I looked at Sue and saw she had tears in her eyes too.
I managed to continue. “God, Sue, this is hard. But I feel nothing but gratitude to you. What I feel about the adoption is very selfish, I’m afraid. Robbie is a connection with my dead sister, and being with him is very comforting to me. I’m sad for me – for what I’ve missed. But I couldn’t have loved him any more than you obviously do.”
I desperately wanted to reassure her. She looked slightly less wary, but not exactly relaxed. “And part of me can see Tom was right,” I went on. “I couldn’t have coped with another baby at the time. I just wish he’d told me.”
“Well, what’s done is done and neither of us can change that. And thank you for being so honest. I’ve been desperate to know what you think.” She hesitated and then said, “So you’re not going to take Robbie away from us then – ask him to live with you?”
“What? No – no, of course not! Why? Is that what you thought? Robbie’s your son. I’m just delighted that you’re generous enough to be willing to share him with me and my family.”
“Thank God,” Sue was smiling and crying. “Thank God - yes, I’ve been worrying about that. Actually, I’d like to think we’re all part of the same family now.”
I smiled back at her. “I’d like to think that too.”
Robbie added to the easing of the tension by saying, “Right, now can you two, please, stop talking about me as if I’m not here!”
Chapter Thirty Four
To say I missed the children doesn’t fully describe the sometimes physical pain of my longing to be with them. But at least when I did see them it was on my better days.
I knew that Evelyn and Ruby and – yes - Tom, kept a close eye on Max. And, as I’d promised, he often came to stay for a night or two, once the school holidays began.
At the start of one such visit he let himself into the flat, calling “Hi, Mum.” as he slammed the front door shut. He bounded through to the living room, where I was stretched out on the couch watching daytime television. “Kirsty dropped me off. She says hi, but she’s not coming in because she’s still got a bit of a cold.”
I sat up to greet him. “Hi, son, come and give your mum a hug.”
He backed away. “No hugs or kisses. I was in the car with Kirsty and she could have transferred some germs to me. Better to be safe than sorry. Remember your white cells are rubbish.” He sat down on the armchair furthest from the sofa and began unpacking his backpack.
“And what do you know about white cells?”
“They’re what protect you from infection – Dad explained it to me – they’re in your blood.”
“Okay, Dr McAllister.” I shrank back on the sofa with my hands over my mouth and nose.
He rolled his eyes at my feeble attempt at humour. “I’m serious. You need to be careful.” He held up his sketch pad. “Do you want to see my drawings?”
“Yes, please. Have you done more since your last visit?”
“Uh huh.” He turned the pages. “This is one of Dad and Toby.” He passed me the book.
“Oh my goodness, Max, this is really good.” I stared at the picture. He’d drawn Tom and Toby together on the sofa, sleeping. Some of the proportions were slightly off and the shading wasn’t perfect, but Max had captured such an accurate likeness of his father.
“You okay, Mum - you’re not crying, are you?”
“No, I’m not crying. I’m just very proud of you, Maxy. You’re a talented artist. It’s a great picture.”
“Dad and me had been working in the garden all day. He’s been getting me to help him tidy it up. He says we’ve to keep it nice for you coming home. Grandma’s been telling him what to do. Anyway, he was knackered when we finished, said he just wanted to sit for a few minutes before he made the dinner. Next thing he was snoring away on the sofa. It was Jenny’s idea for me to draw him.”
I nodded. I told myself to focus on the excellence of the drawings. Determined not to cry in front of Max, I said, “Go and get yourself a drink. There’s some Coke in the fridge.” He didn’t need persuading to indulge in this rare treat. While he was in the kitchen, I blew my nose hard and tried not to think about Tom and the garden.
“Whose car is this?” I asked, pointing to another of his sketches, when he came back into the room.
“Uncle Dan’s – it’s his new one – it’s wicked – black – and the top folds down. He took me and Grandma for a run in it. We went over the Forth Road Bridge and got fish suppers in Anstruther. He says it’s the best chippy in the country. He told Dad to take you there, when you’re better, and won’t throw up. He even said he’d lend Dad the car to take you in.”
