The A-frame had the answer: ‘Champagne Afternoon Tea’.
Screw never having had an afternoon tea. Screw never having had the taste of sparkling champagne pass her lips. Screw never haven eaten fancy cream cakes and cucumber sandwiches.
Looking up from the sign, she spotted the hotel it was promoting and went straight in.
‘Table for one?’ the waiter asked when she entered the restaurant.
Emma nodded with far more confidence than she actually had. She was wearing black trousers and a pale pink blouse: her work garb. She wasn’t dressed for a place like this, where she would be better off in a fancy tea dress. But it didn’t matter. Finally she was being spontaneous – doing something she’d always wanted to do but had somehow never got round to. It was funny how life got in the way, right up until the point it didn’t.
The waiter showed Emma to a table in a sun-filled conservatory that looked over the hotel grounds: an elegant pond enclosed in a courtyard she hadn’t known about until now.
Each table had the cleanest, crispest, whitest linen she’d ever laid eyes on, and with the shiny cutlery and glistening glassware placed exactly as it should be, Emma was scared to move.
She did at least manage a smile when he came to take her order. With faux confidence she ordered a champagne afternoon tea for one. She said it like it was something she regularly did on an afternoon off, as opposed to a mad trolley dash round the supermarket before getting back to check on her mum.
When everything was delivered to her table it looked delicious. There were small finger sandwiches filled with salmon, egg mayonnaise and a mysterious substance she’d have to taste in order to identify. There were three pieces of cake: a glorious cream-and-jam-filled slice of Victoria sandwich, a mouth-watering piece of lemon drizzle and a chocolate tart that looked like it might have the ability to take her to heaven and back with a mouthful. Lastly, and rather triumphant in their size, were the scones. It was like they’d specifically scaled everything to make the scones look like the grandest there had ever been. All at once she felt more at home and tucked in eagerly, but after just a few mouthfuls of a salmon and cream cheese finger sandwich, her appetite disappeared.
It wasn’t that it didn’t taste nice. Or that the setting wasn’t beautiful. But it didn’t seem right to be enjoying this alone. She wanted her mother to be there. To be able to share it with her. If only the multiple sclerosis wasn’t eating away at her, making things more impossible with each year that passed. The disease attacked the lining of the nerves, and each time it did, it stripped away more of Carole’s abilities. She couldn’t call her mother up and ask to meet her in town, the way she might have done as a teenager.
Failing having her mother with her, she just wanted to be able to talk to someone. She would have called her best friend, Alice, but she would be at work, and like her mum, she didn’t want to worry anyone unnecessarily.
For all the ornateness of the room and the scenic view, it was rather lacking in customers. The only other people were an elderly couple too far away to make passing conversation with. Rather selfishly, she wanted to talk to someone about being scared without having to cope with the emotional impact it would have on them. She wasn’t ready to think about that. Not yet. She hadn’t even mentioned the appointment to Alice. She didn’t want to burden anyone with terrifying concerns that might turn out to be nothing. Even if those thoughts were all she was able to focus on right now.
Instead, Emma took a sip of champagne and let the bubbles settle over her tongue. It was like a delectable honey with added fizz, pouring over her taste buds. The liquid sent a warm sensation down to her stomach and she immediately understood why people enjoyed this drink. She could certainly get used to it.
A few more sips began to restore her appetite, so she braved another sandwich, this time egg and cress that was so fresh the mayonnaise was still warm. When she dived into the heavenly looking tart it didn’t disappoint for a second, its rich chocolate taste stripping away all her other senses while she savoured the indulgent flavour. Another sip of champagne and she felt braver still.
With no one to talk to, she got out her phone and opened up her messages. It was a very odd thing to think that she’d told no one else in the world about her lump other than Nathan. Ever since breast clinic day, they’d kept in touch. She already had a feeling they would see each other through many of the days ahead.
I swore at my boss and walked out of work, she typed into the small white box. She thought about adding ‘Go me!’ onto the end, but she wasn’t entirely certain her action had been one of her most rational moves.
Emma pressed send and then checked to see when Nathan was last online. She didn’t know when he would answer. He might be high in the sky right now, about to jump out of a plane. She’d learned a lot about his job as a skydiving instructor as they’d waited for him to be seen. He’d told her about how he’d got involved with every adventure sport he could when he’d travelled the world, and it was the desire to earn money from what he loved that had landed him his job. He’d told her how he had an affinity for the sky over the sea, much preferring jumping into thin air than the ocean. His life was infinitely more exciting than her part-time job as a library assistant, where she’d only ever jumped head first into books.
After a few moments she knew he hadn’t seen the message, so she returned to her afternoon tea and decided to tackle a scone, slathering it with jam and cream.
More than likely he was jumping out of a plane. As far as ‘screw never’ was concerned, he was the kind of person to put her rather mild afternoon tea into perspective. But at least it was a start.
