I nod. ‘Just 76 days, Ma. That’s not much to give up for a whole baby, is it?’
My mother covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head.
I sigh with relief.
She uncovers her mouth. ‘I’m so proud of you, Layla. You’ve really grown up good.’
I could have gone home and done my research there on my on laptop, but I want to include her, so we go upstairs to the desktop computer that she never uses and pour over cancer research together. We stay clear of allopathic treatments or websites that don’t have any endorsement by serious doctors or researchers. In two hours, we’ve printed reams and reams of research material. We split the papers into two piles. Ma takes one and I take the other.
It is nearly lunchtime when I lift my head from the article I am studying. BJ is waiting for me at home. For as long as I can remember, my mother has always stood in the kitchen surrounded by food when I left the house. Today, she is wearing her reading glasses and the kitchen table is full of papers.
I look at my mother and I feel a great sadness. I pull myself together. I cannot afford, even for a second, to reflect on or question my decision. It will bring fear into my body and sap away my strength.
‘Bye, Ma,’ I say, kissing the top of her head.
She grabs me, hugs me tightly, and follows me out of the house. Her forlorn figure waves to me from the front door.
TWENTY-FIVE
LAYLA
“Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”
— Hippocrates, recognized as
the father of modern medicine
I arrive home and find BJ up on the roof terrace. He glances at me and carries on staring out at the landscape.
‘Hey,’ I say and sit beside him.
‘Hey yourself,’ he replies. There is something in his voice that makes me turn and look at him closely.
‘What have you been up to?’ I ask.
He kicks at something by his feet and an empty bottle of Scotch rolls out and hits the table leg.
‘I see.’
‘I’ve confirmed the appointment for the scan and biopsy tomorrow at nine in the morning,’ he says.
‘I’m not going.’
‘Yeah? Why not?’ His voice is vaguely aggressive, as if he is just getting started.
‘Because there is no point, is there? All that will happen is they’ll confirm what Dr. Freedman said and increase the chances of the pregnancy terminating.’
‘Jesus, this just gets worse and worse,’ he mutters furiously.
I touch his arm. ‘BJ? Remember when you said you’d do anything for me?’
He closes his eyes, the anger dying out of him.
‘I really need you to do something for me now.’
He opens his eyes. They are so black they are like holes in his sad face. ‘I want to tell you something,’ he says quietly.
‘OK.’
He looks at me, his face twisted with bitterness. ‘It’s not going to be pretty.’
I don’t speak. It is as if the air is made of the most delicate glass, cold and breakable. I feel scared. There is already so much on my plate and I am afraid I will not be able to cope with whatever he is going to tell me. My head inclines so slightly it’s almost not perceptible.
‘I’ve never told anyone. I don’t even allow myself to think it.’
I stare at him, hardly daring to breathe.
‘Do you want to know why I fight? Why I used to be so goddamn crazy in the pit that I almost killed a man once?’
I remember the way he had attacked his opponent in the pit. It was vicious and merciless. A light breeze ruffles his hair and drops it to his forehead. His eyes are vulnerable and defenseless. Yes, I can handle anything about him. Anything. I nod.
‘At my birth, my mother was incorrectly told to push before she was fully dilated. It ruptured her cervix and she lost the ability to ever again carry a child to full term. After that, she lost four children: A boy at 18 weeks, a set of twins—a boy and a girl—at 22 weeks, and another girl at 21 weeks. There were others that fell out as lumps of blood in the toilet. It ruined her life.’
I shiver at the thought.
‘My father had a smile identical to mine. Everybody thought so. They also thought he was the perfect father. No one knew that he blamed me for the deaths of my siblings, or that he often battered me senseless.’
I stare at him in shock.
He smiles bitterly. ‘Yup. He had hands like raw meaty hunks. Broke my jaw twice, he did. He claimed he was toughening me up, but I think he enjoyed it. Abusing me was entertainment for him. I understood what he wanted early on. He wanted to see me cry. I’d be screaming inside, but I never cried. I kept it all inside. All the rage. All the pain. All the hurt.’
