Our Song

by Dani Atkins

  ‘I’m starting to feel a little jealous, here,’ joked Max. ‘It’s good to hear you sounding so happy and positive, and I’m glad you’ve got someone to talk to now I’ve gone. For the record, I think Joe seems like a really great guy and a good friend. But d’you know something, friends, real friends, tell each other stuff, especially if they live in the same house.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I knew exactly where Max was going with this.

  ‘Yes, they do. Important stuff, you know like . . . we’re out of milk . . . have you paid the electricity bill . . . did I happen to mention I’m having a baby later this year? Little things like that.’

  I laughed, but beneath it I could see that Max had a valid point. It was time (long past time, really) to let Joe know that I hadn’t been entirely honest with him.

  I picked my moment carefully. I waited until I was pretty sure he had only a few minutes to spare. That way if he was hugely angry, he would have to leave for work and hopefully cool off in the interim. Our mornings had fallen into a comfortable pattern of sharing the kitchen while we each made our own breakfast. We wove in and out of each other’s paths like choreographed ballet dancers.

  I kept eyeing the clock, waiting until he had just five minutes and half a cup of tea left, before nervously clearing my throat. I was really regretting my nibbled mouthfuls of toast, because I could feel them lodged in my throat like particles of grit. I washed them down with a huge mouthful of orange juice, and replaced the glass with a little more force than necessary on the worktop.

  ‘Joe, can we have a quick word about something before you leave?’

  He glanced towards the wall clock. I could have told him not to bother – we had four minutes and twenty-five seconds. There was time to do this – just.

  ‘Sure,’ Joe said agreeably. He gave me his slightly crooked engaging smile. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Well, it’s kind of hard to know where to begin.’ There was a warmth on his face as he waited patiently for me to potentially ruin our cosy and comfortable living arrangement. ‘It’s just that there’s something I should have told you a long time ago . . . before I moved in, actually. And I will understand – totally – if you want me to leave . . . because well . . . this is . . . well, it’s not what you signed up for. So, please don’t worry about—’

  ‘Is this about the baby you’re having?’

  I blinked at him, like an owl. A very surprised and stunned owl.

  ‘Well, is it?’ he coaxed.

  ‘How did you . . . ? Who told you . . . ? When did you . . . ?’

  Joe was shaking his head gently at each of my fractured questions. ‘No one told me. I figured it out myself, some time ago.’

  I glanced down at my flat stomach. I was still in my size ten jeans, although admittedly the waistband was starting to feel a little tight these days. But I still didn’t think I looked pregnant. ‘When did you know?’

  ‘Before you moved in here,’ he said quietly, his eyes kind.

  ‘You knew back then? But why didn’t you say anything at the time? Why didn’t you even ask me about it?’

  Joe gave an easy shrug, and I knew his question could so easily be flipped over to ask: Why didn’t you tell me? I could feel the warmth of a blush begin to burn my cheeks. I dropped my eyes, focusing my attention on the faded denim of his cotton shirt, noting the way it only just managed to stretch across the breadth of his shoulders; how he’d rolled up the sleeves at the wrists to make it easier to move; how one button near the bottom looked as though it was in danger of falling off. I was ready to answer any question you might care to ask me about his shirt. Just not about my pregnancy or my failed relationship with David.

  ‘I figured it wasn’t really any of my business.’

  I should have known he wouldn’t pry. But I still felt bad that I’d hidden the truth from him. ‘I’m really sorry for not saying anything. I can be out by the weekend. And, obviously, I’ll pay you rent until the end of the month.’ My head was lowered and I was staring at the terracotta floor tiling, so I didn’t realise how close he had come until I saw his heavy work-boots directly in front of me. I looked up slowly, and he waited for my gaze to finally reach his face.

  ‘Why exactly are you leaving?’

  I looked at him with more than a little confusion. ‘Because I’m going to have a baby.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. Why does that mean you have to move out?’

