‘And do you need sympathy?’
Ben’s question was probing. But by letting him into her secret world of fiction, she had opened doors to other parts of her life and Emma didn’t hesitate in baring her soul. ‘I’m getting used to being on my own,’ she said as she stirred her cold coffee with a spoon as if it would revive it. ‘And I’m starting to realize it’s better that way. It might add a bit of a challenge to my writing but every story needs a dilemma.’
Ben took the cup from her. ‘Would you like me to get you another cup?’ he asked. ‘And then maybe I can convince you that you’re not on your own.’
Emma shook her head, refusing the coffee. The air felt cool against her glowing cheeks. She had been so busy watching for signs of mutual interest between Ben and Louise, only now did she suspect his interest had lain elsewhere all along. ‘How am I not on my own?’ she asked, taking a tentative step outside her comfort zone.
‘Because I’m your sidekick,’ Ben said rather slowly, as if explaining something very complicated to a small child.
Emma’s cheeks sizzled as she retreated back into the safety of her box, housed on a dusty shelf in the shopkeeper’s store. ‘You’ve been planning it all along … you want to be in my book!’ she said.
Ben wasn’t fazed by the accusation. Instead, he beamed a smile. ‘It hadn’t crossed my mind but now you’ve mentioned it …’
‘Now I’ve mentioned it, wouldn’t it be a good idea?’ she said with a smile.
No matter how much he tried, Ben couldn’t wipe the smile from his face in time to convince Emma that he’d had no ulterior motives in offering her his assistance so readily. ‘If you insist,’ he said with false modesty.
Emma laughed. The physical act of laughing felt good. Why on earth had she even contemplated any romantic involvement, she asked herself, when all she needed right now was a friend to share her adventures with. ‘Well, I might be able to find a part for you somewhere but be warned: you should be careful what you wish for.’
It was less than two weeks to Christmas but Emma and Meg were too preoccupied with hospital visits to even acknowledge the season. The appointments were unwelcome reminders that Emma was gravely ill and served to add to her misery. She had to be measured up for the mask that would keep her head still during the radiation therapy, which was still scheduled for January. Meg was adamant that the preparations were unnecessary as she was more confident than ever that she would find her daughter’s miracle cure further afield. Amongst Emma’s other visits, she had a clinic appointment where her medication was reviewed by a registrar who suggested tapering off her steroid dosage. Her anti-seizure drugs were increased slightly but Emma was relieved not to have to face Mr Spelling, who would have been able to extract a confession from Emma that the seizures she had experienced were far more disturbing than she was letting on. They were different from any she had experienced before and different was never a good thing. But while the doctors remained unaware, Emma could ignore it too and, after all, she was regaining her health in so many other ways. She was feeling stronger in body if not in mind and she was hoping that one would compensate for the other.
It was Thursday morning before she had her first taste of freedom when Meg at last returned to the office to catch up on work. Left to her own devices and in a repeat of the previous week, Emma opted for a trip to the bistro. This time she decided not to phone for a cab; she gathered up her things, laptop included, and stepped out into the grey and damp December morning.
When she reached the pale grey railings that stretched the length of the promenade, the damp air became an incessant drizzle as wintry gusts swept droplets of broken waves into the air. Turning eastward, she headed towards Otterspool, which was about two miles upriver, an expanse of parkland that rolled towards the water’s edge but was currently hidden from sight by the curve of the river. The slapping of the waves against the sea walls gave the Mersey its heartbeat and Emma matched it beat for beat with her footfalls, steady and unstoppable as were her thoughts.
She hadn’t heard from Alex since Saturday and as the days passed, she had waited for her broken heart to mend. It took less time than she would have thought possible but she was starting to realize that there was little point in mourning the loss of something she had never had. She had wanted someone to be there by her side, through the good times and the bad. That person had never been Alex, even in her wildest dreams. Her book was testament to that.
