by Alex Brown
‘What about her blood sugar levels?’ Chrissie asked. ‘Is there anything I …’ She stopped and looked at Sam before adding, ‘We … can do?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve been putting some thought into that,’ the doctor started. ‘There are tools available to help Holly’s body find the right balance. I think a pump might work; they are quite expensive but we should be able to get the funding from your local authority.’
‘I’ll pay for it. No prob—’ Sam jumped in, but then fell silent on seeing the look on Chrissie’s face, indicating for him to calm down.
‘That shouldn’t be necessary,’ the doctor said discreetly before turning her attention back to Holly.
‘What’s a pump? Can I wear it while I’m dancing – it won’t get in the way, will it?’ Holly frowned.
‘Well,’ the doctor laughed and nodded. ‘You’ll still be able to dance, Holly. There are some really small and compact pumps out there which fit in your back pocket, a bit like a mobile phone.’
‘Ooh,’ Holly beamed on hearing this.
‘The pump will take your reading and then administer the insulin; it manages things for you. It can be a bit inconvenient, but many people love the pump and find it makes their lives much easier.’
‘It sounds amazing. When can we get the pump?’ Sam asked.
‘It won’t happen immediately. You’ll need two letters, one from me and one from your GP – he’ll sort it out with your local NHS trust and put a good case forward on Holly’s behalf. She will need to be fitted, but hopefully it won’t take too long. In the meantime, we’ll keep a good eye on things.’
*
Outside the consulting room, Sam couldn’t resist pulling Holly and Chrissie in for a big cuddle. He felt as if they’d had a huge reprieve. Like a big weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he could see from Chrissie’s sparkling blue eyes and wide smile that she felt the same way too. Sam ruffled Holly’s hair, which earned him a frown and a, ‘Dad – it took me ages to straighten it!’
‘I think it’s time we went for that pizza, don’t you?’ Chrissie said, linking arms with them both.
*
After Sam had got over the initial relief at Holly’s good news, he found that it was hard for him to truly enjoy the rest of the afternoon in the pizza restaurant. The question mark over his blood type was nagging away at him. If Rob wasn’t his father, then who was? Knowing his mother, it could literally be anyone. The thoughts kept going over and over inside his head as he listened to Holly chatting away, barely managing to draw breath. And she was especially happy in being allowed her favourite pizza. And getting to share a dark chocolate mousse with Chrissie.
‘What’s up, Sam, you seem a bit distracted?’ Chrissie asked, when Holly went to the loo, leaving the two of them alone.
‘Oh, nothing, I … it’s just been a long day, that’s all.’ Sam pushed a smile onto his face. He desperately wanted to unburden himself, but now that Chrissie was here in front of him, he just felt that he couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Sharing the news that Rob wasn’t his biological father … the awful reality was too terrible to share. Even the realisation that Holly’s diabetes hadn’t been passed down by him was little consolation. Sam’s father had been the epitome of what a good father should be, and now he’d had time to absorb the information, Sam felt that his own inadequacies were making sense. Of course, he could never be like Rob, because he wasn’t his son. He remembered all the acts of love and kindness that Rob had shown him – showing him how to ride a bike for the first time, helping him with his homework. Always cheering him on. He was taken far too young. Sam had only been a boy when Rob had died, but he still missed him every day. Sam felt his throat constrict.
‘By the way, did you ever get the results of your blood tests?’ Chrissie looked at him quizzically, and touched his arm gently. ‘Sam?’
‘Oh, yes, the blood tests. Sorry, I was miles away,’ he started. ‘They said …’ Sam stopped. He couldn’t say the words. He had an overwhelming urge to run again, to get outside and take big gulps of air. ‘Sorry … I just need to get away … it’s too much.’
Chrissie pulled back suddenly and touched his arm, as if to stop him from going.
‘Is that what this is about? Now that Holly isn’t in danger, you’re going to ship out? Just like you usually do?’ she sighed, shaking her head.
Sam swallowed hard. Trying to sort out the jumble of emotions crowding his head – his mother, Rob, Holly, Chrissie.
‘No, that’s not what I meant—’
‘I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you,’ Chrissie snapped. ‘You were bound to go chasing after the next exciting project again sooner or later.’
