While I Was Sleeping

by Dani Atkins

  ‘I could have still have picked her up,’ I maintained stubbornly. ‘I could have got a cab there and back.’ It wasn’t a logical suggestion, but I was probably several stations past logical by that point. I seemed to have missed my stop.

  ‘If you want, I’ll phone her and tell her not to bother,’ volunteered Ryan. He waited for me to reply, and when I said nothing he pulled the phone from his pocket.

  I caved before the number had connected. ‘No. Leave it. It’s done now.’

  Ryan looked at me for a long moment. There were deep lines of concern etched on his face that told a very different story about how he’d coped over the last two weeks to his carefully edited version.

  ‘I think I’ve forgotten how to feel normal. All I want is to go back to the way things were before.’ Interestingly he didn’t ask me if I meant before I discovered I had a brain tumour, or before Maddie woke up. That was just as well, as I wasn’t entirely sure I knew myself.

  ‘Maybe what I need is for you to hold me,’ I said. Ryan’s arms were instantly there, tenderly encircling as he pulled me against his chest. I could feel his breath fanning my hair; hear his heart beating steadily beneath my ear, taste the salt of a single tear from either his eyes or mine when he kissed my lips. My senses were full of him, and suddenly nothing else mattered. This was what was important, being home with him and Hope. Everything else was background trivia.

  ‘Everything’s going to be all right now,’ Ryan said, kissing the top of my head gently. It was a promise he had no authority to make, but I chose to believe him anyway.

  Those first few weeks were the worst, because I was hiding so much from so many people. Hiding from Ryan my dread that I might not be the woman who’d grow old and grey beside him, despite the promises I’d made. Hiding the fear that my family’s future might not include me. I could picture every milestone that lay ahead, like photographs still to be taken in an album. I saw a taller Hope, swamped by an oversized blazer on her first day at secondary school; I saw her dressed in something Ryan would probably hate, about to go on her very first date; I saw my teenage daughter laughing jubilantly as she tore up her L plates. I saw all the things I might never get to see.

  Who’d be standing beside her at her university graduation? Ryan would be there, older and distinguished, more grey than dark blond, with his arm around Hope, who’d be gowned in a robe and mortar board. But who was the person standing on the other side of her? And further down the road, on her wedding day, was there an empty space in the family photograph for the smiling mother-of-the-bride? Probably not, for there were was already an excess of candidates for that position.

  And yet when Ryan asked – which he did at least fifty times a day – how I was feeling, I gathered up every one of those fears, bundled them out of sight, and told him I was fine. So it felt perfectly natural to give Maddie exactly the same answer when she arrived at our door with Hope, on the day Ryan had eventually returned to work.

  It had taken me longer than normal to answer the bell. I’d developed a habit of walking slowly, as though I was balancing a weighty book on my head, instead of a collection of metal implants inside it. It didn’t help the tumour, but my deportment had most definitely improved.

  ‘No, you’re not fine,’ answered Maddie with quiet certainty, after Hope had run past us, no doubt in search of her cat. I felt my hands tighten on the door jamb, which I was using for support. I stared into the face of the beautiful woman standing on my porch, and hated the fact that she saw beneath my mask so easily. She saw what my husband, my child, my consultant, and every other person who asked me, could not. When you stare death in the face, when you look deep into the red-hot coals of its eyes, it changes you somehow. It had changed me, and it had changed her. And I knew right then, on that very first day, that the relationship I had with this woman was about to alter in ways I’d never imagined or expected.

  It took four days before I asked her in for tea. Four days before I stopped treating her like an unpaid chauffeur. I was kind of hoping she’d say no, but of course she didn’t. It was very different from the first time we’d invited her into our home. I didn’t reach for the best crockery. I laid no fancy tea tray. I pulled out mismatched mugs and dropped builders’ teabags into them. I could hear Hope through the open door of the kitchen, chattering away to Elsa, as she did each day. My ears pricked up instantly at her words about a nasty ‘mean boy’ in her class who’d made her cry.

