by Jill Mansell
Hallie said, ‘I know.’
‘We’ll talk when they’ve gone, OK?’
‘OK.’
Then Jean came back in to begin the interview, Tasha carried on with Hallie’s hair and make-up and Sandra began taking test shots. Together they chose the best outfit for the shoot, selecting Hallie’s thin navy top and matching flippy skirt and teaming them with her new fuchsia sandals.
‘I can’t decide between the scarf and the necklaces,’ said Sandra, ‘so we’ll take some shots with each of them, and some without.’
‘I prefer clean lines.’ Jean was blunt. ‘You don’t need accessories. Her face is enough.’
‘I know, but we’d better give the picture editor something to choose from,’ said Sandra, evidently a diplomat.
God, being photographed by a stranger was weird; smiling became unbelievably complicated. Answering Jean’s questions required concentration. Hallie perched beside the window, then sat cross-legged on the king-sized bed and pretended to be typing out replies to people who’d sent their problems in to threethingsaboutyou.com. Finally she submitted to close-ups and sat backwards on a chair with Sandra moving around, getting shots from all angles.
All the time she was willing it to be over . . . Please, that’s enough now, time for the rest of you to leave . . .
Finally it was done. Sandra had taken hundreds of photos. The interview was complete. As she was leaving, Jean said, ‘It’s been wonderful to meet you. We’ll be running the feature at the end of June. And listen.’ Taking a business card from her bag, she handed it over. ‘If you ever do get in touch with your donor’s family, we’d love to do a follow-up piece. Just let me know.’
‘Thanks. It was great to meet you too.’ They shook hands and Jean left. Now Sandra was packing away her equipment. As, very slowly, was Tasha.
‘Oh, I forgot, you wanted me to show you how to put on false lashes.’ Holding up a plastic box, Tasha added brightly, ‘I don’t have to rush off. Shall I give you a lesson now?’
‘Fantastic,’ said Hallie. ‘Let’s do it.’
Sandra, with cases of equipment slung over both shoulders, said a cheery goodbye and let herself out of the hotel room.
And then they were alone.
‘Oh my God, three whole hours.’ Tasha clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I can’t believe we managed it. I thought I was going to explode.’
‘What’s Rory’s blood group?’ said Hallie, just to double-check.
‘He’s O.’
Hallie nodded. ‘Same.’
‘Come here.’ Tasha wrapped both arms around her and held her tight. She whispered into Hallie’s ear, ‘This is amazing. You gave Rory your heart. He’d have died without you.’ A hot tear spilled out of her eye and trickled down Hallie’s cheek. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘It’s not me, though. We both have the family of the other donor to thank. I sent them a card a while back, through my transplant coordinator, but I was waiting for the year to be up to write a proper letter.’ Hallie knew it would be the most difficult letter she’d ever have to compose. ‘And they might never write back . . . there are no guarantees.’
‘But in the meantime, we’ve found you. Oh God, I still can’t believe it!’
‘I’m going to call Jonathan, my coordinator, and see if he can confirm it’s Rory.’
Five minutes later, she ended the call and said with a grin, ‘Well, he can’t.’
‘You’re still smiling, though.’
‘I’ve known Jonathan long enough to know when he’s holding back. He knows,’ said Hallie, ‘but he isn’t allowed to confirm it. He said we need to get Rory to ask his transplant coordinator.’ She shook her head with amusement. ‘Poor Jonathan, he’s always so calm and in control. But this time he was definitely shocked.’
‘So what happens now?’ said Tasha.
‘I think Rory needs to make that call, don’t you? Do it like Jonathan says, just to keep everyone happy. And after that, what time does he finish work?’ said Hallie. ‘I think I’d like to meet the man who has my heart.’
Chapter 56
‘Oh will you look at her little face? Hello, lovely girl! Are you going to give me a smile?’