Her accusation cut through him like a sharp knife of anger. ‘You make it sound like I made the decision to work away on my own. But we agreed that I would go, that it was the best thing to do. I would pay and you would stay, isn’t that what you said?’
‘But I didn’t mean for ever!’ Chrissie admonished.
‘And I asked you both to come too. Join me in Singapore. And Dubai before that. But you wouldn’t.’ Sam puffed out a long breath of air and glanced towards the other end of the restaurant. Holly had been a while, so she’d be back soon, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see them arguing again.
‘It wasn’t right for Holly,’ Chrissie said, quietly.
‘Right for Holly? Or right for you?’ Sam felt the heat of his own anger rise up inside him now. Yes he’d played his part in all of this. But what about Chrissie? The stubbornness; her unwillingness to bend.
At that moment, Holly came back to the table, her smiles now disappeared as she picked up on the tension between them, the accusations that hung in the air. All of the frustration and anger was crowding in on Sam now.
Linda and her lies and cold-heartedness.
Chrissie with her obstinacy.
Holly’s diabetes.
All of it drowning him.
And he snapped.
‘Just because I was working thousands of miles away doesn’t mean I don’t care? It doesn’t mean that you’re a better parent than me, you know. And I didn’t see you complaining when you wanted for nothing,’ he glowered at Chrissie.
‘Sam!’ Chrissie’s eyes flicked to Holly.
‘I’m not a child,’ Holly said, ‘So you can both stop treating me like one.’ Sam and Chrissie fell silent.
A few seconds later, Sam stood up.
‘I think I’d better go.’
Chrissie turned to Holly.
‘Darling, I’m sorry. Dad and I need to sort some things out; it’s just a silly argument …’
‘Stop it! I hate you!’ She looked at her mum first, and then her dad. ‘I hate you both.’ Dad had promised he would sort it out. But now it was all going wrong. Holly wished they would just stop it. Shut up. This was her life too they were fighting and yelling about and ruining. Dad had said none of it was her fault, but she wasn’t so sure now. She knew they were stressed out about the diabetes. Everything was ruined. The wish was never going to come true.
Chapter Twenty
Tony Darling puffed out a long breath of air, shook his head as he stared at the tins of paint piled up on the old stone floor and thought Myles King must have more money than blooming sense.
‘You don’t like it. Do you?’ Jude asked, waving the colour chart in front of him. She knew her dad wasn’t a fan of expensive paint that couldn’t be bought straight from the builders’ merchants down on the industrial estate, but Myles was insistent that the walls surrounding the swimming pool were painted in Farrow & Ball’s Manor House Gray. She probably shouldn’t have shown him the chart at all, but he had been so enthusiastic and, well … it was nice that he was taking some responsibility. And far better than him not caring at all, even if he had chosen purely on the name. Manor House Gray, ‘sounds countryside-ish, yeah?’ had been his reasoning, and therefore in keeping with his country pile on the outskirts of the rural village of T
indledale. ‘You know, wisteria-clad old manor houses with in-and-out driveways and an ancient Labrador lolling about on the lawn. Afternoon tea and all that chintzy shizz. Yep, this is deffo the one,’ he had finished making his choice by tapping the chart with a flourish. Then, hopping back on his quad bike and zooming off to check on the micro-pigs, sorry … Large Blacks! Myles still wasn’t convinced that his beloved, but very tiny, sweet little pigs weren’t going to grow any bigger, despite Jude and Sam both having told him umpteen times by now. Even the man from DEFRA, who had come to inspect the Blackwood Farm Estate and check that everything was set up as it should be, had pointed out this fact to him. But no, Myles was having none of it.
‘Chintzy shizz?’ Jude had exclaimed, dumbfounded. Did he really decide on a few grands’ worth of paint because it was like chintzy shizz? But he was the client, after all, and her work mantra had always been … the client is right. Except for that time in Dubai when the son of an Arabian royal prince had wanted her to source a flock of seagulls and have them circle above the infinity pool to create an authentic British seaside sound. Jude had drawn the line at that nonsense.
