The Forever Gift

by Brooke Harris

  Three

  Heather

  I drive Kayla to school like any regular morning. Kayla turns up the radio when an Ed Sheeran song comes on and she sings along, out of tune. I catch her glance at me from the corner of my eye and I know she’s disappointed I’m not joining in. But I can’t remember the words right now. All I can think about is seeing Gavin and meeting the doctor.

  ‘You know, I’m actually kind of glad to go back to school after a weird week. I never want to see a hospital ever again,’ Kayla says, turning the radio back down when the song ends. She’s surprisingly chirpy for a kid who’s most definitely not a morning person. ‘It’s good to get back to normal, right, Mam?’

  I can’t bring myself to reply. I search for words that don’t feel like a lie or a betrayal but I can’t find any. I drive on, numb, as the low hum of morning radio keeps us company.

  Usually Kayla hops out while I’m caught in a stream of rush-hour traffic a couple of streets away from her school, but this morning, without overthinking it, I swerve out of heavy traffic and veer down the even more chock-a-block side road leading to the school. Kayla nearly has a heart attack when I drive in the school gates and pull up right outside the front door.

  When I stop the car and reach for the door handle to get out, Kayla’s eyes widen and she laughs, ‘Oh my God, you’re not seriously going to walk me to the door are you?’

  I make an I’m-worried-about-you face.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m fine, honest,’ Kayla assures me. ‘Please, Mam. I’ll never live it down if my mother walks me in as if I’m a five-year-old.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, when I notice Aiden is waiting for Kayla by the main doors.

  I wave and he smiles brightly and waves back.

  ‘Go on,’ I say. ‘Have a good day. And be careful. No more falling, yeah?’

  ‘Love you,’ Kayla says, throwing her arms around my neck and kissing my cheek. ‘See you later.’

  Kayla opens the door and a blast of cold air charges in shocking us both. I watch as Kayla walks into school with a limp so subtle that if you weren’t looking out for it you’d probably miss it.

  Kayla knows I’ll be late home this evening. She’s hanging out at Aiden’s after school. There’s nothing unusual about that. But there is something unusual about the way she pauses at the door and looks over her shoulder at me. There’s a spark of insecurity in her eyes. As if she knows I’ve been keeping something from her. My heart hurts.

  I wait until Kayla and Aiden are out of view before I drag my phone out of my bag and check my messages.

  There are some work emails and a missed call from my boss. I skip straight to the text from Gavin.

  See you soon.

  Try to stay calm.

  G x

  I take a deep breath, toss my phone onto the passenger seat and drive towards the train station. Normally I’d drive to Dublin. I like motorway driving, but not today. Today, I don’t trust myself to concentrate behind the wheel alone on such a long journey.

  The train is packed to capacity and the windows are fogged before we pull out of the station. The elderly gentleman beside me makes conversation and I chat back, grateful for the distraction. As much as I don’t normally enjoy small talk, the silence when he gets off halfway is much, much worse.

  I find myself checking my phone ridiculously often. I can’t shake the feeling that Kayla’s school will call at any moment. They’ll tell me she has fallen. Or fainted. Or fainted and fallen. And I will feel like an even worse mother than I already do.

  I know the doctor asked to speak to me and Gavin alone first so we can ask all the adult questions that may be too distressing for Kayla to hear, but I can’t help wishing Kayla was beside me now. I need a big, squishy hug, the kind she used to give me when she was little. No matter how tough things got over the years, Kayla’s hugs always gave me the strength I needed to keep going.

  The train journey seems to take so much longer than usual. I count down the minutes until I’m finally outside the large doors of the children’s hospital. I haven’t been here since I was a kid myself and I fell off my bike and chipped the bone in my elbow. It hasn’t changed much in twenty years. It’s still the same intimidating square, red-brick building it always was.

  My phone rings as I walk through the doors and I’m greeted by a large sign expressly forbidding the use of mobile phones. I answer nonetheless.

  ‘Hey. Where are you?’ Gavin’s husky voice asks.