It was one of those could-go-either-way moments. Flo held her breath and willed it to go the right way. Luckily it did. Her daughter, now twelve weeks old, was less fazed than most babies by geriatric faces looming in front of her in a manner that could, admittedly, give a bit of a fright to some adults. Alexandra broke into a huge beaming smile and waved her little hands at ninety-eight-year-old Esme Carpenter, currently the oldest resident of Nairn House.
‘Ah, look at that, she’s a bonny one! Flo, you’ve got yourself a little angel there. I love it when you bring her in to see us. Makes my day, it does. What a gorgeous wee girl she is.’
While she was still on maternity leave, Flo had taken to visiting once or twice a week with Alexandra in tow. It was nice to keep up with the goings-on at Nairn House, and seeing everyone’s delight at being able to interact with Alexandra was a joy. Today, she was sitting out on the terrace with several of the residents. To her left was Esme. To her right was Margot, busy taking photos with her iPad.
‘Pretty girl,’ boomed Thomas, who was sitting opposite them. ‘Far too thin, though. Needs to eat a few pies. Not like you,’ he retorted as Bridget trundled past with the tea trolley. ‘You’ve had more than your share.’
Thomas was the newest resident, a retired naval captain with a loud voice and a robustly unreconstructed opinion on everything.
‘Any more of that and I’ll be cutting off your beard while you sleep,’ said Bridget, unperturbed. ‘Anyway, who’s the pretty girl? Are you talking about Flo?’
‘No, of course not. I meant this one!’ Thomas jabbed a finger at the magazine he’d been reading.
Peering over at the page, Bridget said, ‘Oh she is pretty. Not too thin at all.’
‘Hmmph. I don’t hold with this transplant malarkey,’ Thomas snorted. ‘It’s all wrong, if you ask me, meddling with nature. Doctors thinking they’re God, playing around with people’s lives just because they can.’
Flo exchanged a glance with Margot, who shook her head and said in a clear voice, ‘Thomas, does it ever occur to you to think before you open your mouth to speak?’
‘What? Oh, don’t you start on at me again, woman. You’re as bad as my second wife.’ With a huff of annoyance, Thomas levered himself out of his chair and grabbed his walking stick.
‘I’m luckier than her,’ Margot observed. ‘At least I didn’t have to be married to you.’
Grumbling under his breath, Thomas made his way back inside. Bridget rested a hand on Flo’s shoulder. ‘Just ignore him. Give us another week or two and we’ll have the old sod whipped into shape.’
‘It’s fine.’ Flo nodded at the magazine Thomas had left lying open on the wrought-iron garden table. ‘Could you pass it over so I can take a look?’
‘And is it my turn with Alexandra?’ Putting down her iPad, Margot took the baby from her as Bridget handed the magazine over to Flo.
The feature was headed: Three Amazing Things About Hallie.
Several seconds later, Flo exclaimed, ‘Oh my goodness, it’s Dear Rose.’
‘What is?’ Margot glanced over at the double-page spread.
‘This girl. Her name’s Hallie. She’s the one who set up that website. She was always anonymous, remember? Nobody knew who she was.’
‘Of course I remember,’ said Margot. ‘We used to read the problems every week. Then my iPad needed resetting and I lost all the bookmarks to my favourite websites.’
‘She had cystic fibrosis.’ Still reading, skimming through the words, Flo felt her breathing quicken. ‘She had a heart and lung transplant almost a year ago. It saved her life.’
‘Well isn’t that just wonderful? To think the whole time she was helping other people, she was going through all that.’ Ever the multitasker, Margot was holding Alexandra securely with one arm and s
crolling through pages on the iPad with her free hand. Within seconds she’d found the same article online and was reading it herself.
‘You don’t think . . .’ Flo knew that Zander had helped a female, but that was the extent of the information she’d received. The recipient had sent a beautiful thank you card to Lena, but as far as she knew, Lena hadn’t replied. And since Lena was the next of kin, there was nothing more she could do about it.
‘Well that’s annoying; it doesn’t say the exact date.’ Margot was ahead of her; she had now found the threethingsaboutyou website and was scrolling back through the entries. Then, abruptly, she stopped. ‘Here it is. Oh sweetheart, look . . .’