  I was now way past confused, I was totally mystified. And then I suddenly realised that he probably hadn’t grasped my full intentions. ‘Joe, I’m not giving this baby up. I’m keeping him . . . or her.’

  Joe simply nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘A baby is going to disrupt everything. For a start there’s going to be baby stuff all over the place.’

  ‘It’s a big house.’

  ‘They wake in the middle of the night. A lot.’

  ‘I’m a heavy sleeper.’

  ‘They moan when they’re hungry.’

  ‘Well, I do that too.’

  ‘They smell . . . sometimes.’

  ‘Ditto.’

  I shook my head. He was making this way too easy for me. Far easier than I deserved. ‘They make a lot of noise.’ It was my final argument.

  ‘Ally you play the piano and the trumpet. You make a lot of noise. How much worse can a baby be? I can handle the noise.’

  I should have laughed then, because there was humour here. Instead I burst into tears. He didn’t put his arms around me, or try to comfort me. But he did tear off a couple of squares of kitchen towel and pass them to me. I mopped my eyes as best I could, and was almost smiling when I looked gratefully into his face. ‘Hormones,’ I apologised. ‘I should warn you, I may cry . . . a lot.’

  ‘Do you know, for someone who is trying to talk me into this, you seem to be going a very strange way about it.’

  ‘I just wanted you to know what you were letting yourself in for if I stay.’

  Joe nodded solemnly. ‘Okay. I have duly noted everything you have said. Consider me warned.’ He did reach for me then, laying a hand on my shoulder and patting me, as though I were a fretful child. ‘But you don’t have to leave.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t want you to leave.’ For a second there was something in his eyes, which disappeared even before I could properly identify it. There was a brief moment of awkwardness, one of the first, I think, there had ever been between us, before he glanced at the clock. We had overrun my anticipated time by quite a long way.

  ‘I have to go. We can talk some more this evening, but I have no problem at all with keeping things just the way they are.’

  He was almost out of the kitchen and heading for the hallway before I asked my last and most curious question. ‘Joe, if no one told you, and I don’t look pregnant yet, then how did you know?’

  He stopped at the doorway and turned around. ‘It wasn’t any one thing. You were sick in the mornings when we first met, then your decision not to return to university, and finally the urge to move out of your parents’ home. They all pretty much decided me I was right. Then, of course, there was the final clue.’

  ‘Clue? What clue?’

  It was the first time I had ever seen him blush. ‘Er, well . . . your boobs . . . they got bigger,’ he mumbled, before hurriedly heading for the front door.

  I stared down at my (admittedly inflated) chest, and was still laughing long after I heard his van start up in the street beyond the kitchen window.

  Chapter 11

  Charlotte

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Mr Beardsworth looked tired. I guess it didn’t matter how many years you’d been a doctor, being dragged from your bed in the middle of the night probably never got any easier. Even harder was having to deliver to relatives the kind of news he’d just given to me. There was sympathy and quiet patience on his face, as he allowed me to absorb the information. But I was nowhere close to acceptance of the terrible diagnosis. I was still looking for a way o
ut.

  ‘But surely there has to be some other option? What about a bypass, or fitting a pacemaker or something?’ I was desperately throwing random medical terms at him, without any idea of what either procedure actually involved. I imagined the cardiologist saw a lot of that, because to his credit he didn’t point out I might possibly need more than ten years of watching Grey’s Anatomy to make that kind of decision.

  ‘If we were dealing with heart disease, or severe angina, then a bypass might be a solution. But in your husband’s case, the heart itself is too badly damaged. Even implanting a defibrillator inside his chest would just be buying us a little more time; it wouldn’t be a cure. Regrettably, the only real solution is the one I’ve outlined.’

  ‘But a heart transplant,’ I said the words on a hushed whisper, as though to speak them louder would invoke a curse. Which was ridiculous, because weren’t things already just about as terrible as they possibly could be? ‘But David’s still so young. He’s healthy.’

