Speaking at a press conference at Moorfields Eye Hospital, where he was treated, he said, ‘Following the inflammation that led me to dropping out of StarDance last year, my eyeball ruptured and it was possible that I would lose my eye. However, last month I was lucky enough to receive a cornea transplant, which has saved that eye. I can never adequately express my gratitude to the person who was prepared to be a donor when they died – or to their family, who made a difficult decision to honour those wishes at a terrible time.’
Despite cries of ‘Give us a look, Seb’ from the waiting press, he declined to take off his dark glasses, joking, ‘It’s more than my life’s worth to take these off when my surgeon’s standing next to me!’
Dr Ali Ahmed, who performed the operation, said, ‘Corneal transplantation, like any eye surgery, has high stakes. Sight is precious and, once lost, can be difficult to regain. I am delighted that Mr Morley’s surgery had such a positive outcome.’
Asked about his future plans, Seb replied, ‘For now I need to give my eye a chance to heal. That means staying away from a busy schedule for the time being. But I’ll be back.’
Seb’s StarDance partner, award-winning Latin dance star Fenella Albright, was with him at the press conference. He declined to answer questions about their relationship, although he did tell one reporter, ‘I’m not much of a prospect, am I? One of my eyes is held together with stitches and I’m going to be out of work for the best part of a year!’
From: Seb
Sent: 19 March, 2018
To: Ailsa
Subject: Good to meet you
Dear BlueHeart,
I woke up this morning and thought, this time last week I was in a cab with the only person I’ve ever met who puts a seatbelt on in a cab. It was good to meet you. I thought you did a great job. Dealing with arses isn’t easy.
Don’t tell anyone this – especially not journalists – because it’s kind of embarrassing, but you’re the first unicorn I’ve ever met.
All the best,
Seb (Morley)
From: Ailsa
To: Seb
Dear Seb,
Thank you for your email. It was nice to meet you too. Unicorns are everywhere, if you look for them.
BlueHeart (Ailsa)
From: Seb
To: Ailsa
Dear Ailsa (BlueHeart),
I’ll keep an eye out.
Is it as hard to avoid heart sayings as it is eye ones?
I’ve already had an eye out. I don’t want to be doing it again.
Seb
From: Ailsa
To: Seb
Dear Seb,
Well, your heart has to be in it, or you can soon lose heart, and then you’ll never get to the heart of the matter. For most people a heart does equal love, I can see that, but for me the sight of a heart balloon reminds me of the sort of nightmares that you have when you’re on really heavy medication. And, I don’t like red.
Ailsa
From: Seb
To: Ailsa
Dear Ailsa,
I had a look around your blog. It’s very heart-wrenching in places. (Sorry.) If I wasn’t reading it on my phone in a restaurant I might have shed a tear.
The idea of crying freaks me out. I’m worried that I’ll rub my eye and the cornea will come off on my fingers. I had to wear brown contact lenses for a part once. They were really thin and even though there were only three days of filming, I got through eleven pairs of contact lenses. It was a really low-budget thing. The director went mental.
I’m having some more stitches out tomorrow. They take them a few at a time.
I think I’ll be able to see the unicorns better then.
Seb x
From: Ailsa
To: Seb
Dear Seb,
Good luck for tomorrow. I’m still thinking about your eye, and how delicate the stitching is. Eyes are beautiful anyway; yours seemed to have a starburst sewn into it. Thank you for showing me. It reminded me of blown-up images from under microscopes, and you cannot believe how amazing a bit of twig or a skin cell can be.
I wonder if the stitches around my heart are as tidy?
Ailsa
From: Seb
Sent: 21 March, 2018
To: Ailsa
Subject: Eyes and Edinburgh
Dear Ailsa,
All well with the stitches.
I was going to take a photo to send you, but I’m supposed to be careful of bright light. Which is mad because the first thing they do when you go for a check-up is shine what feels like a stage light in it. One rule for the doctor, one for the patient.
And I have a better idea. (Better than the photo, I mean.) I’ve been asked to come to Edinburgh to talk about a job, so I thought I could show you in person.
If you’re around. If you want to. I know how busy unicorns are.
It’s next Wednesday. I’ll be free from about 4.30.
