A Song for Tomorrow

by Alice Peterson

  George opens a bottle of red and pours everyone a glass. My glass is still full.

  ‘You don’t drink and you don’t smoke,’ he says. ‘What do you do, Alice?’

  ‘I sing.’

  ‘Oh yes, Tom was telling me all about that,’ Tanya says. ‘Sing us something!’ And soon they are all following me next door to the study where there is an upright piano. ‘I’m not trained,’ I warn them, warming up my fingers on the keyboard, ‘but I know this chord goes with that one.’ George stands next to me, making me feel strangely shy as I sing ‘If I Fall’.

  But soon I forget he’s there.

  ‘My eyes so full of light

  so keen to do it right

  impatient to be grown

  not yet frightened of

  being alone . . .’

  When I finish I could kiss Tanya when she says ‘that’s a hit record. I’d buy that in a second.’

  Suddenly, in her eyes, I’m not such a poor thing anymore. ‘Maybe one day you’ll be able to,’ I say.

  Tom sits down next to me and bangs out chopsticks.

  ‘But I wouldn’t buy that,’ George says, before heading outside for a cigarette.

  The night is my enemy. When I wake up my chest feels like a stick of rock, making it even more of a struggle to breathe. I pick up my inhaler. Never before have I wanted to smell toast and coffee coming from my parents’ kitchen. Instead my head is pounding from lack of sleep, smoke inhalation and alcohol. I need drugs. Where’s Tom? Thirsty I reach for my water but my glass is empty. I get out of bed, catching my reflection in the mirror above the dressing table. I hear voices coming from downstairs. I make my way down to join them. ‘Morning,’ I say cheerfully as George immediately stubs out his half-smoked cigarette, before offering me a cup of tea. Why have they stopped talking? Am I being paranoid or is there an atmosphere? I open the fridge to find my antibiotics, an uncomfortable silence settling in the room. I move a few things around, hoping my boxes of meds may have been dislodged to the back.

  Tom hands me a mug of tea. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘All good,’ I say, ‘just looking for my drugs.’

  From the corner of my eye I see a white and blue carton in the fruit bowl. It’s my nebuliser solution. I want to burst into tears. ‘How did . . .?’

  George picks up the box. ‘Last night I was getting some beer . . . I must have . . .’

  ‘You idiot!’ Tom says to him, before turning back to me. ‘Can you still use it?’

  Upstairs I shut our bedroom door. It’s fine to leave my drug out of the fridge for up to twenty-four hours so I don’t know why I feel so emotional. George didn’t do it on purpose; it was an easy mistake to make, and yet . . .

  I plug in my portable nebuliser machine, cursing my incessant routine. I hear everyone downstairs and wish the only thing I had to deal with was a hangover.

  After a shower and physio I feel vaguely more human but my lungs still feel as if they are on fire from the smoke I have inhaled. I touch my forehead, certain I have a temperature and knowing I can’t sit in a smoky pub today. When I hear voices outside I look out of the bedroom window. Tanya and Helen are walking barefoot across the garden, dressed in jeans and baggy jumpers. I turn away, feeling my forehead again. I need to ask Tom to take me home.

  ‘She’s lovely,’ I overhear George saying when I reach the closed kitchen door. I stop, my hand resting on the handle. ‘She’s beautiful, talented, funny, cute, I totally get why you’ve fallen for her, any bloke would . . . but she’s ill.’

  ‘Don’t you think I’ve thought about that?’

  ‘Why not keep her as a friend?’

  Keep her? Makes me sound like a pet rabbit. Keep her in a cage and feed her treats every now and then.

  ‘Why get involved?’ George persists.

  ‘Keep your voice down, she’s only upstairs.’

  ‘There are loads of women you could go out with. You’ve always had the pick of the bunch; women fall at your feet, so why Alice?’

  I turn away, not wanting to carry on listening, but equally compelled to stay.

  ‘I care about her.’

  ‘Yeah, but you don’t want to turn into her carer, do you?’

  ‘She wouldn’t want that and nor do I.’

  ‘Because that’s what will happen.’