  ‘Just here now. Where are you?’ I say.

  I’m stopped by security at reception and the guard points to the sign and at my phone.

  ‘Third floor,’ Gavin says. ‘Doctor Patterson’s office is the second door on the right. I’m waiting on the corridor for you.’

  ‘Okay. Okay. Coming,’ I say, glancing at the lift right in front of me and the stairs to the side as I try to decide which will be faster.

  ‘Miss, please,’ the security guard says, pointing to the sign again.

  Oh piss off, I think. But I smile politely and say sorry as I slide my phone into my handbag and decide on the stairs.

  I take the steps two at a time, glad I wore flats. I’m surprised Kayla didn’t notice. I only ever wear heels to work.

  Four

  Heather

  I find myself sitting inside the window of a once-familiar coffee shop waiting for Gavin. I left him outside the hospital. He called Charlotte as soon as we stepped outside the main doors. I didn’t have anyone to call so I just began to walk. Maybe Gavin thought I was giving him space. Maybe I was. I think I needed some too. I texted him as soon as I sat down and although I didn’t expect him to follow, he said he’d be here soon.

  The back of my chair is pressed right against the glass and there’s a draft blowing in where the latticed window isn’t an exact fit in the old stone wall. The chilly autumn air seems determined to work its way between my neck and the collar of my coat to pester me, nagging me to switch seats. But my legs are shaking, and it’s not overly dramatic to think I might topple over if I try to stand up right now. Instead, I pull my collar tighter around my neck, fold my arms on the table and stare into a cup of murky coffee.

  I haven’t been in here in years – not since Gavin and I were teenagers – before Kayla was born. The décor is still exactly the same, although a little tired and worn now. Mismatched chairs dot around oval, mahogany tables. There’s a neon-orange couch in the centre of the floor in front of the only rectangular coffee table in the whole shop. A bunch of college kids hog the whole space, sitting laughing and chatting. It reminds me of an early episode of Friends and I can’t help thinking how much Kayla would love this place.

  ‘Can I get you a refill?’ someone asks over my shoulder.

  ‘Ummm….’ I say, as if it’s a particularly difficult question.

  ‘I’ll just take this one away, yeah?’ An arm reaches over me and lifts the cup full of cold, white coffee away.

  ‘Hi.’ Gavin finally appears next to me. ‘Is that dairy?’

  ‘No. It’s soya,’ I say. ‘They do that here now.’

  ‘Cool,’ Gavin says, awkwardly unwrapping his chunky, colourful scarf from around his neck – I recognise it straight away. Kayla knitted it a couple of years ago in school and gave it to Gavin as a Christmas present. I didn’t think he’d actually wear it.

  ‘Whoever thought this place would be keeping up with the times?’ Gavin looks around and then nods to the waitress. ‘That’s cool. Very cool. Anyway, sorry I took so long. Parking was really hard to find.’ Gavin shuffles his arms out of his coat, drapes it over the back of the seat opposite me and sits down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I sigh, reading Gavin’s face as he scans the familiar surroundings. ‘I didn’t mean to just walk off. But I had to get out of there, you know? I wasn’t sure this place would even still be here.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Gavin says. ‘I get it.’

  ‘And then, I didn’t know if you’d remember where to find it,’ I ramble on. Neith
er of us know what to say.

  ‘Here’s good. This is good, Heather,’ Gavin assures me. ‘And of course I remember where to find this place. It’s special.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, remembering. ‘It is.’

  Gavin and I spent more hours than were healthy in this pokey corner café. Gavin sipping tall black americanos and me guzzling cappuccinos and feeling instantly sick after, because I’d made it to seventeen and hadn’t realised I was lactose intolerant.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s up for sale,’ Gavin says, sounding both nostalgic and disappointed.

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘Didn’t you notice the huge “For Sale” sign over the door?’

  I shake my head. I don’t remember the walk from the hospital to here, or coming inside and taking my seat. And I definitely wasn’t paying attention to signs above the door.

  ‘So, another?’ the waitress asks still hovering, looking at me.