  ‘And these are huge factors in your husband’s favour. We would have every reason to hope for, and expect, an extremely satisfactory outcome in a case such as his.’

  I shook my head, still grappling with the shocking diagnosis. ‘And if he doesn’t have a transplant. Then what?’

  Mr Beardsworth said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. I could feel the sob tearing its way through my throat, determined to escape. Silently the consultant slid a box of tissues across the desk towards me.

  ‘But his heart . . .’ My voice trailed away. To the cardiologist the heart was just a pump, an organ, an admittedly failing one in David’s case. But to me, just talking about removing it felt as though the very essence of the man I loved would go with it. As much as I tried, I couldn’t separate the two. ‘It’s just . . . it’s just such a big thing to get your head around,’ I explained from behind a wad of tissues.

  ‘I do understand, completely,’ the consultant assured. ‘It’s a lot to take in. But each year around two hundred patients in this country undergo a transplant. Surgically, the procedure isn’t as complicated as you might imagine. The difficult thing, after we’ve fully assessed David’s suitability as a candidate, will be waiting for a donor heart.’

  ‘Does he . . . does he know?’

  The doctor nodded gravely. ‘Even as sick as he is, your husband has a clear grasp of the situation. He asked me outright if a transplant was a consideration, and I saw no reason not to tell him.’

  ‘How did he take it?’

  ‘As well as anybody ever does,’ said Mr Beardsworth with a sad smile. ‘It’s a lot to absorb. For both of you.’

  I could feel the acid pinprick of tears at his compassion. I closed my eyes until they went away. I needed to hold it together, now more than ever.

  ‘Many of the necessary tests have already been done; the remainder will be carried out immediately. But my strong recommendation is to place him on the Urgent Heart Allocation Scheme, which will give him priority should a heart become available. Until then, he will need to remain in hospital.’

  ‘He can’t come home? Not at all?’ Even to my own ears, my voice sounded as lost as a child’s.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Williams, he’s just too unwell.’

  ‘Can I see him now?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the doctor, getting to his feet and waiting as I scrabbled to mine. I almost lost the tattered remains of my composure, when he laid his hand on my arm in a kindly gesture as he led me from the room. ‘I am most dreadfully sorry that I can’t offer you more at this time. But please keep strong and stay positive. It’s important to keep David stable, emotionally as well as physically, while we wait.’

  For someone to die, I completed silently, feeling the weight of the words descending on me like a boulder. David’s battle would be to hang on to his life, until someone else lost their own.

  I took a moment to compose myself before opening the door to his room. I breathed in deeply a couple of times at the threshold, as though I were a diver preparing to jump into dark and unknown waters. My game face was in place as I opened the door. David was awake, his eyes fixed on the entrance expectantly. He’d been waiting for me.

  I faltered for just a second at the sad look of apology in his eyes as I crossed the distance between us. His lips felt familiar beneath mine, but there was no strength in his kiss. I straightened carefully and sat as close as I possibly could beside him, careful not to tangle myself in the tubes that were supplying him with additional oxygen.

  ‘How are you getting on with that cute doctor?’ he teased wheezily.

  As ever, I took my lead from him, and pulled a small face and wrinkled my nose. ‘I swapped him for a senior consultant.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Was that wise? He looks kind of old for you.’

  ‘I like them old. They don’t run so fast when you chase them.’

  David tried to laugh, but the effort made him gasp, and the machine readings around him spiked and beeped in warning, making the nurse at his bedside frown disapprovingly at me.

  It sobered us both.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Charlie girl. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.’

  ‘It is what it is,’ I said sadly. I gripped his hand and bent my head to kiss his knuckles. ‘But if you keep scaring the life out of me like this, then I warn you, I may have to divorce you.’ The nurse looked horrified, but David just smiled weakly.

  ‘No you won’t. Till death us do part, remember? I just didn’t figure I’d be fulfilling my part of the deal quite so soon.’

