch supplies.’
‘No.’
‘Excellent. I’ll tell them you’re on your way.’
Dr Larson scribbled into her file, talked her through her change of medications, and asked her to arrange another blood test in a few weeks. Then it was over and she left the room alive with relief and displaying a newfound energy. She was not yet in renal failure.
It was a huge boost. Her days may be numbered, but the countdown had not already started. She could carry on with her job, think about taking a break in the summer and plan trips to shows and concerts without worrying if it would clash with dialysis. She wanted to scream with joy.
The sight in the waiting area brought her back to reality. There was a weighty man slumped on a bench, a scrawny thirty-something woman in a wheelchair, and a woman waiting alongside a sickly-looking teenage boy. Each of the patients had a yellow-grey skin-tone, and the boy was scratching.
As she approached, she could see his hands were dry and flaky and covered in sores. Itchiness was a common in kidney patients and due to the build up of urea in the body. For Brittany, it had caused ulcers, and added to the endless hours of irritation and discomfort. On her bad days, when she had seen no end in sight, she could have easily taken her life, yet she had never had the physical strength or ability to do so. Life just had not been worth living and the pain never left her. It wasn’t a cry for sympathy; it was a desperate need to be removed into a better place.
The boy carried that same mournful gaze.
During those dark days, she had regularly dreamed of being pain-free: playing, laughing, running, and sleeping without a perpetual ache. She yearned for friendships that had been out of her reach, and imagined living a normal life with a husband and children. Back then she had to believe it was something she could still achieve. The boy should too.
She caught his eye and smiled. He responded with a blank look. She wished him luck, told him never to give up hope, and continued along the corridor, weaving through the hospital maze to the renal unit. It was more than ten years since she had passed through the double doors, and it was not something she wished to be doing again.
At the entrance, Brittany hesitated. She could almost hear the tears of grief, the whispers of fear, the anxieties and the prayers, and she wanted to vanish. Her mother had leaned over her hospital bed holding her hand; her father had tried to jolly her into action. She had nibbled her food under the watchful eye of the ward nurse, and she had listened to the weeping in the next bed. It was too much to digest, all thoughts mingling, incoherent, and a painful reminder of her past.
She took a soothing breath and stepped through to the waiting area.
Two nurses were chatting to the receptionist at the reception desk. After a few seconds of waiting, Brittany handed across a sheet of paper and was instructed to take a seat. She scanned the all too familiar area. Her ward had been further along the corridor on the left, but there was another around a corner, one she used to visit when she felt fit enough to chat to the other children. Then there was the dialysis unit on the right.
She glanced to the closed door, and the memories of death and despair overwhelmed. Her arms crossed her middle and her forehead creased. It was a horrid place, a link between the living and the dead, and one she never had been able to associate good thoughts with. It may have kept her alive, but so often it had felt like punishment.
The high-pitched tones of an over-enthusiastic child alerted her. She peered over her shoulder at a boy of about five or six years old, and a man, presumably his father. At a guess, the man was in his late-twenties and wore loose-fitting jeans and a v-necked jumper. His hair was dark-brown and cut in a classic and formal style, and his eyes, his prominent feature, were adorably large and deep brown. He had a gently manner about him and moved in an unassuming way. Her heart skipped a beat.
They sat on the padded seats on the opposite side of a low table. The boy was looking.
She smiled and said hello.
‘Are you going into dialysis too?’ The boy said.
‘No, are you?’
He nodded vigorously. ‘It’s keeping me clean and making me feel better.’
‘That’s good.’
‘My kidneys aren’t working and if I don’t have it, I’ll fill up with badness and explode.’ He threw out his arms and made a sound.
Britta
ny chuckled. ‘You sound like you enjoy it.’
‘It makes me better and gives me energy, and that’s really important.’
‘You’re quite right, it is.’
‘Are they making you better too?’
‘Yes, I suppose they are.’
‘Are you going to explode?’
‘I sure hope not.’
‘So why are you here?’
The man turned to his son. ‘That’s private. You shouldn’t be asking such a question.’
Brittany caught his eye. ‘That’s okay. I’m just popping up for an injection. My consultant said it would be quicker having it up here.’
The man smiled. ‘I’m Jason, and this is Ethan.’
‘Brittany. That’s a lovely name you’ve got,’ she said to the boy.
‘Mummy gave it to me before she died. I miss her.’
Her heart fluttered. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Daddy misses her too, but not as much as me. I have photos and everything, but it’s not the same. I want a proper mummy like my friends.’
‘I’m sure your daddy does a good job of looking after you.’
Ethan turned to his father, held a pensive gaze, and then started to giggle. Jason responded by lifting him to his lap and planted a big sloppy kiss on his cheek. The boy’s face crinkled and he made a sound.
Jason caught Brittany’s gaze and smiled. Her pulse quickened. The show of affection was adorable and it warmed her heart. Her father had never been able to do that; he had always had the British stiff upper lip, even regarding her mother. In fact, her mother had been cold too, and whilst they hugged and kissed in private, she had always been reserved with her displays in public.
A nurse approached. ‘Brittany Handley?’
Reluctantly, she said goodbye to Jason and Ethan and followed the nurse to a small room at the end of the corridor, near the lifts. The injection was swift, but there was a slight delay with something and she had to wait for the nurse to return. Whilst she did so, she glanced through the open door, across to the ward, and to a doctor and a nurse heading inside the room.