  My eyes went to Maddie’s, instantly concerned. She leant forward on the tall stool she’d perched on. The narrow width of the breakfast bar put us so close together, she only had to whisper her explanation: ‘Apparently some little shit told her that she and I both look like bloodsucking vampires.’

  Immediately my thoughts went to every childcare book I’d read – and I’d read a lot – that advised how to deal with that kind of bullying. I began scrolling through my options: make an appointment with her class teacher, or should it be the head, or perhaps it would be best to have a quiet word with the parents?

  ‘What did you say to her?’

  ‘Nothing. But I might just have licked my lips when we walked past him in the playground.’

  I groaned, and put my head in my hands, and for once it wasn’t because of the mass growing inside it. ‘You can’t do things like that.’

  ‘Clearly I have much to learn. Luckily Hope has a good cop and a bad cop for a mum.’

  I looked at her for a very long moment. ‘You’re not at all how I always imagined you’d be.’ Maddie looked puzzled. ‘All those months, well years, really, when I visited you in the hospital, I created an idea in my head about the person I thought you’d be.’ I looked slightly embarrassed by my admission. ‘We became friends – in my imagination, anyway.’

  Maddie took a mouthful of her tea before replacing her mug with care on the worktop. ‘So how does the real me compare to the one you invented?’

  ‘I’ll have to get back to you on that one,’ I said cautiously.

  She shrugged and her face transformed into an enormous smile as our daughter ran into the room. ‘That’s good enough for now.’

  Chapter 19

  Four Months Later

  Maddie

  Spring is a horrible time of year to discover you have a life-threatening condition. When everything around you is coming back to life after the dark days of winter, it must seem doubly cruel to find yourself suddenly swimming against that tide.

  The things that stood out most for me that spring were the discoveries I made. During the months when the days began to grow longer and warmer, I learnt that the only thing sweeter than your sleepy child’s goodnight kiss is the early-morning cuddle you get when they leap into bed beside you.

  I learnt that I was rubbish at haggling, after paying a thousand pounds too much for the second-hand car I bought. ‘I could have gone with you,’ Ryan had offered, when it was too late to be of help. I learnt to count to ten before smiling and saying politely that it didn’t matter.

  I learnt that Mitch was excellent at wallpapering but that I aced him at painting window frames, which meant I spent several weeks covered in paint splotches, working happily alongside him as we transformed the second bedroom in the flat.

  I learnt I missed my physical therapy sessions when Heidi finally told me that we were ‘done’. I also learnt that gym membership is only cost-effective if you actually go regularly, and that it’s much harder to motivate yourself without a pocket-sized peroxide dynamo yelling in your ear.

  I learnt how to use Tinder – not for me, but for Mitch, after he moaned about yet another disastrous first date he’d been on. I learnt I was far better at picking out potential girlfriends for him than he was. I also learnt to ignore the strange feeling it gave me when several weeks later he was still seeing the girl I’d found him on the site.

  But the hardest lesson I learnt that spring was that I was nowhere near as smart or as astute as I’d once thought. I missed signs all over the place. I misto
ok a warrior for a pacifist, and a lion-heart for a weak one. I thought my job was to help Ryan and Chloe, I thought she needed my support to face her illness. But in fact Chloe Turner was the strongest person I’d ever met. It takes a very special kind of woman to devote whatever time she has left to train someone else to be her replacement. That was something else I learnt.

  ‘Don’t let Hope have her ears pierced until she’s thirteen.’

  We were sitting side by side on uncomfortable wooden seats in a draughty village hall. I was swivelled on my chair, staring at the group of excitable little girls in matching pink tutus lined up beside the low platform that was about to serve as an impromptu stage.

  I turned back to look at Chloe, whose smile was wide as she found Hope’s face searching for her among the assembled line of mothers.

  ‘What?’

  Chloe nodded and smiled at some unspoken question she’d read on Hope’s face. She lifted up the small camcorder from her lap and gave her daughter a confident thumbs-up. She answered me without looking in my direction.

