We Own the Sky

by Luke Allnutt

  * * *

  After Janet had gone, we sat in the living room. Anna, still pale, sat in silence, watching the finance channel. Later, we looked at a list of pediatric neurosurgeons that Dr. Kennety had already emailed us. When she went up to bed, I sat downstairs and heard her pause outside Jack’s door and then go into his room. In a little while, she came out again and I could hear her start to cry.

  I went to check on Jack. I could see the light of his flashlight through the half-open door. He liked to sleep with his flashlight so he could find his way to the bathroom. Every night, he said, it was like having an adventure.

  I watched him through the door. He was lying on his side, looking at his Pokémon trading cards. They were spread out, organized in rows and columns as if he was playing solitaire. He got it from Anna. The classification. The need to order things. Her color-coded Tupperware. Her spreadsheets and lists.

  He inspected each card with his flashlight, turning it to see every detail, before placing it down on the bed. I could hear him whispering to the cards—“you go there...there you are...you sit down there with him...” He liked to organize them into teams, dividing them by color, by type, by whether they lived on the land or in the sea.

  “Hello, beautiful,” I said, as I walked into his room.

  “Hello, Daddy.” He pointed to his Pokémon cards. “I’m putting them in teams.”

  “That’s cool,” I said, sitting down on the bed.

  “This is the naughty team,” Jack said, pointing to one pile of cards. “And these are the good ones. And tomorrow, in the morning, they’re going to have a big fight.”

  “Wow,” I said, “and who’s going to win?”

  Jack considered the question. “The naughty ones,” he said, and then laughed loudly.

  “C’mon, you should sleep now.”

  “Okay,” he said, picking up the cards and putting them on his bedside table.

  He settled back on his pillows, and I tucked him in again. “How do you feel, Jack? You don’t feel dizzy or anything?” I looked at the left side of his head. The temporal lobe.

  “No, Daddy,” he said, his eyes beginning to close, and then quickly he was asleep. I watched him as his breathing began to deepen, little question marks of hair wrapping around his ears, the light brown moles on his nape. A little me, Anna always said. A little me.

  I kissed his forehead and sat for a while on his sofa with the sprinkles of stars and dancing comets. I stilled myself, trying to slow down my breathing, so I could listen to him. But it was not enough: I could still hear my breathing, my heartbeat. So I held my breath for as long as possible—ten, twenty, thirty seconds—and then finally, all I could hear was Jack, the sound of him breathing, the occasional snuffle and murmur, the only sound in the world I wanted to hear.

  the gherkin

  we raced up in the elevator, as fast as a space rocket, and then the doors opened up into a huge glass room and you said it was like stepping out into the sky. and it was jack, it really was, because we could see right across london, as far as the south downs, nearly as far as the sea. we walked around, looking up and down, left and right, like timothy pope with his telescope and i will never forget that day jack for as long as i live. your laugh like chocolate as you danced with the shadows, the tinkle of rain on the glass.

  8

  I woke early, before sunrise. Anna was turned away from me, her legs tucked up to her chest just like Jack, the cover pulled around her neck. I looked for Jack, but he was not there. He was an early riser and would often creep into our bedroom before we woke, sitting on the floor at the foot of our bed, whispering to himself, ordering and reordering his Pokémon cards.

  I went downstairs and sat at the kitchen table with my laptop and started Googling “pleomorphic xanthoastrocytoma.”

  “Treatments for childhood brain tumors.”

  “Child brain tumor prognosis.” I read National Health Service fact sheets, Wikipedia pages, a long interview with a doctor from the American Brain Tumor Association.

  I varied my searches, digging into the third, fourth, fifth pages of results. Everything I found confirmed what Dr. Kennety had said. They were grade 2 tumors, rare, especially in children. And as the doctor had said, the overall survival rate was high, as much as 90 percent.

  I heard the sound of little feet and saw Jack standing at the bottom of the stairs. He looked so young, so lithe in his Spider-Man pajamas. Still sleepy, he climbed into my lap and wrapped his arms and legs around me. I could feel his breath on my neck.

  “Daddy, can I have cheese toast?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Special cheese toast.”

  “Special cheese toast?” I said with mock outrage. “Really? In the morning? Well, I don’t know about that. What will you give me in return?”

  Jack thought about a possible bargain. “I’ll give you a kiss,” he said, smiling.

  “Only a kiss. Hmm, anything else?”

  Jack looked around him and then ran over to a wicker box of toys. He rummaged around inside and came back with something clenched tightly in his little fist.

  “I’ll give you a present too.” He opened his hand and it was the broken arm of a Transformer.

  “Bumble Bee’s arm?”

  “Yes.” Jack nodded, and then started laughing.

  “It’s a deal. Can I have my kiss now?”

  Jack nodded, and as he planted a neat kiss on my face, I heard a small sob, a sharp intake of breath, and saw Anna standing at the bottom of the stairs, her hair still wet from the shower. She quickly turned and went back up the stairs.

  “Where’s Mommy gone?”

  “To the bathroom.”

  “Why?”