The news of their break-up was still restricted. Ben and Steven had been true to their word and she had also enlisted Ally and Gina’s help to keep the news from reaching her mum’s ears. She knew that the longer she left it, the harder it would be to break the news but she still felt like she needed the breathing space.
Seagulls screamed overhead but it was the flock of brightly coloured kites that caught Emma’s attention as she neared the park. Her pace had slowed and, although the walk had been revitalizing, she knew when to call it a day. She searched out a cab and completed the remainder of her journey to the Traveller’s Rest in less than ten minutes.
Emma was relieved when she reached the sanctuary that the Traveller’s Rest offered, but as she pushed the door, she found it firmly locked. Confused, she peered inside, leaning her forehead against the cold glass. She glimpsed only dark shapes and shadows before her breath fogged up the window and obscured her view.
‘I don’t think it’s open in the mornings any more,’ said a cheery voice. ‘But if you’re looking for a cuppa, there’s a café open just around the corner.’
Emma peeled her eyes away from the gloom and found herself staring at two elderly women, one very tall and thin, the other much shorter and wider but both wrapped up in brightly coloured padded coats, hand-knitted scarves and matching woollen hats in garish colours. The animal-print Wellington boots weren’t an obvious choice to finish off their outfits but somehow it worked.
‘It’s my sister’s place,’ explained Emma.
The shorter woman shrugged. ‘You need to tell her to lower her prices. Have you seen how much she charges for a cup of tea?’
‘I’m surprised the place is still in business. No-one I know bothers with it,’ added the tall lady.
‘It was open as normal last week,’ Emma said, more to herself than to the ladies. She wondered if this had been the cause of the guilty looks from Louise and her mum when she had walked in on them on Saturday night. She felt a stab of guilt as she recalled all the promises she had made to Louise about helping her get back on her feet when Joe first left. And she had done a lot to help Louise at the beginning … but circumstances had taken over. She had become involved with Alex and had been too busy taking on his work as well as her own to find time for much else. She had taken her eye off the ball and even the promises she had made to Louise after leaving hospital hadn’t been followed through. She had been too focused on her own problems to give her sister the support she needed.
‘Oh, don’t listen to Iris. I’m sure it does well enough while we’re tucked up in bed. Your sister must know what she’s doing. She probably doesn’t even want to attract old biddies like us.’
‘Speak for yourself. I’m not an old biddy and if that place was run properly it would be doing a roaring trade right now.’
The two women launched into an argument about whether their generation’s custom would be of any value to the bistro. Emma coughed politely. ‘Well, you’ve certainly given me plenty to think about.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Iris. ‘We didn’t mean to worry you. Come on, Jean, let’s leave the poor girl in peace.’
‘But if your sister ever wants some more of our advice, we have very reasonable rates. A cup of tea and a slice of cake should do it,’ offered Jean. Her plump cheeks wobbled as she laughed at her own joke.
Iris raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Ignore her,’ she told Emma. ‘But if you can convince your sister to have special rates for pensioners, you might find there’s enough trade to make it worth opening in the m
ornings.’
‘And nicer biscuits,’ Jean called back as Iris pulled her away. ‘Not those ones you could break your teeth on.’
‘It was nice meeting you,’ Emma called after them as they disappeared around the corner.
Turning her attention back to the bistro, Emma sighed. The ladies were right, the bistro should be doing a roaring trade. There were plenty of visitors in and around Sefton Park who would be eager for a warm drink on a cold, winter’s morning. Iris and Jean may have been a little eccentric but they could be the demographic that Louise should be encouraging into the bistro during the quieter periods. It had to be better than shutting up shop.
Emma felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of launching into a campaign to save her sister’s bistro and new ideas were already beginning to take shape in her mind. This was exactly the kind of purpose she had been searching for. Now all she needed was somewhere to work. She considered using the intercom at the side entrance that led to the apartment above but that would mean interrupting Steven or Ben. The thought was appealing but there were still some areas of her life where she was feeling far from assertive. The walk had left her wet and windswept and she dreaded to think what she must look like. She turned away from the bistro as she considered her options and that was when she noticed her mum’s car parked on the other side of the road. Her taxi must have pulled up next to it but she had got out on the other side.