Seven
Nathan
The rasping from Nathan’s dream had come to haunt him in real life. No matter how hard he tried to catch his breath, he wasn’t able to. And while there was never an ideal time to feel like he was dying, having a stranger attached to him made it perfectly awful timing.
The door to the plane was open, with the first of the recruits about to make their jump. It was normally the point when he’d be pumping out overly jubilant remarks about how this was going to be the experience of a lifetime to the nervous candidate awaiting their tandem jump. Instead, he was pretty certain he was in the midst of a heart attack.
The pain in his chest was increasing. A sensation like pins and needles was radiating up his neck and face to the point he started seeing stars, white spots filling his vision.
If the hospital had carried out a biopsy like they had for Emma, then he could understand it. She’d had to sign a form with a bundle of potential complications listed. Fatal blood clots had been one of them – which tallied with his symptoms. But he hadn’t had a biopsy. They were planning to go straight for a lumpectomy to remove the lump that they suspected might be skin cancer, along with any surrounding tissue that might be affected, and that was still weeks away.
Nathan blinked, trying to rid himself of the blotches that were filling his vision. But as he did, his breathing became shallower. He felt like he was in his dream. Maybe it wasn’t a hospital bed, as he’d always thought. Maybe the person he always saw holding his hand was in fact a total stranger strapped to his chest. At least it would mean he wasn’t by himself when he died, even if it wasn’t what he’d imagined and was miles up in the sky instead.
He suddenly realised that despite spending his whole life doing everything he could to live life to the fullest, the thing he feared the most was being alone. And it turned out he may have spent twenty-seven years being more alone than he’d ever realised. At the moment that thought passed through his head, the world turned black.
Eight
Emma
It turned out that middle-of-the-afternoon champagne wasn’t conducive to full mental function. And that would have been fine – if Emma only had to worry about herself. The hazy headache started up when she was on the bus home, and by the time she returned she wanted to do nothing more than collapse into bed for the rest of the day.
As always, her mum was in the front room watching a quiz show. Everything she needed was in easy reach, so that she was able to live her life in this bubble of a house, confined to this room. Her bird-like frame jerked slightly as she adjusted position in her chair to greet her daughter. ‘How was your day, love?’
‘Usual,’ Emma said. She should expand on the day, really. Let her mum know that she’d stormed out of work, had taken champagne afternoon tea on her own and, because she was so unused to drinking alcohol, was practically half-cut.
‘No oddballs today then?’
Emma often relayed stories of the interesting folk that came into the library. Like Miss Red Coat, who came in twice a week to use the internet. She was about forty and was neatly put together apart from the fact she always wore odd shoes. Emma was yet to pluck up the courage to ask her if she knew that was the case. Then there was Mr Talkie-Talkie, who hadn’t got his head round the fact that the library was a space for peace and quiet. She never used actual names, so it was never going to be a sackable offence. It was a window into the life her mother missed out on – a soap with a few regular characters. There were certainly some tales worth telling.
‘Not today.’ There might have been, but she’d been too busy sipping champagne and trying to pretend that everything was okay.
Everything was okay. Everything would be okay. These were the reassurances that were pounding through her thoughts. They weren’t sticking though. The worry was edging towards her, minute by minute, rather than away.
‘Not even Mr Anorak? He normally turns up on a Wednesday. I hope he’s okay.’
‘I think I must have missed him when I was doing the book club order. Lots of admin today.’ The white lie fell so easily from her lips that it surprised her.
‘Ah, that’s a shame. His antics are always amusing.’
‘I’ll go finish dinner, if you’re alright?’
‘Thanks, love. Are you okay?’
‘Tired.’ Emma really was tired, and it took all the strength she had not to fall into a puddle on the floor.
Leaving her mum to the latest game show, Emma finished sorting dinner in the kitchen. Keeping herself occupied was a good distraction. As she laid the table, as always, she was reminded of setting up for a toddler. She set a mat down for underneath her mum’s wheelchair, and a large spill-proof cloth across the table. It was easier to clean up this way, even if it wasn’t particularly glamorous.
Over the past six months, Carole’s myoclonic jerking had become markedly worse. The type of MS she had was known as primary progressive. And with every year it made itself more known. It was beginning to affect the routine of their lives far more than ever before.
Once she’d dished up the pasta, Emma wheeled her mother into place and regarded her with a sadness she’d not felt before. What if her results were bad? She had no idea how her mum would cope. She had no idea how she would cope. Everything suddenly seemed incomprehensible.
That sense of hopelessness lingered as she carried on with their daily ritual. In the same room where Carole watched TV, she prepared the bed for her mother, adjusting it so that she was able to get in with minimal help. Luckily it was electronic and she didn’t have to manually get it to the right height and angle. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to manage that right about now. She was drained of energy, simply going through the motions, the stitches pulling at her side.
After getting her mother and her Zimmer frame into place, Emma positioned herself nearby to help as required. They’d said after the biopsy for her not to do any heavy lifting for a week. It was fortunate that her mum was as light as a feather and mostly just required supervision and assistance with her equipment.