  ‘It won’t. Alice is one of the strongest people I know and she’s independent—’

  ‘She lives with her parents, mate.’

  ‘Independently. It’s her space. She doesn’t need nursing. And when she’s ready she will move out . . .’

  ‘Why be tied down?’

  I am not tying Tom down.

  ‘What are you going on about?’ Tom argues. ‘No one’s forcing me.’

  ‘Exactly, no one’s forcing you, so get out of it. I’m saying this as a friend, right?’

  ‘George, you’re not—’

  ‘Hang on . . . let me finish. We’re only young once; we’re free, why be glued to some hospital bed because that’s where you’ll be for the next five years . . .’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘. . . stuck in a bloody hospital. You’ve done your time there. . .’

  He makes it sound like a prison sentence.

  ‘George, listen to me—’

  ‘No, you listen!’

  I hear a chair scraping back. I edge away, wondering if I should go back to our bedroom, except I’m in my own nightmare where I’m trying to escape but my feet won’t move. I’m stuck. Paralysed.

  ‘I’m only saying this because I don’t want you to get hurt,’ George insists.

  ‘It’s Alice who would get hurt. I’d be a bit of shit to ditch her . . .’

  ‘See it from my perspective, right. If I told you I was in love with this girl but she had some heart condition and would die in a couple of years would you be telling me to go for it?’

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘It’s exactly the same.’

  ‘If you loved her, yes I would.’

  ‘You’re just burying your head in the sand. Last night I looked up CF. Have you read the facts? They’re not good.’

  ‘I know all about them . . .’

  ‘She’s dying.’

  ‘We’re all dying.’

  ‘Let her go, Tom, before you get really attached.’

  I hear Tanya and Helen joining them. ‘Sounds serious in here,’ Helen says. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Tom’s tone is sharp.

  ‘Where’s Alice?’ Tanya asks.

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘She’s amazing,’ she sighs. ‘Sickeningly beautiful and her voice, wow, her voice.’

  I’m throwing clothes into my suitcase when Tom enters our bedroom. ‘Can you drive me home?’ I say, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s wrong? Are you feeling—’

  ‘I’m fine!’ I snap, warning him to back off, before catching my finger on the zip and screeching in pain.

  George doesn’t object to us leaving early. ‘I’m so sorry about the drug thing,’ he says as he helps us load the car.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ I’m unable to look at him, wishing I hadn’t overheard their conversation.

  As everyone waves us goodbye, George’s face says it all. I can almost hear him saying, ‘you see, Tom, it’s already begun. Get out of it while you can’.

  25

  As Tom drives home I continue to stare out of the window. Unlike yesterday, it’s dull and overcast, the sky a threatening grey. I’m only wearing my shades to hide my tears. We haven’t spoken for most of the journey. I’ve pretended to be asleep when sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.

  She’s ill.

  Who does George think he is? He doesn’t know me. Professor Taylor is the only man who has any say in my future.

  She’s dying.

  What right does George have to say that? Transplants can save lives. Advances in medic
ine can save lives.

  Let her go.

  Tom notices me stealing a glance. ‘We’re nearly there,’ he says.

  What has Tom been thinking about since we left Dorset? Does he believe George has a point? Quit while ahead. The irony is those are usually my tactics. Quit before I ever let any man get too close to me. Exhausted, I wonder if maybe I should be the one to finish this. That way I don’t have to deal with Tom’s or George’s doubts. I can put everyone out of their misery.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Tom asks, only a mile away from home now.

  ‘I’m fine.’ You can’t pretend you didn’t hear.

  ‘Do you want me to stay? Or I could come over later tonight.’

  I want to be on my own.

  Tom picks up on my hesitation. ‘Or we could go out for dinner in the week. Maybe you need to get some sleep.’

  Tell him you know.

  ‘We were right to head home early, miss the traffic.’ I sense Tom is forcing himself to make polite conversation, say anything to ignore the rising tension between us. ‘George felt terrible about your drugs by the way.’

  I heard you and George talking this morning. Say it, Alice, say it.

  ‘He was so grumpy that we beat him at tennis, too. He’s almost as competitive as I am.’

  We’re nearly home. You can’t pretend you didn’t hear.