Meg had distinctly told her she was going into the office. There had been no suggestion of a detour. Emma turned and took another look inside the bistro, hands cupped around her eyes in an attempt to chase away the shadows that were intent on holding onto their secrets. It didn’t take long for Emma to spot the tops of two familiar heads, partially hidden as they conspired within the walls of a booth at the rear of the restaurant.
‘Need some help?’ This second interruption was more familiar. The voice was deep and smooth, although at present, slightly breathless.
Ben was standing next to her, hot and sweaty and catching his breath after what must have been a jog around the park.
‘Yes, you can let me in,’ Emma told him. ‘Why is it all closed up anyway?’
Ben looked guiltily at the closed door. ‘It has been all week. Louise decided that it’s not cost-effective, so we won’t be opening until lunchtimes during the week now.’
Emma was about to launch into an argument about why it could and should be bringing in a profit but she closed her mouth tightly before the first words had a chance to escape. This wasn’t Ben’s argument. ‘I think I’d better have words with my sister,’ Emma told him, nodding towards the shadows.
‘So have you made it to Egypt yet?’ Ben was asking as they made their way into the bistro through the side entrance.
‘No, still in New York,’ Emma said, only half listening.
‘If you need more inspiration, I was thinking that a trip up to the top of St John’s Beacon might give you some ideas.’
They were in the hallway, which had stairs leading up to the flat above and a door that led through to the kitchens and restaurant. This was where they would part company. Emma stopped, trying to halt the thoughts racing through her mind so she could concentrate on Ben. ‘What ideas?’
‘It’s not exactly the Empire State Building, but …’ Ben was starting to lose the enthusiasm that had laced his initial suggestion.
‘I don’t know,’ Emma started but she couldn’t ignore the look of dejection in his face. Self-consciously, she tried to smooth a hand over her bedraggled hair. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, summoning a brave smile that had slipped by the time Ben had turned to go upstairs. For the moment, there were other plans being laid on her behalf that she needed to find out about.
Emma stared at the back of her mum’s head as she approached the booth and a sense of unease crept over her. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know what they were up to but if she had any last-minute doubts, the chance to run away was lost as Meg turned around at the sound of her footsteps.
‘Emma? What are you doing here?’ she asked.
There was a now familiar collection of papers spread out across the table and Meg was already gathering them up as Emma answered. ‘I could ask you the same thing.’
Meg took a breath as if she was going to answer but the lie forming on her tongue was swallowed back in one gulp. Instead, she looked over to Louise and Emma detected a slight nod of encouragement. ‘I’ve found a clinic,’ she said, already raising her hand to silence the questions that hadn’t yet formed in her daughter’s mind. Her hand trembled slightly. ‘It’s in Boston. They’re running a clinical trial, which has been showing promising results, and we think you’ll be eligible.’
‘We? It wasn’t mentioned at clinic yesterday. Does Mr Spelling even know?’ Emma’s fear of the unknown had swiftly been replaced by the fear, if not sheer terror, of the known.
‘It’s one of the programmes we were talking about when you were in hospital,’ Meg said, carefully side-stepping the question.
‘And exactly how far along in the process are you? How far have you taken this without consulting me or Mr Spelling?’ Emma demanded, her voice trembling in sync with her mum’s hand.
‘You knew I was looking at alternatives; don’t make this sound like I’ve been going behind your back,’ countered Meg.
Emma bit her tongue and chose not to point out that the only reason she was being told now was that her mum had been doing exactly that. It was a trivial detail; there were more important issues to discuss. ‘Is it going to be worth it?’