  Rage flooded through me, not at him, but at life, fate or whatever it was that was leaching the fight out of him. ‘Don’t you dare talk like that. No one is leaving anyone here.’

  David’s beautiful blue eyes were full of pain, not at what he was going through, but for what it was doing to me. ‘I just want you to be okay, Charlotte. Whatever happens.’

  ‘Nothing is going to happen,’ I refuted obstinately. ‘You’re going to stay right here until they find you a new heart, a good strong one, and then you can spend the next sixty or so years apologising for frightening me so much.’ I gripped his hand in both of mind. ‘This is a blip, a hurdle that we just have to get over and then get back on track. I don’t want to hear any more talk about death or being apart. You owe me a trip to New York, and I intend to claim it.’

  David shook his head, his thick, dark hair making a scratchy sound against the starchy pillows. ‘So you knew about that, did you? I should have known better than to try to keep a secret from you.’ I tried to smile, but somehow it never quite made it to my eyes. ‘Okay,’ David continued, making a vow we both knew he had no control over. ‘No more flat-lining, I promise. No more going towards the light.’

  ‘Was that what it was like?’ I asked hesitantly, terrified to hear him speak – even jokingly – about how close I’d come to losing him tonight.

  ‘No, honey. It wasn’t like that at all. There was no brilliant light, no tunnel. Just darkness.’

  ‘How disappointing,’ I said, trying to match his flippant tone, but not really succeeding. ‘I’d always imagined there’d be some sort of welcoming committee, with everyone you’ve ever loved and cared about waiting for you.’

  David’s eyes were tender as they went to mine. ‘Everyone I’ve ever loved or cared about in the world is right here in this hospital,’ he said gently.

  His words were truer than he realised, and the guilt at what I was concealing from him hit me like a physical blow. He read it on my face. I should have known that he would.

  ‘Charlotte, what is it? What’s wrong?’

  I took a deep breath, dreading what I was about to say, but knowing I had no choice. The time of secrets was past.

  ‘David . . . there’s something I have to tell you . . .’

  Ally

  They entered through the swing doors together, shoulder to shoulder, as though they needed that physical contact to get through this. I’d only been gone for a few minutes, taking the st
airs down to the floor below, where I’d seen a drinks vending machine. I was walking back down the length of the corridor when I looked up and saw Joe’s parents standing just inside the entrance to the ward, like shell-shocked survivors of a bomb blast. They looked lost, they looked scared, and frighteningly they looked so much older than the last time I’d seen them. I broke into a run towards them, and the sound of my booted feet flying over the linoleum made them turn in my direction.

  ‘Ally,’ cried Frank, his voice quavering in a way I don’t think I’d ever heard before. I threw my arms around the joined entity that was my in-laws, and they clung to me. I knew Kaye was crying even before we broke apart. I could feel it in the trembling shudders that ran through her bowed shoulders. She’d spent most of her life convinced that something dreadful was going to befall someone she loved, and there was absolutely no satisfaction in finally having that prediction come true.

  ‘Hush now,’ Joe’s dad urged, reaching in his pocket with his free hand for a perfectly laundered handkerchief. That was when I noticed that, quite out of character, Joe’s parents were holding hands, their fingers wound so tightly around each other that I could see the white-boned knuckles through their skin.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to get here so soon,’ I said, directing my comment at Frank, and allowing Kaye a moment of privacy to dab at her face, where her tears had washed tiny rivulets through the layers of powder and blusher.

  ‘That driver you sent certainly knew his stuff. He made short work of the journey and drove through the storm and snowdrifts like they weren’t even there. I couldn’t have got here faster myself I sent up a silent word of thanks to Max, who was himself somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean by now, on his way to reach my side. The small pieces of my world were coming together like a jigsaw. Albeit one with a hugely important part missing.

  ‘How is he? How’s our boy doing?’ asked Kaye anxiously.