‘Oh, BJ,’ I gasp.
‘From the time I was fifteen, I’d walk around looking for a fight. I’d walk into a bar or a club, and all it took for the rage to take over, for me to send a guy to the hospital, was a wrong look. Any provocation, no matter how small or insignificant, was enough to fill my guts with fury. I was a ticking time bomb.
‘It poisoned my bloodstream. Every once in a while I had to let it out in a safe environment. Like a bloodletting. Stress relief. Every victory in the pit was a victory of my vulnerable, younger self over my father.’
I frown with confusion. ‘Then why did you tell me you trusted your father?’
‘I did. I trusted him to hurt me. He showed me the face that no one else saw.’
‘And your mother. Did she know?’
‘She knew. There was nothing she could do, but pretend. We both pretended.’
‘What happened to you is absolutely horrific, but why do I sense that you’re linking it with our child?’
‘I’m the spitting image of my father. I’m gonna batter that boy, Layla. I’m not going to be able to help it.’
I freeze. ‘You’re not your father,’ I whisper.
‘You don’t know that. Even I don’t know what’s inside me. His brutality created a monster.’
‘Oh my great, big hero, my heart, my love, you’re not your father. You’ll never be him. I don’t have even a second of worry that you’ll batter our Tommy. Not for one second. Your father was a monster. I know you’re not.’
He drops his gaze. ‘I don’t love this life enough to stay on without you. If you go, I want to go with you.’
I crouch in front of him. ‘Listen to me. I don’t plan to go anywhere. I really think I can do it. Other people have. I’ve been on the Internet all morning with Ma doing research. I’ve found out that people are fighting their cancers by all kinds of methods.’
He looks at me and I see how much he wants to believe me, but he is afraid to take the risk. He wants to take the riskless path.
‘Cancer is not a disease I caught from dirty water or someone else. My own body made it. So even if they cut it all out, if I live in exactly the same way I have been doing until now, my body is going to make it again.’
‘I feel so fucking helpless.’
I smile softly. ‘Well, you’re not as helpless as you think.’
He looks at me curiously.
‘This is going to make you laugh, but you know how I said I wanted you to get out of the drug business? Well, looks like I’m going to need you to get back into it. I need you to supply me with marijuana.’
His eyes widen.
‘I need the fresh leaves and buds. And I need loads.’
He frowns. ‘For what?’
‘Apparently the marijuana leaf is a highly medicinal substance. Besides being antioxidant, anti-inflammatory, and neuro-protective, it possesses an anti-cancer nutrient compound known as cannabinoid. Cannabinoid is capable of many wonders, but the most exciting thing about it, is its ability to normalize cell communication within the body. It bridges the gap of neurotransmission in the central nervous system and brain by providing a two-way system of communication, a positive feedback loop. So for people like me, whose systems are comprom
ised by rogue cancer cells, a positive feedback loop can be established.’
‘So you’re going to be high the whole time.’
I shake my head. ‘No, heat is needed to convert the THCA element of raw cannabis into THC, which creates the high. I’m going to juice raw marijuana leaves and buds and eat salads of hemp sprouts.’
‘I really want to believe that raw cannabis is going to cure you, but I have to say, it sounds really far-fetched.’
‘First off, marijuana is only one of the things in a whole host of measures that I will be taking. Cancer cells need an acidic environment to grow. So I’m also going to keep my system alkaline. And I’m going to cut out GMOs and pesticides, go vegetarian, completely cut out stress, etcetera. Here, look at this.’ I open my bag, flicking through the papers to find the article I am looking for and put it into his hand. He looks at it eagerly.
‘Check this out,’ I say. ‘Even though US federal government officials consistently deny that marijuana has any medical benefits, the government actually holds patents since October 2003 for 26 methods using cannabinoids as antioxidants and neuroprotectants.’ I point my finger at the paper and say, ‘See, US Patent 6630507?’