  ‘Pierced ears. We struck a deal; it involved the eating of broccoli. Thirteen, don’t forget,’ she said.

  The meaning of her words took their time to filter through to the appropriate part of my brain. I finally got it just as the ballet teacher slid the CD into the player, and the first strains of the opening song began to fill the hall.

  ‘Chloe—’ I said, unthinkingly reaching for her hand, which wasn’t something I could ever remember doing before.

  ‘Shhh,’ she said. ‘It’s starting,’ She nodded her head towards the stage where the line of ballerinas had begun to leap around exuberantly. But she held on to my hand for more seconds than I was expecting, and when I looked at her profile as her eyes followed Hope’s every step, I saw the tears begin to slowly trickle down her cheek.

  Chloe

  You always remember where you were when you first hear devastating news: 9/11, the death of Princess Diana, those moments are forever seared into your memory. It was easy for me to recall where I’d been when I received my own dreadful news, for it was exactly the same place I’d been the first time, across a desk from Dr Higgins.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Chloe, the latest MRI shows a worrying increase in the size of your tumour.’

  I reached out blindly for Ryan’s hand and it was already stretched out towards me, waiting. I focused on the bones of our fingers, on the feel of his skin, on the fusion of his grip on mine as the doctor’s words thundered like a waterfall around us.

  ‘I’ve passed on your results to the neurosurgical team. You’ll be hearing from them very soon to discuss your options and how we should proceed from here.’

  I don’t remember getting out of my chair, or leaving the consultation room. I don’t remember the walk back to the car, except that the sun felt warm on my back. There were birds calling from trees heavy with summer foliage, but they all fell silent at the sound of my sobs. It was almost as if they understood.

  Strangely, I liked Mr Owen from the very first moment I met him. It was an unusual reaction to have on meeting the man who was going to cut into your skull. He was a straight talker.

  ‘I don’t want to do this surgery, Chloe.’ The blue of his eyes was so pale, they were practically white. They were also extremely troubled. ‘You’re a very young woman, and a mother. And this is a very high-risk operation. If there was any alternative to surgery, anything at all, please know that I’d be recommending it to you right now.’

  I swallowed noisily and glanced across at Ryan, who was sitting rigidly in the chair beside me. The hand that wasn’t clenching mine was balled up in a fist on his thigh, as though he wanted to punch someone. I hoped it wasn’t Mr Owen.

  ‘What about radiotherapy?’ I asked hesitantly. ‘Could we try that first?’

  Mr Owen shook his head regretfully, and gave no sign of the irritation I’m sure all medics must feel when patients try to recommend their own course of treatment. ‘Because of the size of the tumour and its placement, I very much doubt I’m going to be able to remove it all. After the surgery, when you’ve recovered sufficiently, that will be the time to begin our radiotherapy campaign.’

  Campaign. I liked that word. It made it sound like we were an army going into battle. In a way, I suppose we were. My smile was a little watery, probably diluted by all the tears I’d shed over the last few days. ‘Well, it’s nice to have something to look forward to.’

  ‘When?’ Ryan’s voice had probably not sounded that croaky since he was an adolescent. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘When do you propose to do the surgery?’

  Mr Owen sighed and looked back down at the array of tests results spread across his desk. There were a great many of them. ‘I think we should look at scheduling you in within the next few weeks at the most. I don’t feel we should delay it any further than that.’

  I breathed in and out slowly, thankful for the surgeon’s honesty and yet terrified by the risks he’d so clearly outlined at the outset of our conversation.

  ‘Worst-case scenario?’ he’d echoed, with a look of obvious reluctance on his face. I guess all doctors must hate that question, it was probably right up there with How long have I got, Doc? in the list of things they never want a patient to ask.

  I’d braced myself in my chair, like a skydiver who realises too late that they’re frightened of heights. But when the doctor’s strange pale eyes focused on mine he must have seen my resolve. No sugar coating, no euphemisms. I needed to know.