‘Yes, it is,’ insisted Meg. She rummaged through the briefcase lying by her side and plucked out a file. There was a flicker of excitement in her eyes as she passed it to Emma.
Emma remained standing, trying her best to ignore the wobble in her knees as nerves took over. She took her time leafing through the correspondence and the data sheets but her mum was there to talk her through the detail. It was evident that it wasn’t only the day job that had kept her busy.
The trial involved chemotherapy and radiotherapy, the same treatment that Mr Spelling could offer, but it also offered surgery. The procedure was still experimental but, to use Emma’s own joke, the doctor’s in Boston had sharper knives. The doctors in Boston were asking for access to all of her medical records; they would liaise with Mr Spelling and then arrange for further tests to be undertaken, after which they would decide if Emma was eligible or not.
It was still possible that the offer could be withdrawn but Emma couldn’t argue with the facts. The outcomes were extremely promising and Meg really had come as close as she could to finding that miracle cure. Emma knew she was supposed to feel relieved but she didn’t. A voice in her head had to remind her that she was dying in an attempt to summon up the courage she needed to grab hold of this last hope. But she had buried that primal fear of death before and she did it now. There was a certain sense of security in remaining under Mr Spelling’s care and accepting her fate.
‘And who’s paying for all this?’
It was the first question that Meg didn’t have an immediate answer to and alarm bells began to ring as she watched her mum’s fingers fidgeting nervously with the corner of a rogue piece of paper. ‘We’ll manage,’ she replied.
‘Who’s paying for all of this?’ Emma repeated, more slowly this time and she looked towards Louise for an answer.
‘We should only need to cover some of the incidental costs, like accommodation for Mum while you’re over there and loss of income because neither of you will be working. There are grants available but even with that, there will be a shortfall.’
‘And?’
‘And we’ll manage,’ Meg said.
Emma’s heart thudded solemnly as she felt a very large penny drop into place. ‘That’s why you’ve been working so hard,’ she said to her mum. ‘That’s why you’re practically exhausting yourself.’
‘We’re all doing our bit,’ explained Meg with a dismissive shrug. ‘Lo
uise is going to refinance the bistro so I can release some of my investment.’
‘Really?’ Emma asked. ‘Who on earth is going to want to invest in a business that’s grinding to a halt?’
‘I’ll find a way.’
The restaurant wasn’t only filling with tension but with light too. Emma felt her heart thudding and her skin began to tingle with beads of sweat. ‘But it could destroy your business, the business you’ve been working so hard for. Hell, we’ve all been working so hard for. I can’t let you do this,’ she said. Her hand was trembling as she slammed the file back down on the table.
Louise shook her head. ‘It’s not your choice.’
Emma turned away from them and, as she did so, bright sunlight radiated all around her, obliterating not only the shadows but the entire restaurant. She was standing in a vast boardroom, complete with highly polished walnut tables and leather upholstered chairs but it wasn’t the furniture that drew her attention. In front of her, more light exploded through the window and a ghostly grey world was replaced by blue sky and, far below, a bright green canopy of trees flowing around a maze of paths and a sparkling lake. Emma knew there was a choice to be made as she prepared to turn around towards the files that would be spread out like a rainbow across the boardroom table. Before she had a chance to turn, the grey shadows slipped around her like tentacles and, with a gasp, returned Emma to the Traveller’s Rest.
Emma put her hand to her mouth and felt her breath warm her fingers, which were as cold as ice. She slowed her breathing as silence crowded around her.
‘Emma, please just say something,’ her mum prompted, concern building in her voice.
Emma took a deep gulp of air. ‘It’s my choice,’ she said, turning around to face her family. ‘I’m still in control of my own destiny.’
‘OK, having the treatment is your decision but the funding isn’t,’ insisted Louise. ‘I can do what the hell I like with my business and if you decide to refuse the money then at least we can say we tried. That’s my choice and Mum’s too.’
Another Way to Fall Page 9