‘Nothing to do with me, love. I haven’t got to gawp at it all day long.’ Tony rummaged in his tool bag for a bit before finding an old paint-splattered screwdriver and set about opening the first tin. He did a comedy double take as the lid came off. ‘Blimey! He paid how much for this, did you say?’ he joked, and then, ‘last time I saw this colour it was on a dreary documentary about a battleship.’
‘Oh, Dad, it’s not that bad. At least it’s a neutral tone … you should have seen his first choice. You’d have really hated that.’
‘Spose so.’ Tony started mixing and then dolloping out the paint into a tray, ready to roll onto the prepared walls. ‘Right. Best be getting on with it then, if I’m to have this lot done in three days. Barry has said he’ll give me a hand, but still, we’re going to be hard pushed …’ He paused to suck in a big breath and shake his head again in that way painter and decorators do. ‘Are you sure I can’t have an extra day or two?’
‘Quite sure, Dad. And I know it’s tight—’
‘Tight? I’ll say … it’s tighter than old Mrs Pocket’s purse when she’s sorting out the parish council budget.’
‘Ha-ha, how very funny you are with your made-up analogy,’ Jude laughed, patting her dad on the arm. Tony pulled a face. ‘But it is for a good cause, for the villagers,’ she reminded him. ‘And Holly is going to love it too.’
‘Hmm, if your boss manages to pull all this off in time for the May Fair.’
‘He’s not my boss. He’s a client, Dad … well, more like a friend now, really.’ Jude lifted one shoulder and pushed her red curls back over the other. ‘And he’s actually not such an idiot as I first thought he was. He’s got a sensible side too, you know … once you get to know him a bit. And he was really lovely with Holly when I brought her over to visit the estate.’
‘If you say so,’ Tony stated, and then quickly changed the subject with, ‘what’s happening with the licences and planning permission and all that?’ on seeing his daughter’s disgruntled face. It was as obvious as a flashing Belisha beacon that she had a bit of a thing for this Myles. And something Tony had learnt over the years of being a single dad to a daughter was that it was best to never, ever, ever pass comment on stuff like that. It would only backfire. And he much preferred having an easy life.
‘Well, Myles has got his lawyers on it and they’re getting the council to fast-track it all. They already have the parish council onboard.’ Jude picked up a roller and went to submerge it into the paint.
‘Err, best leave that to me, love.’ Tony took the roller from her.
‘Sorry, just trying to help, thought you were tight for time.’
‘I am. But I’ve seen your decorating skills … and it’s important it looks professional, even if it does have to be a rush job.’ Tony shook his head, and Jude nudged him in the ribs. He then added, ‘The parish council are bound to be onboard if they haven’t got to cough up for it … and I reckon if Myles chucks enough money at this, he’ll get the result he wants,’ as he started rollering the nearest wall.
‘I guess so.’
‘And I’m not usually one for all that cronyism and backhanders to jump the queue, but in this case it’s warranted, especially if it puts a smile on little Holly’s face. We don’t want her disappointed … not after everything she is going through. How is she getting on, love?’
‘Better, we think. Chrissie said they were at the hospital and the doctor is talking about a special pump which will help her manage things,’ Jude told him, leaving out what had happened afterwards. Chrissie had told her last night over a large glass of Prosecco in the Duck & Puddle pub. And Jude had wondered what could possibly be going on with Sam. It had all been heading in the right direction, but it seemed there was still so much they needed to get off their chests. And Holly wasn’t even talking to either of her parents now after she’d witnessed them going for each other. She was even staying at Dolly’s house now. So it was such a terribly sad mess of a situation for the whole family to be in, and Jude really wished there was something more that she could do for them all.
‘Well that’s good news at least.’ Tony stopped rollering and shook his head. ‘And Chrissie and Sam, has that helped them sort out their differences?’
‘Not exactly. I think they still need to do a bit more listening to each other.’
‘That’s the way it goes sometimes though, love. Stuff like this – when a marriage is already on rocky ground and then something major happens, like a child having health problems – it can break families apart. People talk about it making them stronger, bringing them together … and they’re the lucky ones. But … take your nan and granddad, your dear mum’s parents … nearly destroyed their marriage when Sarah died.’