He looks up at me, almost believing, but not quite.
I grab both his hands. ‘You have to believe me. I can do this.’
He sighs heavily.
‘Even people suffering from end-stage cancer have benefited,’ I say.
‘OK, Layla. OK. I’ll get the marijuana for you.’ He stares at me. ‘And I’ll join you in your new diet.’
‘Oh, my darling. You don’t have to do that. You’ll hate it. My diet will be filled with alfalfa grass, sprouts, kefir, and all manner of horrible stuff.’
‘What the hell is kefir?’
‘It’s an organism that you put in milk to sour it and turn it into a probiotic food.’
He winces at the thought.
I laugh. ‘Hey. I don’t need you to go on the diet with me. I need you to eat what you want and be happy. When you are happy, I feel happy. And when I’m happy my body is happy.’
‘So. You’re gonna cook separately for me?’
‘Why not? My food is going to be mostly raw anyway.’
‘But you’ll have to smell my food.’
‘So what?’
He nods slowly. ‘No. I wanna do the diet with you.’
‘It won’t make any difference to me.’
‘It’ll make a difference to me. We eat the same or I don’t eat at all.’
‘OK.’ And I have to blink back the tears.
TWENTY-SIX
BJ
This morning I watched her tick the box on our calendar that held the sacred information: 60 days left. She turned to me bright and so full of hope. So I went to work. I called her a few times. She seemed fine. But when I return home at 7:00, she is in bed.
I rush to her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s nothing. Just a twinge.’
‘What kind of a twinge?’
‘It’s normal. Even Lily used to get little twinges and stuff. Don’t worry, the baby is OK,’ she reassures.
I lose it then. She mistakes my expression of blind rage for fear. ‘Don’t worry, darling. There’ll probably be many more such days.’
‘What the fuck is the matter with you?’ I roar. ‘How can you do this to yourself?’
Taken aback by my fury, she tries to fluff over the utter madness of what she is doing. ‘Darling,’ she says. ‘I’m all right. Really. I’m only lying in bed to ease the stress on my cervix.’
‘Of course you are. Obviously, you don’t want to go to the hospital and get a real doctor’s opinion.’
She shifts. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘That’s just great,’ I throw at her. In complete despair, I leave the house. I hear her call out to me, but what’s the fucking point? She’s just going to explode my head with more nonsense.
I get into the car, start the engine, and drive blindly. In the end, I find myself driving to one of Dominic’s clubs. The valet jumps into my car and radios the staff in the reception. They wave me through. At reception there are more wide smiles, and of course, there is no entrance fee for me to pay. A pretty girl lifts the curtain and I enter Heat Exchange. The housemother comes towards me with a large smile.
‘We haven’t seen you for a while,’ she says softly. ‘We’ve had a really nice blonde girl join us. Anastasia is Russian. Beautiful body.’
I nod and she leads me towards a booth. It is early and there is hardly anybody in it. A girl is on stage gyrating. She has long dark hair. Something about her reminds me of Layla. I quickly look away.
I sit in the booth. A waitress comes. ‘The usual?’ she asks.
‘No. Get me a bottle of rum.’
‘Of course.’
A blonde girl, obviously Anastasia, sashays towards me. She is bite-your-arm-off beautiful and there is only one way to describe her body. Roger Rabbit’s girlfriend’s statuesque. She stops in front me and strikes a pose to show her body to its full advantage.
‘Hey, big boy,’ she says throatily.
‘Hello.’
‘You want a dance?’
‘Sure,’ I say and put a twenty pound note on the table and push it a few inches away from me.
She smiles, takes it, and pushes it into her garter. And then she starts dancing. At first keeping her distance and then getting closer and closer until her breasts are either a hair’s breath away from me or accidentally brushing me. She times her five minutes with precision.