Here’s hoping,
Seb x
From: Ailsa
To: Seb
Dear Seb,
I had been trying to pluck up the courage, actually, to ask you to do an interview for my blog. I’ve been doing a body-part bingo thing for the last couple of years. I’m trying to interview people who need transplants and people who have had them. I haven’t spoken to anyone who has either had, or needs, a corneal transplant yet.
It’s not exactly incisive journalism but all I’m really trying to do is to make information accessible to people.
I could buy you a half-decent coffee (or other beverage – we don’t just drink whisky and Irn-Bru up here) and look at your eye.
I should probably warn you that unicorns don’t tend to go outdoors much in Edinburgh – the climate’s a wee bit chilly for them. I’ll probably be disguised as a human being.
Ailsa
From: Seb
To: Ailsa
Dear Ailsa,
I’d love to.
I like talking better in real life. It’s easy to be misinterpreted otherwise.
Your post last week made me laugh, about missing bread and trying to hallucinate a pizza from ratatouille. Once when I was doing StarDance, Fenella and I went out for a pizza. She went on and on about how many calories there were in it. The whole bloody meal. And she still ate everything on the plate. Next morning she had a costume fitting so I texted her and asked if her dress fitted over her arse. There was a very frosty rehearsal afterwards.
Seb x
From: Ailsa
To: Seb
Dear Seb,
Just a bit of advice. As a general rule for living, ‘do not ask people whether they are too fat for their clothes in any context’ is pretty foolproof. And that’s from someone who doesn’t watch a lot of TV, so I don’t know much about Fenella. (Though I did look you up after last weekend, so I know more than I did.)
I’ve tango on Wednesdays so I need to leave by 6.30 p.m., but that should give us plenty of time. Let’s meet in the Northbridge Brasserie at 5. It’s just around the corner from the station if you need to catch a train afterwards.
Ailsa
From: Seb
To: Ailsa
Dear Ailsa,
You don’t watch a lot of TV? Wow. So you’re a kind of entertainment vegan? (Joke.)
Fenella had a ribcage you could play a tune on. So it’s not like one pizza was going to do any serious damage. I thought she’d laugh. She didn’t.
See you Wednesday. It will be good to catch up in person.
Seb x
From: Ailsa
To: Seb
Dear Seb,
You forget, I used to be dying. And most TV is based on the idea that it’s going to go on, and on, and on. What’s the point in watching something when you have no idea how it’s going to work out? At least if you read a book, or watch a film, you’ve got a fair chance of getting to the end.
See you then,
Ailsa
P.S. Entertainment vegan made me laugh.
25 March, 201
8
‘How’s your day looking, hen?’
‘I’ll be out when you get home.’ Ailsa is boiling eggs for breakfast while Hayley makes a sandwich for her lunch. Because she works as a locum pharmacist, there’s no routine to her days – sometimes even her nights, if she’s covering a shift at a 24-hour pharmacy. So there’s not routine to home life, either. They might be adapting more easily if there was.
‘But your hospital appointment’s this morning, aye?’
‘Half eleven.’ At least Hayley has stopped trying to come along. Maybe this time Ailsa will drop in on the heart unit and say hello to the staff who fought so hard for her. Even as she thinks it, she knows she won’t. Just the sight of the artwork on the walls is enough to make her tearful with remembrance, making the old feelings bloom and the old places ache with fear and exhaustion.
‘You’ve your biopsy today?’
‘Yes.’
‘I could have come with you, you know.’
‘I know, Mum. It’s OK. I can manage.’ Ailsa’s voice is, she knows, unfairly sharp. A heart biopsy is not a pleasant thing. Because the heart doesn’t have its own blood supply, the only way to check it for health is to take a piece of it, so this morning Ailsa will have a catheter with a snipper on the end fed down her nose to Apple, and a little bit of heart muscle will be cut away. There was a time when she could only do it with Hayley holding her hand, tight. The thought of it still makes her feel sick. She’s not sure she’ll be able to do it on her own. But she’ll try.
‘Suit yourself. So where are you later? Are you for dancing?’
‘I’m interviewing Seb first.’
Is it Ailsa’s imagination, or does her mother stiffen at Seb’s name? ‘Don’t overdo it. And make sure you eat, aye? A potato willna kill you, whatever your book says.’