“Mm, it looks like a really cool car.” Once again I’d to concentrate really hard on the drawings. At the end there were a few sketches of some of the Harry Potter characters. “Oh, have you got the next one yet?”
“Yep, -‘The Half-Blood Prince’ – here it is.” He produced it from his bag. “Dad got it from Amazon for me. I’m racing Grandma to read it. We keep texting each other to say how far we’ve got.”
“Who’s winning?”
“Grandma’s a chapter ahead at the moment.”
“Are you enjoying it as much as the others?”
“Yeah – but it’s a bit soppy with Ron and his girlfriend, and with Harry fancying Ginny. I sort of skip those bits. Why are they wasting time with all that love stuff?”
“They’re growing up, Maxy. You’ll be the same.”
“Never!”
“Oh look, come and sit beside me. Kirsty’s germs must have worn off by now.” I held out my arm to him. “And since when are you calling her Kirsty?”
He came over and curled in at my side. “It’s been for a while now - since I left primary school - at the end of term. She said she wasn’t my head teacher anymore, so I didn’t have to call her Miss Mackinnon.”
I smiled and gave him a squeeze. “See, you are growing up! Now, do you think it would be cheating, in your contest with Grandma, if I read some chapters of Harry P. to you?”
“Nah, anyway, we won’t tell her.”
“You’re on. Are you sitting comfortably?” Max remained nestled by my side as I read. At some point his hand slipped into mine. After a while he took over the reading and I just relaxed and enjoyed his soothing, easy company.
Jenny’s visits were livelier than those of her little brother. She was lively, bright and opinionated on many issues – climate change, poverty, and politics – were just a few of the topics on which she regularly held forth.
During her visits she often talked about her hopes for the future of the planet. Her enthusiasm and optimism were infectious, and listening to her knowledgeable and passionate take on the world lifted my spirits. After one such discourse I couldn’t help smiling at her bright-eyed zeal.
“What?” she said. “What are you laughing at?”
“I’m not laughing. It’s just you make me feel good. Listening to you makes me feel good.”
In the middle of July, she arrived at the flat looking very excited.
“Guess what!” she said as soon as she was in the door. “I’ve passed my driving test!”
“Oh, Jen, congratulations!” I hugged her. “You kept that quiet – I didn’t even know you had a test date – when was it?”
“Yesterday - I wanted to surprise you and tell you in person. Isn’t it great?”
“Yes – it’s fantastic – well done.” I hugged her again.
“Now, you need to put me on the insurance to drive your car, because there’s somewhere I want to take you.”
“Oh – right – okay. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where we’re going.”
“No – just get the insurance sorted out and then all will be revealed.”
Jenny had found out about the Maggie’s Centre, at the Western General and that was where she wanted to take me. Wendy had mentioned the facility to me and I’d passed the building many times. It was in the hospital ground
s, but I’d never ventured in. I had a distinct feeling of role reversal the day Jenny drove me there for my first visit.
“Isn’t this a lovely place, Mum?” Jenny said, as we were shown round by one of the volunteers who worked there. “You can get support, therapies, counselling and all sorts of stuff to help you.”
The volunteer smiled at me. “Your daughter’s done her homework.”
“Yes, indeed she has. This is a lovely place. I’ll definitely be back.” The centre had an atmosphere that was both tranquil and energising. I became a regular visitor. Jenny even organised Lucy to drive me to the centre when she couldn’t do so herself.
“It was Dad who told me about this place,” Jenny said, as we walked back to the car after our first visit. “He talks about you a lot, Mum – thinks about you and what you need. He said I wasn’t to tell you it was him who suggested the Maggie’s, because it would put you off the place, but I just think you should know.” She took my arm. “I’m not telling you to upset you. It was nice of him wasn’t it – to suggest it – and it was just a suggestion. He wasn’t saying you must go or anything.”
I couldn’t answer her immediately.
“You’re not angry are you - with Dad or me?” She looked at me, serious and uncertain.