‘Do you want to buy me a drink?’
‘Why not?’ I signal for the waitress.
‘A glass of champagne,’ she tells the waitress and turns her glance back to me.
‘So, you have a clubs of your own?’
I nod.
‘If I need a job, I can come to you?’
‘No. I don’t deal with that side of the business.’
‘Of course. You are too busy.’
I find I can’t be bothered to talk. I let my eyes travel down her body. She gets it straight away. ‘You want to go to the VIP room?’ she asks.
‘Sure,’ I tell her. We walk to the VIP room together, Roger Rabbit’s girlfriend and me, but inside I am dying.
Layla
I dream that I am bleeding, that blood is gushing out of me. I try to staunch the flow with my hand and it oozes between my fingers. I feel myself become lighter and lighter and I float out of my body. I look down at myself, a corpse. I want to reach out and touch my own body. In my dream I think, this is what I will look like when I die. Then I wake up. I look at the alarm clock. It is almost midnight and BJ is not home. I call his phone, but it is switched off. I leave a message and call his manager. He has not been there all night. I try all the other places he could be. No luck. So I call Jake.
‘Am I disturbing you?’ I ask softly.
‘No. What is it?’ There is a wire of panic in his voice. In the background I can hear music.
‘I can’t find BJ. Is he there?’
I hear the relief in his voice. ‘He’s not here.’
‘I’m worried about him. We … we argued. He stormed out.’
There is a moment of silence. Then Jake’s voice comes on. It is calm and business like. ‘I take it you’ve already tried all his restaurants and clubs.’
‘Yes,’ I reply holding the phone with both my hands.
‘I think I know where he is. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. I’ll call you a bit later. Get some rest, OK?’
Jake Eden
I end the call and look at my phone.
‘What’s wrong?’ Lily asks worriedly.
I turn towards her voice gratefully. God, I cannot imagine what it must be like for BJ. If it was Lily I’d have to … I walk up to her and kiss her. ‘That was Layla. BJ is MIA and she’s worried, but I think I know where he is. I don’t know how long this will take so don’t wait up for me, OK?
‘I will wait up for you.’
I smile. ‘Wear something special for me.’
‘You bet.’
‘Right, I’m off.’
‘Give him a big kiss from me,’ Lily says.
‘You’ve always liked him, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, I’ve never forgotten that he saved your life.’
I don’t say anything, but memories flood back into my mind.
There is no traffic on the roads and it takes me less than an hour to drive down to the coast to where the old smuggler’s network of caves are. I know BJ used to go there many years ago. Once I stumbled upon him. We were still enemies then, but he was very drunk and he offered me a drink. We shared a bottle, but he was so plastered I don’t think he has any memory of that night. If he has, he’s never referred to it.
As soon as I turn off the road and drive down the dirt track, I spot his vehicle. I stop the car and text Layla.
Found him. All is well. Will make sure he gets home safe.
My poor sister must have been watching the phone like a hawk. She texts back almost instantly.
Thank u from the bottom of my heart. xxxx
I take my torchlight out of my car’s glove compartment and go into the mouth of the cave. It is dark and dry. My shoes sink into the soft sand. After a while, the soft sand gives way to rock and I start to hear the sound of water dripping. A few yards later I come to the flooded area of the cave. I take my shoes and socks off and rollup my pants, then wade through the water.
When I reach dry stone, I put my socks and shoes back on and walk for another ten minutes or so through the twisting tunnel. It opens out to sheer drop into the sea. BJ is sitting at the end of it. He’s so heavily slumped he looks like a rock in the darkness. He has an oil lamp beside him. I switch off my torch. As far as the eye can see is the ocean. In the moonlight, it glistens like a black, oily mass. Arching over it, the sky is a blanket of stars.
I notice that he’s barefoot. He must not have bothered to put his shoes back on. I sit at the edge beside him and let my feet dangle down. He is holding a bottle of rum.
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