Oh, a potato. Or some toast. Or a huge chunk of cheese. Or all of those things. The diet is working, for sure, but the novelty has worn off. Still, she needs to be healthy, to do Apple justice, and that means getting to a healthy weight. Be strong, Ailsa.
‘Mum. I’m fine. I promise. And anyway, I’ll have to manage when you…’
Hayley looks up, pretend shock on her face. ‘When I die? I think we’ve a few years yet.’
Ailsa laughs, reaches for her mother’s arm for a second. ‘We talked about you moving out. Or me. I want to talk about it again. Not now.’
‘There’s no hurry, for sure,’ Hayley says, matter-of fact and almost dismissive.
‘Well, no,’ Ailsa says, wrong-footed suddenly, as though she’s a child again, tricked into looking away while someone gives her an injection. ‘But – it’s important to me, Mum.’
‘Me going tae work is important. Nobody’s going anywhere, if I’m not earning.’
Apple clenches, something like a warning, and Ailsa heeds her. ‘I know, Mum. I’m just saying – can we talk about it? Properly? Please? Maybe with Tamsin?’
Hayley nods. ‘Aye, that makes sense. I’ve talked to your Auntie T a bit, but if we all sit down…’ She sighs. ‘I worry, though.’
‘I know you do.’ And they look straight at each other, the way they haven’t, lately. Hayley’s eyes are brown, and so is her hair, straight as needles and soft as blankets. She never wears make-up and her skin pinches around her lips, at the corners of her eyes, but her smile, when she has reason to use it, is as bright as the best June morning. People say Ailsa has her mother’s smile, and she’s glad. In most other respects she’s different: plump-faced – even when the steroids aren’t rounding her cheeks – blue-eyed, dark-blonde. But their smiles, side by side, are reflections of each other. The old intimacy, the say-anything spirit of late hospital nights, is back for a second. So although Ailsa hadn’t planned to ask this right now, in this moment it seems right. ‘And I want to talk about my biological father a bit. Sometime. I’ve been thinking I should maybe see if he’s still alive, at least.’
She may as well not have bothered. Hayley looks as though she hasn’t heard a word. She tucks her sandwich into her bag, puts on her coat, flicks her hair out over her collar, all of her movements brisk and crisp. Then she touches her daughter on the shoulder, and Ailsa turns for her embrace.
‘Dinnae overdo it, hen. Have a good day. Take it easy after the hospital’s done. And call me afterwards, aye?’
‘Will it not wait until tonight? You’re busy. I’ll call you if there’s anything not right.’
Hayley smiles, without the light. ‘I just like to know you’re OK, Ailsa. It doesnae mean you willnae get what you want. It just means I care.’
And then she’s gone.
25 March, 2017
This Time Last Year
As soon as Ailsa comes into Lennox’s hospital room, she takes off her shoes and climbs into the narrow bed beside him. Some days he sits up and curls an arm around her. Some days – like today – he doesn’t move, and so she lies her body next to his. They don’t compare hands anymore, because Lennox’s deepening yellow skin is no longer funny. Aftershave can’t disguise the sour-sweet smell of illness exhaled by his skin. She breathes it in anyway, her head on his chest.
‘BlueHeart.’ His voice is still his, though. If she closes her eyes, he’s seventeen, the best-looking boy on the football team, and her boyfriend. And she loves him with every bit of her broken blue heart.
‘Sleep if you want to,’ she says. Since they were told that there was no hope of his being saved, Lennox has sunk more into silence and slumber. Ailsa doesn’t know if it’s the rising tide of illness, or whether it’s easier to lie with his eyes closed than to look at the faces of his family.
‘I don’t think I want to,’ he says. ‘You wanted to interview me, didn’t you?’
The thought of him talking about the need for a transplant, now that the chance has gone, is something she’s not strong enough for. Not yet.
‘Not today,’ she says.
‘OK. Help me sit up?’
She gets off the bed and he uses her arm to lever himself upright. She moves the pillows, presses the buttons on the bed so it inches upward, settles him back. His chest is sinking into itself, his body starting to retreat. She pours a glass of water. Her mother will have to bear this, soon, when it’s too late for her. Don’t cry, Ailsa. Don’t cry.
‘I want you to help me with something. I’ve asked my dad but he – it was too much.’