“Oh, Jen, don’t look so worried. No, I’m not angry. It was thoughtful - of both of you.”
As we approached the car, she stopped walking and turned to me. “You are coming back – coming home to live with us – with Dad aren’t you – once you feel better about everything?”
Again I couldn’t answer right away. I shook my head.
“I mean, I understand - at least I think I do – why you felt you had to go – and I’m not taking sides or anything. But you’ve not left forever, have you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t intend it to be forever – I don’t intend it to be. I’m not ready to come back yet - I do know that.” I took her hands in mine. “And I know it’s hard for you, and it means a lot to me that you’ve been so understanding and supportive.”
She held me close for a moment before getting into the car. “I love you, Mum. I love you and I miss you.”
For Sam it was even harder than it was for Jenny. She felt for her dad and she struggled to understand my reasons for leaving. Like Evelyn, she was also suspicious of Rick.
During one visit to me, in the middle of July, not long after Rick had returned to Skye, she seemed especially tense. “The creep not here then?” she said, looking around when she arrived.
“If you mean Rick, then no, he’s not here. He’s gone back up north, to do the next phase of his project.”
“Good. I hope he doesn’t come back.” She flung herself down on one of the armchairs, and crossed her arms in a way that reminded me of a much younger and sulking Sam.
I sat opposite her and tried to change the subject, lighten the atmosphere. I asked her about her social life, her friends. Her answers were monosyllabic. I battled on. “Grandma and Ruby have been telling me what a great job you’re doing keeping things in order at home. I’m so grateful, Sam, for what you’re doing. It means I don’t have to worry about all that.”
“I’m not doing it for you. The money will come in handy and, unlike you, I actually like doing it.”
Although I was aware of her mood, I was taken aback at the vehemence with which she spoke.
She got to her feet, began pacing, ran a hand through her hair. “You could come home and I’d still do it,” she continued. “I know what you said, about having to be careful to avoid infection while you’re having the chemotherapy, but are you not just using that as an excuse not to come back?”
“What, no – no I’m not! What nonsense!” Of course, I recognised a grain of truth in this and I probably protested too much. “Come on, Sam. I’ve been over all this. Surely you wouldn’t rather I was in hospital a lot of the time.”
“Yes, I would actually, if it meant you were at home in between. And you can’t still be angry with Dad.”
I stood up, tried to catch hold of her arm, to stop her pacing and make her face me. She shook me off, went to the window, looked out.
“Look, Sam,” I said, “how I feel about Dad – about him and Robbie, and me being ill – well it’s complicated. I…”
She turned, leant against the sill, arms folded again. “No, it’s not. It’s simple. You’re punishing Dad. He doesn’t deserve it. He was trying to protect you. Why’s that so bad?”
“It’s not bad. It’s not just about that. I think-”
“Oh, I know what you think – you think Dad’s Robbie’s father. You think that’s why he didn’t tell you. How can you believe that? There’s no way Dad would’ve - would’ve done that. You’re just being stupid.”
I wasn’t surprised that she’d worked out my suspicions, or that she sided with her father, but it was hard to hear her say it.
And she wasn’t finished. “All this - this wanting time on your own – your – your stupid cancer – it’s just selfish. It’s just a way of making Dad suffer.”
“Oh, Sam, don’t do this,” I begged. “I know this is hard for you. But sometimes we can’t explain our feelings or our actions – not fully – even to ourselves. Please believe me – I’m not trying to hurt your father. Yes, I was angry and, yes, I don’t understand what he did. I can’t help how I feel. I can’t help having cancer. Of course I want to come home, but the time’s not right at the moment.”
“When will it be? When will it be right?”
“I don’t know. Look it’s difficult for you. You’re young-”
“Oh, don’t do that speech! I’m young - I can’t understand adult stuff blah, blah, blah. Heard it! You’re just bloody stupid and – and fucking selfish! It would be easier on all of us if you were dead!”
I gasped as if she’d slapped me. I’d have preferred it if she’d struck me. I put my hands to my face, trying unsuccessfully to prevent a sob escaping.