  ‘My greatest concern is that we won’t be able to control the bleeding on the table. The stents that have been managing your condition could now hamper us.’

  ‘Which means?’ I was probing, because the only power I had left was knowledge. If things were really as bad as the expression on the surgeon’s face led me to believe, then I needed to know it all.

  ‘You could bleed to death on the table. The operation could leave you severely incapacitated. You could end up paralysed, or in a severe vegetative state.’

  ‘Like a coma,’ said Ryan. He had a look of a man who was about to relive his very worst nightmare.

  ‘Yes, like a coma,’ said Mr Owen.

  Maddie

  ‘Maddie, can Sam and I watch another episode?’

  Hope stood in my kitchen doorway, her school skirt crumpled and something which looked suspiciously like jam down the front of her logo’d sweatshirt. I knew the doughnuts had been a mistake, but it would have been rude to have said so to Mitch, particularly as he’d ended up consuming half the box himself. Too late, I remembered Chloe’s rule about Hope changing out of her school uniform as soon as she got home.

  ‘Okay with you?’ I asked Mitch, who was sitting at the kitchen table cradling his third or fourth cup of tea.

  ‘One more,’ he said equably, ‘then I will definitely have to get him back home to his mum.’

  I pulled up the second chair at the small table, and tried very hard not to stare at the stray grains of sugar that were lodged in Mitch’s beard. He saw me looking and grinned. ‘Better add sugary doughnuts to the list of things I should never eat when out on a date,’ he said, brushing the residue from his chin and reaching into the box for one more calorific treat. It was a measure of how comfortable we now were in each other’s company that something that would have once turned him crimson now didn’t register even pale pink. But then of course, we weren’t on a date. This was a mercy mission, and I was unashamedly hijacking his evening with Sam in order to keep Hope distracted.

  I didn’t feel particularly proud of myself, trying to hoodwink my own daughter, but until Ryan and Chloe were back from their appointment at the hospital, it was easier to avoid all questions that involved ‘Mummy’s bad head’ or the word ‘operation’.

  ‘Does she always call you Maddie? Never Mummy?’ Mitch asked, this time taking greater care to ensure his beard was unsullied by crumbs.

  ‘Yes. I mean, she obviously knows that I am her mother. But Chloe was Mumm
y for six years before I came along, so naturally she has prior claim to the title.’

  ‘You have a claim too,’ Mitch said loyally.

  ‘Now doesn’t seem like the right time to push it.’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  We were silent for several minutes, the only sound filling the flat was the high-pitched squeals of laughter from the programme our carefree offspring were watching in the other room. Although this was the first time Sam and Hope had met, they’d got on immediately in that weird instant-friendship way children seem to have. If only adults had that ability, if only they could see a person and know immediately they would make a connection. That thought took me, not surprisingly, to my all-too-successful attempt to find Mitch a female companion.

  ‘So how are things going with Caitlin?’

  For a moment Mitch looked slightly uncomfortable, before admitting. ‘Very good, actually. You picked well.’

  Yay. Go me, I thought, trying to fix a smile that looked halfway genuine onto my lips.

  ‘You should give it a go,’ he urged, nudging my arm heartily in a come-on-in-the-water’s-fine kind of a way. I resisted the impulse to rub the spot on my arm which I was fairly certain would be sporting a bruise when I took off my jumper later.

  ‘No thanks. I think I’m done for the time being. There’s quite enough going on right now to think about. I don’t need any more complications.’

  Mitch nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yeah. I get that. It’s all about timing. To be honest, I wasn’t at all sure about this online dating malarkey.’

  ‘Do people still say “malarkey”?’

  ‘Yeah, they brought it back while you were in your coma.’

  That’s what I liked about Mitch: his very dark and unexpected sense of humour. It caught me by surprise every single time.

  ‘I’ve been in love twice in my life,’ Mitch admitted, switching lanes in our conversation faster than an F1 driver. ‘Perhaps it’s greedy to be looking for it again.’