  “To do a wee-wee probably. Shall we make the special cheese on toast then? But first, I’m just going to check that Mommy is okay.”

  “Can I watch the iPad?”

  “Sure, you can.” Jack smiled, took the iPad off the shelf and sat down cross-legged on the sofa.

  “But don’t watch those stupid toy videos, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Piggy.”

  “Jack. I mean it.”

  Upstairs, Anna was in the en suite bathroom, and I could hear the sound of running water.

  “Anna?” I said gently through the door.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice hoarse, distant. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I sat and waited for her on the bed. “You okay?” I said, when she emerged and sat down next to me.

  She shrugged, her face wet with tears, her eyes red.

  “We’re going to get through this,” I said, putting my arms around her.

  She nodded and turned away from me, not wanting me to see her tears.

  “Really, we are. Remember, 90 percent cure rate,” I said, stroking her back.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Anna said. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him, I just couldn’t bear it. I just want...” Her words trailed off and she wiped her eyes.

  “We’re going to fight it and beat it, okay?” I said. “When Jack’s at the play center, let’s do some more research on the neurosurgeons.”

  Anna chewed on her lower lip and shook her head. “I don’t want him going to soft play today,” she said.

  “Why?”

  Anna looked at me, narrowing her eyes. “We can’t... I don’t want to risk anything.”

  “Anna, have you seen him this morning? He’s charging around downstairs. We have to carry on as normal.”

  Downstairs, I could hear the voice of Ryan from Ryan’s Toys videos on Jack’s iPad.

  “I’ve told Emma he can’t go.”

  “You spoke to her already?”

  “I texted her.”

  “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

  “No, of course not.�
�

  “But Anna, we have to carry on as if nothing is wrong. For Jack’s sake. I don’t want him to know that he’s ill.”

  “I agree, but he’s not a baby anymore,” she said. “We have to tell him sometime. He’s going to wonder about all the doctors’ visits and why he’s feeling poorly.”

  I went into the bathroom and got her a tissue to dry her eyes. “He’s not feeling poorly now,” I said, sitting back down next to her and putting my hand on her leg. “He wants his cheese on toast. Special cheese on toast.”

  Anna laughed sadly, sniffed and wiped her face. “I just don’t want him to bang his head,” she said and she started to cry again, and this time no amount of tissues or hugs or words would stop the tears. I pulled her close to me, feeling her body tremble, her frantic little breaths.

  “Why is Mommy crying?” We turned around, and Jack was standing at our bedroom door.

  Anna wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sniffled a little.

  “Well, sometimes people get upset, just like you get upset sometimes,” I offered.

  “Did you do something bad to Mommy?” Jack said to me, moving closer to Anna.

  “No, not at all,” I said.

  “Are you angry, Daddy?”

  “No.”

  “Is Mommy red with anger, like the man in the fireman book?”

  Anna laughed a little, her sobs subsiding.

  “Daddy, can I show you something?”

  “Okay, let’s go and Mommy will come down in a bit.”

  We walked downstairs, and on the table there were bits of broken bread, torn off from the loaf, topped with hard clumps of butter and a large uncut block of cheddar.

  “I made special cheese toast.”

  “You did,” I said, ruffling his hair. “That’s impressive, Jack.”

  “Are you happy, Daddy?”

  “I’m very happy, Jack,” I said. I watched him eat his bread and cheese, the morning light making columns of glitter dust, halos in Jack’s hair.

  * * *

  In the afternoon, the doorbell rang. Jack was napping and we were sitting in the living room. I looked out of the window and could see Lola’s little Fiat parked outside. “Did you tell her?” I asked Anna.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “So what’s she...”

  Anna stood up. “I don’t know. You know sometimes she just pops by.”

  “Can you tell her to...”

  Anna was already opening the door. “Hello, poppet,” Lola said, and I could hear the sound of her air-kisses and then silence. “Goodness, why the glum face, darling?”

  Anna didn’t say anything, and I could imagine Lola trying to read her, the girl she knew so well, adjacent beds at boarding school, roommates in Halls.

  “Hello, Rob,” Lola said as they walked into the living room. She looked at me quizzically, her eyebrows raised almost as an accusation.

  “Where’s Jack?”

  “He’s napping upstairs,” I said.

  Lola looked at Anna, who was stone-faced, motionless. “Anna, darling?” she said and then looked back at me, and I thought I could detect a slight annoyance in her face, as if she felt she was being excluded. Lola always had to know everything.

  I swallowed and took a deep breath. “We had some bad news yesterday, with Jack,” I said, my voice beginning to shake. “He’s been having a few problems with his balance, so we went to get it checked out. There is something on a scan that they think is...is a...” Tumor, tumor. I couldn’t say the word out loud. “...a lesion, yes. He has a lesion...”

  Lola looked confused. “A lesion. What do you mean? Like a tumor?” Of course, that word meant nothing to her: it was just vowels, consonants, not something that was growing in my little boy’s brain.

  “Yes, they think it is.”

  “Oh, God, poor Jack. Will he need treatment?” Lola moved next to Anna on the sofa and put her arm around her.