  ‘Yeah,’ I nod, realising I’d forgotten she was there.

  I really, really don’t want to drink another sip of coffee but my hands are desperate for something to hold.

  ‘And, can I get a tall black, please? Double espresso,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Anything else?’ she asks.

  Gavin and I look over at the small glass cabinet next to the till. There’s confectionary inside that looks as if it’s been there since our college years. It doesn’t matter to me, because despite not eating since last night, food is the last thing on my mind.

  ‘That’s all,’ Gavin says, turning back first. ‘Just the coffees. Thanks.’

  Gavin and I wait in silence as the waitress walks away. She’s back behind the counter before I finally break a silence that’s fallen over us.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ I say. ‘I don’t think I’d have coped alone.’

  Tears glisten in Gavin’s eyes. ‘You don’t have to cope alone. We’ll get through this together.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I nod, not sure I believe him. ‘You, me and Kayla. We’re a team.’

  Gavin swallows hard. ‘Where is Kayla today – school like normal?’

  Normal. I close my eyes and wish for normal as I tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear. I take a deep breath and open my eyes again, struggling to keep it together. ‘She’s in school now and she’s hanging out with Aiden later. You know Aiden, don’t you?’

  Gavin nods. ‘Vaguely. Nice boy.’

  ‘He is,’ I say. ‘Aiden’s mother is picking them up after school; taking them back to her place. She knows I’ll be late home this evening.’

  ‘She knows…’ Gavin’s eyes widen, horrified.

  ‘That I will be late home,’ I reiterate. ‘Nothing else. She doesn’t know anything else. We have a sort of “Mam’s code” arrangement. I pick Aiden up if she’s running late and he has no key, she takes Kayla if I get stuck in work. It works out well. And Kayla’s happy.’

  ‘Good. Good,’ Gavin says, and I can tell he’s feeling left out of the loop.

  Our coffees arrive, and the waitress sets them down without talking. I’m pretty sure she can sense the vibe at our table and wishes she could be anywhere else.

  God, me too. Get me the hell out of here!

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, and she offers a mute smile over her shoulder as she carries on to the next table.

  ‘So, what have you said to people?’ Gavin asks, picking up his cup.

  I don’t reach for mine.

  ‘What have I said to people?’ I repeat, shaking my head.

  Gavin takes a mouthful of coffee with his eyes on me. It’s too hot. I can tell by his face as he sets the cup down on the table. ‘Kayla’s teachers, I mean. They’ll need to know, won’t they?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Yeah, I suppose they will.’ I hadn’t thought about all the people I’ll have to tell. I’ve only thought about Kayla.

  ‘Have you spoken to your parents?’ Gavin asks.

  I shake my head.

  ‘Mine? You probably talk to them more than I do,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Your parents?’ My eyes round like saucers. ‘God no,’ I snort, laughing painfully but it’s not funny.

  ‘Yeah, okay, sorry,’ Gavin says, fidgeting, and I know he wants to reach for his supernova coffee again.

  ‘Christ, don’t you remember how your mam and dad reacted when you told them Kayla was going to be born?’ I say. ‘Imagine how much they’ll freak out when we tell them she might die. No doubt they’ll find some way to blame us.’

  Gavin freezes and makes the same face he does any time I dare to veer towards our teenage years.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say.

  But Gavin still isn’t moving.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat, feeling guilty. ‘That was a low blow. But, you brought your parents into this, and I still think they don’t approve of me…’

  ‘Dying?’ Gavin says.

  ‘No. No. No.’ I shake my head. ‘Did I say that? I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just scared. Scared and talking crap. Don’t mind me. You know I ramble on like a tit when I’m nervous.’

  I watch as silent tears trickle down Gavin’s face.

  Gavin. Gavin Doran. The hot boy from my year in school. Liked by everyone. Even parents. My boyfriend for a while. And now happily married. Not. To. Me.

  This isn’t the first time my words have brought tears to Gavin’s eyes in this café. The last time was when we were seventeen, a pair of kids about to sit our Leaving Cert and I told him I was pregnant. He crumbled and told me his parents would kill him.