‘OK,’ Ailsa says. ‘What?’
‘I need to make a will,’ he says. ‘I want everything sorted. I don’t want them to have extra hassle when I go. It’s not fair.’
The tears are there; there’s no stopping them. ‘None of this is fair. But yes, of course.’ She sighs. ‘I should do the same. My mum won’t do anything about it either. She just says this time next year we’ll be tearing it up, so it’s a waste of time and heartache.’
He’s put out his hand and is wiping at her tears with his thumb, his face a sad reflection of her own. ‘Let’s get someone in, outside visiting hours, and we can do it together.’
Ailsa nods. ‘That’s a good idea.’ And it is. She’s glad the two of them can share this, understand the practicalities of being likely-dying. But she feels, too, what her mother must feel when she talks about this, biting down her impulse to change the subject, tell him he doesn’t need to talk about it today, chase death away with a kiss.
She doesn’t have a lot to leave – she makes a habit of keeping everything at home tidy and neat, everything out-of-date or equivocal thrown away, so her mother won’t have so much as an old T-shirt or out-of-date scribbles in a notebook to upset her, if Ailsa dies. But a set of instructions, of who to give which memento to, will surely help Hayley, if the time comes.
‘Will you ask Craig on your way out? He’ll be able to sort it.’
Ailsa glances at the nurses’ station, sees the familiar face of one of Lennox’s regular nurses. ‘Sure I will.’
‘Thanks, Ails,’ Lennox says, and his eyes are closing as he drifts into sleep. It’s hard not to imagine de
ath every time he does this. She bends close to kiss his forehead before she goes, and just as she gets close, there’s the smile she sees less and less of these days, and he says, ‘I’d leave you my heart, you know, if I could.’
25 March, 2018
Ailsa arrives at the Northbridge Brasserie first. It’s a grand place, forming part of the Scotsman Hotel, with all of the Victorian baronial gothic that that implies. The interior is marble and stone, with everything carved or moulded or … something. It’s a bit too touristy for the everyday Edinburgh-dweller but, on the odd occasion Ailsa has been here, she’s liked it. It’s the sort of place that makes you wonder why you don’t own a cloak. There’s time to order tea before Seb arrives.
When he does come through the door, she’s barely stood before he sees her and strides over. He is breathless, his skin clammy when he presses his cheek to Ailsa’s. She scans him: brown wool coat, blue shirt, black jeans, bright blue trainers. All good.
‘Ailsa,’ that slow stretch of smiling, ‘good to see you. Sorry I’m late. My meeting went on. I thought it would be quicker to walk but I got lost. I was worried I’d missed you.’
‘No bother,’ Ailsa says. ‘I don’t mind waiting.’ She almost adds, I’ve had plenty of practice, but stops herself. Waiting for Apple isn’t the only way to frame her life anymore.
‘On the map it looks as though you’re in the right place,’ he says, unbuttoning his coat, which is tweedy, leather-buttoned, a newer version of something Aunt Tamsin would coo over in a vintage shop, ‘but then you turn out to be on the wrong level. I’ve never tried to find my way around a multi-storey city before.’
Ailsa laughs. ‘You should try giving directions.’
‘No thanks,’ Seb says. He slides his coat from his shoulders and drapes it over the spare chair at the table Ailsa’s chosen.
‘Shall we have a drink?’ Seb is sitting back now, raising a hand to a waiter, the picture of confidence that is the opposite of what Ailsa can manage. ‘What are you drinking? I don’t want to distract you from cave food. Do you want anything to eat? You’re going to have a boring Easter, aren’t you?’
There’s a second before she realises he’s talking about chocolate. She’d thought he’d read her mind – the fact that her friends would all be coupled-up or going out over the Easter weekend, while she’ll be with her mum and her auntie, listening to them reminisce and trying to find a moment to bring up what they were going to do about her, or Hayley, moving out. Another pair of friends has moved out of Edinburgh for the sake of a mortgage they can afford. She got an invitation to her ex-boyfriend Jacob’s wedding this week. She’s being left further and further behind. And Apple has a real sense of urgency about this; Ailsa wonders whether she’s been twenty-eight before, and she knows how things should be.
The Curious Heart of Ailsa Rae (ARC) Page 7