  ‘You’re feeling terrible, aren’t you? Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Time is running out.

  ‘It’s my fault. They should have smoked outside. Next time . . .’

  ‘There won’t be a next time.’

  Tom turns to me, one hand on the steering wheel. ‘What do you mean?’

  Say it before you go mad. ‘I heard you and George talking.’

  ‘What?’ He turns down the music.

  ‘You know I hate pity. I never want to be with anyone who feels sorry for me.’

  ‘I don’t feel sorry for you.’ Tom takes a sharp right, parking the car in the first empty space he sees. It begins to pour with rain. ‘You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.’

  ‘I know, but I did.’

  ‘George is being protective, that’s all.’

  ‘He was telling you to break up with me.’

  Tom can’t deny that.

  ‘He has no right, Tom.’ I press a hand against my burning forehead. ‘I have a lung condition. I bet you he has luggage too; we all carry baggage, mine just happens to be different, that’s all.’

  ‘Alice, that’s not strictly true.’

  I feel exhausted . . . haven’t Tom and I been over this?

  ‘Last night, when you went to bed, George and I stayed up chatting, I mentioned the transplant, so—’

  ‘Why? It has nothing to do with George.’

  ‘You’ve got to understand I need to talk about it to someone.’

  ‘What’s there to talk about? Professor Taylor wasn’t suggesting I go on a list right this minute, he made it clear I wasn’t ready so nothing’s actually changed . . .’

  ‘So we stick our heads in the sand and pray it will go away?’

  ‘Alice, this isn’t going to go away,’ Professor Taylor had said.

  ‘No, but I don’t see why you need to tell George.’

  ‘Because you won’t talk to me. Each time I try—’

  ‘I hate talking about it.’ I look away. ‘That’s the way I am. If you want to be free and single again, if you want—’

  ‘I want this to work, but it won’t if we pretend nothing is going on.’

  ‘OK, let’s talk.’

  I wait.

  ‘OK,’ Tom says, taking a deep breath. ‘I was reading up about finding a matching donor—’

  ‘Oh God, do we have to do this now?’

  ‘Great, thanks, Alice.’

  I turn away from him, biting my lip. ‘You haven’t had this all your life. I need to live for today, I need to feel normal . . .’

  ‘But, Alice, this isn’t normal. Can’t you see that?’ There’s frustration in Tom’s eyes now. ‘George has nothing against you, nothing. He actually cares.’

  Glued to a hospital bed.

  ‘Go travel the world,’ I say to him, ‘drink with the lads . . . go snowboarding . . .’

  Tom hits the steering wheel now, making me jump as he says, ‘I don’t want to go fucking snowboarding. You’re not listening.’

  ‘Either you’re strong enough to be with me or—’

  ‘That’s not fair. You’re twisting this into something it’s not. I’m really sorry you heard us, I feel terrible, guilty, but guess what, men talk too and I needed to confide in George about my fears—’

  ‘Your fears!’ With renewed energy I say, ‘If it’s so frightening to be with me, then fine, let’s call it a day.’

  ‘Sure. Let’s give up, Alice.’

  ‘Yes, let’s.’ I feel too ill to argue. ‘Can we go?’ I gesture to the empty road ahead.

  Tom turns on the engine and slams his foot down.

  ‘He’s right, you could go out with anyone,’ I say with emotion, close to tears.

  ‘I don’t want anyone.’ He parks outside my parents’ house. ‘Don’t you get it? I want—’

  I slam the car door, not letting him finish.

  To hell with talking about this . . .

  ‘Alice!’

  I head through the gate and up the steps, towards the front door, desperate to lie down. Tom follows me, his car parked in the middle of the road, the engine running, the wipers still going at full pelt. ‘Wait!’

  ‘It’s over, Tom . . .’ I call back to him.

  ‘This is stupid.’ He grabs my arm before I can knock on the door. ‘Please,’ he implores.

  Before I even knock Mum opens the front door, dressed in her old painting clothes. ‘What’s going on? I heard . . .’ She looks down to my arm, Tom’s hand gripped tightly around it. When he releases me she ushers me inside, desperate to get me out of the rain.