  “Yes,” I said, steeling myself. “He will have surgery to remove the...you know, to get everything out, and then we’ll know more. But the doctor thinks that will be it, he won’t need any more treatment...”

  “And then he’ll be okay, right?” Lola said, looking at Anna and then me.

  “Yes, we hope so,” I said.

  “God, how terrible. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” Lola took a deep breath and started speaking again to break the silence. “There was a little boy at India’s nursery who had something similar. He had the tumor removed, and he’s absolutely fine now. Made a full recovery...”

  Lola pulled Anna closer to her. “Oh, sweetheart, I hate seeing you like this. It’s all going to be okay, I promise.”

  Anna nodded, stiff in her arms, and Lola didn’t know what to say. She looked around the living room, as if, for a moment, she thought other people besides us were there.

  “Actually, there’s a woman I follow on Twitter, and she was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and then I think another cancer. Well, she turned to alternative remedies, I forget what exactly, but she’s completely cancer-free now. I can send you the link to her blog if you like.”

  Lola’s words fluttered by like dandelion seeds in the wind.

  “Thank you, Lola. We’re looking into everything at the moment.”

  Just then, Anna stood up and walked out of the room. I could hear her quick little steps padding up the stairs.

  “Should I go and see her?” Lola said, looking crestfallen.

  “No, it’s fine. Best to leave her now.”

  * * *

  “Scott.”

  “Hey.”

  His tone was cold, unsparing.

  “Would you have time to meet today?” I said.

  “I thought we were supposed to meet a week ago. You know, to discuss the sale.”

  “Sorry,” I said, “something’s happened.”

  “Right, it always does, doesn’t it? Mate, you’re my best friend, but I can’t deal with this at the moment.”

  I was quiet, didn’t know what to say, could feel the tears welling in my eyes.

  “Rob? Are you still there?”

  “Could you meet now?” I said, my voice cracking. “In The Ship?”

  “Yes, of course.” Scott’s tone had softened. “Is everything okay?”

  I didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything.

  “I can be at The Ship in about fifteen.”

  * * *

  Scott was already there when I arrived, sitting at the bar, scrolling through something on his phone.

  “I ordered you a pint and a cheeky one,” he said, pointing to a whiskey. “Sounds like you need it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Scott took a long swig of his pint. “So what’s up, mate? Trouble with the Mrs.?”

  I downed my whiskey in one gulp, and the ice rattled around the glass. “It’s Jack,” I said, taking a deep breath and pinching the backs of my thighs. “They’ve found something, some kind of lesion in his brain.”

  “A lesion? What’s a lesion? Is that a tumor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

  Scott indicated to the bartender we wanted more whiskeys. “And what did the doctor say?”

  “Well, he’ll have to have an operation first, and then they’ll know more,” I said, picking up my pint. “And hopefully that will be it.”

  Before he could answer, Scott’s phone rang and he looked at the screen. He shook his head as if he didn’t want to take it. “Sorry, hold that thought. It’s Karolina, and I’m in the doghouse...”

  He stepped off his bar stool, and I noticed he was wearing new brogues and skinny jeans. “Hello, babycakes,” he said as he walked away. He stood at the other end of the bar, laughing and whispering. I stared at a clock, a barometer, a ship in a bottl
e.

  “Sorry, mate,” he said, coming back to the bar and sitting back down on his stool. “She’s so demanding at the moment. Anyway, you were saying about the treatment... I mean, they caught it early, right?”

  “Yes,” I said, but suddenly I wasn’t so sure and couldn’t remember exactly what the doctor had said. “He has to have an operation, and they think they can take it all out.”

  “Well, that’s good news. Really happy to hear that.”

  “Thanks,” I said, pinching my thighs again, so hard it made me wince. “I just don’t understand it, because...because, he’s so well, he’s so active and...and...well, normal, I just don’t...”

  “God, Rob, I’m so, so sorry,” Scott said, and I didn’t know why he was apologizing until I realized his phone was ringing silently, throbbing on the bar.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said, declining the call but then the phone lit up again, and we both stared at the flashing screen.

  “So what’s the next step then? What happens now?” Scott said, when Karolina had finally hung up.

  “Well,” I said. “In the next few weeks, he’ll have an operation to remove the...you know, to get everything out. And then hopefully that will be it.”

  “I’m sure it will, mate,” he said, touching my whiskey glass with his. “And please, keep me in the loop, let me know if I can help. By the way, I do know some Harley Street types from the golf club, so I could ask around about the best people for this kind of thing.” Scott started scrolling through his phone. “Yep, here we go. This guy, Dr. Khan. Indian guy. Very clever. I’ll give him a ring later if you want?”

  I was sweating and could feel cold trickles run down my back. “I’ve got to go,” I said, suddenly feeling a bristle of panic.

  “Okay, mate,” Scott said, taking a leisurely sip of his pint. As I was leaving, he put his arm around me, I think an attempt at a hug, but I didn’t respond, my body stiff.

  “Seriously, let me know if there’s anything you need. Your Jack’s a fighter, especially if he’s anything like his old man.”