Her heart thudding crazily, Flo looked at the entry. Her gaze skittered over the words . . .
I’m twenty-eight, I have cystic fibrosis and I never actually expected to live this long.
The hospital transplant coordinator called two hours ago – they have a new pair of lungs for me.
I’ve never been so scared in my life . . .
. . . Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to the wonderful family of the donor for giving me this gift, this incredible chance. I hope you know how amazing you are. Your courage, kindness and generosity will always be remembered.
Flo took in the date, although by now she already knew.
Tuesday the twenty-fifth of June.
‘It’s her. It’s her. She’s the one. I can’t believe it. Look at her.’ Breaking into a wobbly smile, Flo studied the photograph in the magazine of a pretty, healthy-looking girl with short dark red hair, huge bright eyes like Bambi and a dazzling smile. She was wearing a dark blue outfit and a striking scarf with splashes of colour like cascading fireworks across a night sky.
At that moment, a thud of recognition hit Flo in the chest. She stared into the brown eyes of the girl in the photograph, then at the scarf once more.
‘Can you go back to the magazine piece?’ she asked Margot.
Margot obliged and handed her the iPad. Flo expanded the photo and stared again. The scarf was inky blue, with explosions of fuchsia, lime green, purple and gold.
It was a one-of-a-kind scarf.
It had cost more than the girl wanted to pay, but she’d been unable to resist, returning to the stall later on that afternoon to buy it.
Flo briefly closed her eyes, conjuring up a mental image of the girl in the wheelchair, with her striking pallor and those deep violet shadows under her eyes, and the plastic tubing delivering oxygen from a cylinder into her poor diseased lungs. Yet despite her obvious ill health, she’d been cheerful, good-natured and likeable. Basically, the kind of person you’d instinctively want to be friends with.
Above the sound of Alexandra’s babbling, Margot leaned across and said, ‘Are you OK, darling?’
Nodding, Flo felt her eyes swim with tears, but for once they were happy tears. ‘I’m fine. I can’t believe we found out this way, but it really does make it better.’
‘She looks lovely. Sounds it, too.’
‘She is,’ said Flo. Wait until she told Patrick about this. ‘And guess what? I’ve already met her.’ Her hand shook slightly as she pointed to the photo. ‘In fact, I sold her that scarf.’
Chapter 57
Dear Rose (yes, I know you’re Hallie, but you’ll always be Rose to me!),
I have an update for you.
You probably won’t remember, but last year I wrote to you with my problem. Basically, I loved my cats but my wonderful boyfriend hated them and wanted me to get rid of them. And you told me he wasn’t a wonderful boyfriend at all.
Well, I cried when I saw your reply, but eventually realised you were right. He couldn’t believe it when I ended our relationship, and the following months were pretty miserable. I will admit that I began to wish I hadn’t done it.
But in September I went along to our local cats’ home to see the new kittens and got chatting to a man called Paul who was there for the same reason. We ended up adopting one each from the same litter.
And guess what? Paul turned out to be a far nicer man than my old boyfriend. We kept in touch at first so we could compare our sibling kittens (their names are Bo and Marvin) and then we fell in love. We now live together – with all our cats! – and I’ve never been happier in my life.
So thank you for your kind words and excellent advice. You were definitely right, and Paul and I are both hugely grateful!
We’re also very glad to hear that your own life is so much better now too. You are amazing!
With love from
Maggie xxx
Well, hooray for Maggie and Paul. Hallie flagged the email so it wouldn’t get lost in her inbox. Updates were always welcome, but those with a happy ending were far nicer to read than the other kind.
She took a slurp of tea, a bite of toast and a moment to appreciate the fact that she was lazing in bed through choice rather than because she didn’t have the energy to get out of it.
OK, it was ten in the morning. Soon she would get up and drive over to collect her mum and Bea, and together they’d head into Oxford to spend the afternoon shopping. The fun to be had from actually visiting lovely shops and experiencing objects with all your senses, rather than buying almost everything online, was a thrill that was yet to wear off.