  ‘Where’s your case?’ Mum asks.

  I can’t speak. Can’t think straight.

  ‘What’s going on, Tom?’ she demands.

  I feel faint.

  All I want to do is get into bed, crawl under the covers.

  My face feels funny.

  My arm is going dead.

  ‘Alice!’ I hear them both say.

  I’m falling.

  Tom catches me in his arms.

  Mum orders him to hold on to me. ‘Keep her still.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ he asks. ‘Alice?’

  ‘I trusted you, Tom,’ Mum shouts from the kitchen. I hear clattering; something smashes and breaks against the floor.

  I’m in trouble.

  I see red, red against the cream carpet. I push him away, raising a hand to warn him to back off.

  ‘Go!’ Mum shouts at him again, thrusting a grey carton tray in front of me. ‘Go! Leave!’

  I’m in the car, semi conscious, Mum speeding to the hospital. I filled two trays with blood. She slams on the brakes outside the Brompton. There is fury in her eyes as she escorts me up the ramp and into the hospital. ‘Where’s Tom?’ I ask.

  ‘Not now.’ She’s like a lioness whose cub has been injured.

  Later that afternoon I’m in the ward, attached to a drip, drifting in and out of sleep, aware Mum is sitting by my side. Each time I wake up, I realise with a heavy heart that my argument with Tom wasn’t a dream.

  I feel hurt, sad, confused and guilty.

  I hear a knock. ‘That’ll be Dad,’ Mum says.

  ‘As long as it’s not Barbara,’ I mutter, ‘with her parsnip soup.’

  ‘Can I come in?’ Tom stands at the door.

  Mum looks at me, unsure.

  ‘I feel dreadful,’ he says, ‘I had to come.’

  ‘Whatever has gone on between you two, now is not the right time,’ Mum says.

  But Tom pushes past her. ‘Do you want me to go, Alice?’

  ‘Mum, let h
im stay. It’s not his fault.’

  She looks anxious.

  ‘Mary, I truly am sorry,’ Tom says.

  ‘Please, Mum. Can you give us a minute?’

  ‘Fine.’ She tells us she’s going to get a cup of coffee. ‘Five minutes, that’s all.’

  When the door clicks shut, Tom pulls up a chair. His eyes are red, swollen.

  I fight the urge to cry again as he says ‘I’m so sorry, this is my fault.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  Is he too frightened to ask what happened back at home? Does he dare mention the blood? Have I been selfish and in denial thinking it was nothing for Tom to take on? There is no doubt my illness is becoming more aggressive.

  ‘Listen to George,’ I say quietly, understanding why his friend is so protective. ‘Walk away.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  I stare at the ceiling, unsure if I can do this, uncertain if I want him to see any more of this side of me. Is it easier, safer to walk away now?

  ‘I’m sorry you overheard George and me talking but I hope you believe I’d never want to hurt you. George is protective, that’s all, but it’s up to me who I choose to be with and he needs to respect that. Look at me, Alice.’

  Tom reaches for my hand and I don’t pull away.

  ‘I’ll walk away if you want me to,’ he says, his voice surprisingly firm now, ‘but I don’t want to go out with anyone else. I want you.’

  He waits for me to say something, anything.

  If I stay with Tom I have to let go of my mask and be more true to myself than I have ever been with a man.

  Or the alternative is to put my mask back on, meet someone new and never see Tom again. I can go back to the person I used to be, the person who did her best to hide her fears.

  Finally Tom nods as if to say he understands. He walks towards the door, slowing down as he almost reaches it. He turns the handle. He leaves, shutting the door behind him.

  The alternative is unthinkable.

  ‘Tom!’ I call, attempting but failing to get out of bed to run after him. ‘Tom! Come back!’

  When I hear the door reopen and see his face relief overwhelms me. ‘I’m so sorry for pushing you away,’ I say as he rushes over to the bed and kneels down by my side. ‘I didn’t mean any of it. I’m so stupid, I’m such an idiot . . .’

  ‘I thought you were dying,’ he confesses, ‘and it terrifies me already, thinking I could lose you.’