‘Did it?’ Jude asked, not having heard about this before.
‘Yep. Terrible bust-ups they had for a few years afterwards. And they had a rock-solid marriage up to that point. They eventually muddled a way through, but it was never the same for them again.’
‘That’s really sad, Dad. I never knew.’
‘Course you didn’t, darling. You were just a little girl at the time, and one whose Mummy had died. I wasn’t letting any of that other stuff upset you too.’
‘Dad, you really are amazing.’ Filled with a sudden rush of affection, Jude wrapped her arms around her dad’s back and squeezed him tight.
‘Hey, what’s all this for?’ Tony asked, his voice tender and kind.
‘Because I love you.’
‘And I love you too, my girl.’
‘It must have been really hard for you when Mum died … and you were only young yourself, weren’t you?’ Jude said softly, burying her face into her dad’s white overall and inhaling the evocative scent of her childhood … emulsion mingled with Golden Virginia rolling tobacco.
‘Yes, nineteen eighty-six it was, and I was still quite a young man. And I won’t lie,’ Tony turned around and faced his daughter. Patting the side of her arm, he told her, ‘it was tough, love. The hardest thing I’ve ever had to get through. But having you made it possible. You kept me going, sweetheart.’
‘Oh, Dad,’ Jude managed, worried her emotions would spill out onto her face if she said anything more. But, after pulling her top lip down and pressing her teeth hard into it, she then added, ‘I’m so pleased you did keep on,’ and kissed his cheek.
‘Well, someone had to keep you on the straight and narrow. You might very well have ended up in prison or something otherwise … a little firecracker you were when you were growing up.’
‘Oi! I wasn’t that bad, Dad.’ She play-punched him on the arm.
‘Well, you had your moments, love, to be fair.’ Tony went to duck when Jude pretended to swipe him one. ‘But, seriously, I’m ever so proud of you, darling. You’ve turned out pretty good, even if I do say so myself. You’re a smart, independent lady w
ith her head screwed on the right way … and your mum would have thought so too.’
‘Ahh, thank you, Dad.’ Jude put her arms around him again and took another whiff of her dear dad’s signature scent, nostalgic and comforting and heart-warming all rolled into one. She was so pleased that she had come home. Even if the shop wasn’t panning out the way she had hoped, it had still been worth giving up her life in LA just to be back where she belonged. And with all that was going on with her best friend Chrissie, and goddaughter Holly, it had made her realise that her own family, her dad, was now even more important to her than ever. While he wasn’t that old, he wasn’t getting any younger … and she wanted to make the most of every moment she had left with him, whether that be twenty or, with a bit of luck, even thirty more years.
‘Now. Enough of all this. Work to be done,’ Tony chuckled and turned to get on with some more rollering. And then, on remembering something else important, her put the roller down and looked again at Jude. ‘What about the testing? Does that matter now? You said Chrissie couldn’t donate, but what about Sam? And what about us? Dolly, and everyone else in the village? When can we get tested? Cos I’m absolutely sure we’d all be up for it – and you never know … someone is bound to have the right blood match. Pretty much the whole of Tindledale is related in one way or another …’ He shook his head.
‘Dad, it’s not that bad. You make it sound like Tindledale is some kind of weird cult where brothers and sisters get married as a norm.’
‘Don’t be daft! I’m just saying that most of us have grown up together and we all look out for each other. And everyone in the village is talking about it,’ Tony paused, ‘and not in a gossipy way.’
‘Well, that makes a change. I had forgotten how it’s impossible to have a private life in Tindledale, but it’s all coming back to me now,’ she rolled her eyes, recalling countless times over the years growing up here, when Tony would know that she’d bunked off school and gone on the bus to Market Briar with Chrissie before she had even opened the garden gate on getting back home. Or what about the time she had tried to pinch a bottle of Lambrini from the little off-licence section at the back of the village store, for her and Chrissie to drink before the end-of-school disco? The shop owner, Tommy Prendergast, had phoned her dad before she’d even realised she’d been caught. Tony had then turned up in the village square, jumped out of his white van and given her what-for in front of all the Territorial Army cadets who were practising for some sort of ceremonial thing by the war memorial. She had been mortified.