A momentary flicker of alarm crossed Sam’s face. Then she picked up her bag and fled from the flat.
I didn’t see or hear from her for a couple of weeks. At first she wouldn’t answer her phone when I called. Then I got a couple of terse texts in response to my messages.
It was the last day of July when she came back to the flat. Jenny was with her. It was early afternoon when they arrived, and I was resting on top of the bed. I sat up and shouted hallo when I heard the key in the front door. They came straight through to the bedroom.
“Hi, Mum,” said Jenny, as she gave me a hug and a kiss. “I’ve brought camomile tea for you to try – you said you’d gone off the ordinary stuff. I’ll go and get the kettle on.”
Sam, who’d been hanging back in the doorway, looked at her sister, pleadingly, but Jenny just smiled and patted her arm as she passed.
“Come in, Sam,” I said.
She took a step into the room. “Mum,” she spoke quietly. “You look tired. Are you feeling bad?”
“I feel better after my rest. And I feel better seeing you. Come here.” I held out my arms. She came into them so quickly, she nearly knocked me over. We sat on the bed, holding each other tight.
When Sam released her grip, she sat back, looking into my eyes. She was so like Tom that my breath caught in my throat.
“I’m sorry, Mum. I’m so sorry – what I said - it was horrible. Jenny was so cross when I told her – she’s the only person I’ve told. I’ve been too embarrassed to talk to you. But you know Jenny. She wouldn’t let it go. She persuaded me to come. She said you’d forgive me.”
“Oh, my darling, there’s nothing to forgive.” I kissed her and stroked her hair. “I’m sorry too. Sorry you’ve been so hurt by all this. I love you so much, Sam.”
“I love you too, Mum.”
“Right, I’m glad that’s all sorted!” Jenny was back in the bedroom. “Now dry your tears you two and come through for some camomile infusion.”
“Sounds revolting,” said Sam. “I think I’ll have a
Coke.” Jenny rolled her eyes as Sam went off to the kitchen, but she gave me a huge grin.
“Have you given Mum her present?” Jenny said, when Sam joined us in the living room.
“Oh, yes!” Sam scrabbled in her bag and produced a prettily wrapped package. “For you, from me” she said.
It was a hat, a pretty little blue hat with an upturned brim. “Oh, Sam, it’s lovely. Thank you.” I took off the hat I was wearing, an earlier present from Jenny, and tried on my new one. Sam looked at me and smiled – a wonderful sight.
“It suits you, Mum – good choice, Sam.” Jenny nodded in approval. She reached into her bag. “Here.” She handed me a mirror. I looked at my reflection. I’d been avoiding looking at myself for weeks. In fact I’d turned the bedroom mirror to the wall. I let out a little gasp. I looked pale and my face was much thinner, but the hat was flattering. Jenny rested her head on my shoulder and looked at us both in the mirror. “It matches your eyes perfectly, but that face could do with some colour.”
“It certainly could!” said Sam. “So get that tea finished, and then sit back for your makeover.”
“What?” I asked, as my daughters laughed. They’d come prepared. I was treated to a facial by Jenny. Then Sam applied some makeup to my face. And I had to admit, when I surveyed the result, that I looked much better for their ministrations.
“And this is from both of us,” Jenny said, handing me another package.
“This is too much, girls!” I unwrapped a beautiful, turquoise and lilac, tie-dyed, cotton scarf.
“No, no, it isn’t,” said Sam. “You deserve a treat, Mum. Here, I’ll show you how to tie it round your head. We thought you could wear it as a change from your hats.”
After that my daughters and I had regular girlie afternoons of makeup and manicures - and I treasured every moment.
Chapter Thirty Five
I meant it when I said to Jenny that I’d never intended my leaving to be permanent. I missed home and I loved it when the children visited me. They really did lift my spirits. So, what was stopping me going back? Yes, there was the risk of infection, but seeing family and friends at the flat was only marginally less risky. I didn’t tell my medical team just how many visitors I had, because I didn’t want to be hospitalised. But if I was honest, as the summer progressed, my low immunity was a convenient excuse to stay on my own.
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