She finished her mug of tea and opened the next email.
Dear Hallie,
Firstly, here are the three things about me:
I have a beautiful daughter who is twelve weeks old and the light of my life.
You and I have actually met once before, but I’ve only just realised this. It’s a nice coincidence. I think you’ll like it.
Being able to write this message to you today makes me very very happy. Hopefully you’ll feel the same way when you find out why.
Now, here we go. My name is Flo Fenwick and I live in Bristol with my baby girl, Alexandra. Almost eighteen months ago, I was lucky enough to meet and fall in love with a wonderful man. We were very happy together and looking towards the future when sadly he lost his life in a car accident and my happy new world, as I knew it, ended overnight.
I’ve just read that feature about you in the magazine. You look and sound so lovely. I used to read the letters people sent to Dear Rose, and your brilliant replies, but I confess that following my boyfriend’s accident, I rather lost interest in other people’s problems. So it was cheering to read the feature and discover that you were in fact Dear Rose.
In it, you also stated that you would love to be able to get in touch with the family of your donor, which is – as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now – why I am writing to you today. I may not strictly be family, but Zander was the most important person in my life. And following his death, I discovered I was pregnant with his child.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I couldn’t be happier to learn that the transplant was such a success. If you’d like to see photos of Zander, I’d love to send you some. (As a proud new mum, I have plenty of his daughter too!)
I hope this is a nice letter to receive, and that it hasn’t come as too much of a shock to you. The last year has been pretty hard, but things are starting to get easier for me now. Finding out about you has definitely helped.
Oh, and if you’re wondering about that time we met before, cast your mind back to last year and Denleigh Horse Trials. The stall where you bought your scarf? The woman working on the stall who was forced by her boss to wear a purple trilby? Yes, that was me. (You missed Prince Harry, by the way – he called in not long after you’d left. Really!)
So there we are then, I’ll give you time to catch your breath and digest this information. When you’ve recovered from the shock, it would be lovely to hear from you.
Love and best wishes,
Flo xxx
Wow. Well. Sitting back against the pile of pillows, Hallie slowly reread the letter from the beginning. Flo sounded wonderful. And she wasn’t even aware yet of the other half of the story . . .
When she’d gathered herself
, Hallie began a fresh email.
Dearest Flo,
Thank you, thank you. Your letter has made me indescribably happy too. We have so much to talk about. Can I phone you? Would that be OK?
Also, when can we meet up?
Chapter 58
It had been an unorthodox way of going about things, but it had all worked out in the end. Hallie smiled at the memory of Jonathan’s look of disbelief when she’d told him about her meeting with Flo. ‘It’s all meant to be taken very slowly and carefully,’ he’d said, shaking his head. ‘It’s a highly emotive situation, best handled by professionals. That’s why we’re here.’
‘I know, but we’d found each other completely by accident. It felt like serendipity.’ Struggling to explain, Hallie had waved her hands. ‘It felt right for all of us. As soon as I told Flo about Rory, she wanted to meet him too. So that was it, we arranged for all of us to go down to Bristol together. And we met up at Flo’s flat in Clifton. It was the most amazing day.’
And it really had been. Rory and Tasha had travelled down from London. She and Luke had driven from Carranford. Together they’d introduced themselves to Flo, all aware of the miraculous connection between them. Hallie had taken Flo’s hand and pressed it to her chest so she could feel the steady beat of Zander’s heart beneath her fingertips. Then they’d both felt Hallie’s old heart thudding away inside Rory’s ribcage.
And all thanks to Zander. Well, Zander and Flo, who had been so completely determined that his organs shouldn’t go to waste.
A bond had been forged between them on their first day together. Against all expectations, Flo had been as grateful to them as they’d been to her. By that evening, a friendship had been born and they’d stayed in touch ever since.
And now it was the twenty-eighth of April, a beautiful spring day and Rory McAndrew’s birthday. They were on their way to the party being held at his and Tasha’s flat, along with assorted friends and family.