Once Carole had managed the shuffle over to the bed, Emma laced her hands behind her mum’s ankles and swung them up. Carole was scrawny enough that the movement didn’t pull on the stitches Emma had over her biopsy site. Her mind fast-forwarding to the worst possible outcome, she wasn’t sure how else her mother would get to bed. She’d like to think her brother, James, would step in, but she was pretty certain he’d only offer to pay for help, rather than provide it himself. He’d already been at university when Carole was diagnosed, busy studying to become a financial broker. Over a decade later, his business had become so successful that he generally lived by the principle that there wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with some money thrown in the right direction. If Carole or Emma needed help, he tended to pay for a solution rather than coming to sort it out himself.
How would her mother cope if treatment meant Emma wasn’t able to care for her? Or worse, if she didn’t survive the treatment at all? Those were the kind of logistics throwing her mind into overdrive. Because however hard it was, she’d always enjoyed the fact she was the one able to provide that care. She liked being the one able to give the support her mother required, rather than a stranger enlisted as hired help. It created a sense of dignity for her mum and strengthened their mother–daughter bond. She’d done it since she was a teenager, and however difficult it was at times, she knew that this arrangement made them both happy.
After she tucked her mum in bed, gave her a goodnight kiss and switched off the light, Emma retreated to her bedroom. It was a bookworm’s haven. There was an entire wall dedicated to the shelving that housed her precious book collection. In one corner, she had what she’d classed as her reading snug, where she would curl up in the evenings once she’d got her mum to bed. Books were her friends. Books supplied refuge. Books took her away to other corners of the world.
It was odd, then, that for once she didn’t want to wrap herself in their solitude. She wanted company, and not just the company of fictional characters. Today she wanted someone to listen to the worries in her life.
Everything is going to be okay. The silence in her room was the most deafening sound in the world when all that was in her head were false reassurances.
What if it wasn’t okay?
Shoving aside the thought, she needed to check her wound was healing properly. As she glanced down, she wished the dressing they’d put in place was big enough to cover her unfurled nipple as well as the stitches. Not wanting to dwell on its worsening appearance, she quickly changed into cosy checked pyjamas and got into bed early. The champagne was making her drowsier than usual. It was a nice feeling. She’d not felt sleepy for days, the worry of life mounting on top of her, inducing her adrenaline and keeping her wide awake.
Perhaps she should make a few modifications to her room. A TV, for starters, with a mini fridge filled with her new favourite drink: champers. It would add a little more entertainment to the evenings.
When she went to plug her phone in to charge, she noticed the messages from Nathan. The first was a few hours old: Been admitted to the hospital. But I’m not dead. So, that’s something. How are you?
The second was only half an hour old: Can you drive? I need a lift tomorrow. I’m hoping you’ll be able to come to my rescue.
The moment of feeling sorry for herself ebbed away as she sat and read the messages again. What had happened to land him in hospital? She didn’t like to think. This was one of those occasions when a message wouldn’t cover it, so she rang his number instead. Clearly the last vapours of champagne lingering in her veins were making her far braver than usual. As she was very quickly learning, she was only going to live once, so there was no point in hesitating over phoning a gorgeous man when the chance came along. Screw never.
Nine
Nathan
Day Seven
Considering Nathan had thought he was dying, he should be pretty pleased with the discharge slip he now had in his hands. But the diagnosis on the form was putting it all into perspective. It hadn’t been t
he heart attack or stroke he’d suspected. Not even anything potentially cancer-related or life-threatening. It had been, of all things, a panic attack.
Practically every medical professional he’d come into contact with had commented on how lucky he was that he’d passed out in the plane rather than mid-jump. Nathan gulped at the knowledge of what they meant. That would have been an altogether different sort of discharge form.
The problem was he didn’t feel lucky. He wouldn’t have believed he would be prone to experiencing panic attacks. He was brave. Courageous. Daring. A daredevil. So the diagnosis was completely at odds with the person he was. Or at least the person he’d thought he was.
That was why there was only one person Nathan wanted to contact when they said he needed someone to accompany him on his journey home. And it was a surprise even to him that she was the only one he was comfortable enough to ask. It had been a relief when she’d called him last night and a comfort knowing she was on her way to pick him up from the hospital.
It wasn’t like he had the usual family set-up to fall back on. His mother was deceased, his father was AWOL and his half-brother was a waste of space. He’d not exactly had a traditional upbringing. He’d been lucky to have his grandparents as his main caregivers, but since they’d passed, his remaining family was next to useless. None of them would be worried that he’d landed up in hospital, no matter what the diagnosis was.
‘Are you okay?’ Emma asked once she’d arrived and he’d made no effort to move despite the nursing staff telling him he was free to go.
Nathan briefly glanced at the discharge note again. It made the pressure on his shoulders transform into a weight he’d never experienced before. Of all the things he’d thought might end up slowing him down, fear wasn’t one of them. That was the thing that impelled him. At times it had driven him to the edge of destruction, but never had it stopped him in his tracks.
99 Days With You Page 3