  Gavin’s parents did make our lives hell. I still blame them for splitting us up. They said we were making a huge mistake and a baby would ruin our lives. I sometimes wonder at what point over the years Mr and Mrs Doran realised they were wrong. Kayla is the best thing to ever happen to Gavin and me, and we all know it. I may never have been good enough for Gavin’s parents, but they truly adore Kayla.

  ‘There’s hope. The doctors have hope,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘They’re saying lots of positive stuff, aren’t they? There’s all sorts of treatments. They said something about…’ I pause and suddenly the small coffee shop grows to enormity. ‘Something about…’

  God, I have no idea what they said. I just became so consumed by fear that anything the doctor said after hearing the words Kayla and cancer in the same sentence went completely over my head. And as I watch Gavin now I realise it wouldn’t matter if I could remember or not, because my words are washing over him in exactly the same way now.

  How are we here? How are we here again? Gavin and I, in such an unimaginable situation. When I told Gavin I was pregnant I looked into his eyes and I thought I broke him. But I was wrong. So wrong. Because the look on his face then was nothing compared to the way he looks at me now. Telling Gavin that Kayla was going to come into our lives didn’t break him. But telling Gavin that Kayla might leave our lives has. It really has.

  ‘Surgery,’ Gavin says at last. ‘That’s first.’

  He picks up his coffee cup, raises it to his lips but doesn’t sip before setting it down.

  Surgery, I think. Maybe? Did someone say that? I’m not sure. There were so many things said in the hospital. Terms I didn’t understand. Lots of big words. And I asked questions. Didn’t I? Surely, I asked something. Or maybe I just sat there. Useless and barely able to move – a lot like right now.

  I rewind my mind to the last time I was thinking straight: on the train this morning. I wrote questions – everything that popped into my head. I got a cramp in my arm because I could barely move the pen fast enough to keep up with my racing mind. But did I write the answers in the meeting? I think I did. No. No! Maybe I didn’t. I want to check my bag. I want to check my bag now. Maybe there’s questions. Maybe there’s answers. I don’t have any bloody clue what’s in there.

  I lean over and rummage in my Michael Kors bag. It’s a silly, oversized tote but it’s real and all. I bought it a couple of years ago on a girls’ holiday in New York with my friends from work
. I’m not sure which I enjoyed more, shopping for me, or shopping for Kayla. Although Kayla’s list was extensive and had to be paired down to a mere fifty million jumpers and thirty billion bath bombs, I loved every minute of the crazy dash around the city in a race against consumer time. Kayla stayed with Gavin that week. And I was the best parent in the whole world when I came home.

  ‘Heather,’ Gavin says as I rummage in my bag, half-panicked and half-smiling as I think of Kayla’s smile as she tried on all her new designer clothes.

  ‘Heather. Heather. Heather,’ Gavin says, louder.

  ‘Yeah.’ I shoot up, empty-handed.

  ‘Are we going to lose her?’ Gavin says, his eyes wide and his jaw slack.

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Absolutely not.’

  Five

  Charlotte

  I hold Molly’s hand as we walk in the school gate.

  ‘Ouch, ouch, ouch,’ she protests.

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ I say, quickly loosening my grip and slowing my pace, worried I’m walking too fast for her little legs to keep up.

  The principal meets us at the door and I smile, trying my best to seem normal. In all the commotion this morning I forgot to call the school to explain we had a family emergency.

  ‘Good morning, Molly,’ the principal says. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  ‘Hello,’ Molly says, wriggling her hand away from mine. ‘Mammy says we’re running late this morning. But I don’t think we are ’cos we drived for a quick while in Mammy’s car and then we walked from the car park. We haven’t run at all.’

  ‘And you like running, don’t you?’ the principal says. ‘But you know there is no running inside school. Even on the mornings we’re a little late.’

  Molly nods.

  The principal reaches her hand out to Molly and says, ‘Will we walk around to your classroom now? All your friends will be happy to see you.’