by Katie Ginger
‘Now these taste like Christmas,’ he said, tipping the bag and the dregs of them into his mouth, as normal as he ever had been. ‘What’s the matter with you two?’
‘Nothing,’ Nell said, followed swiftly by Kieran.
‘Nope, nothing at all, mate. Nope. Nothing.’ Nell widened her eyes at him, warning that he was overdoing it.
For her though, everything was wrong, because now, absolutely everything was going to be different, and the mixture of surprise, happiness, joy and fear rolling around her head weren’t helping at all.
‘Shall we look at that stall over there?’ Tom asked, eyeing them both. ‘I like the look of their big wooden stars.’
‘Okay,’ they both agreed hastily and as Kieran walked ahead with Tom, Nell shuffled along behind, trying to understand the strange feeling in her heart and the tightening in her stomach. Everything had changed. Even the back of Tom’s head looked different, but still her imagination didn’t fire like normal. She only saw them sitting together in the hotel lounge, the light from the fire lighting his face as he pushed his hair back as usual. They were laughing yes, but it was normal, as things always had been. It wasn’t crazily romantic like her usual romantic fantasies. If she couldn’t love Tom the way he loved her, how did she let him down gently? And how could they stay friends after something like that?
***
Bryan tore apart the pages of the report, flicking a paperclip up into the air. It landed in his tea with a splash and he sighed deeply. That pretty much summed up his day so far. Find the Sun were really starting to take the piss with their demands. They were supposed to be having a huge Christmas bash – Christmas! – with Christmas trees, snowmen, reindeer, elves, that sort of thing. But no. Find the Sun were making the most extreme and silly demands he’d ever had a customer make. As a travel firm with ‘sun’ in the title they wanted waitresses in bikinis and sombreros – he was yet to have that conversation with his staff and might actually have to hire in models to serve as he couldn’t imagine some of his chubbier employees in swimming costumes and speedos. They also wanted fifteen-foot palm trees instead of Christmas trees (still decorated with tinsel) and they’d already had a blazing row about removing the Christmas tree from reception. He’d left that one to Kevin. To his credit, Kevin had calmly explained that they had a hotel full of guests and dinner bookings for people who wanted to feel Christmassy and so, for the sake of the rest of the hotel guests, the tree in reception was staying put. Given the extortionate amount they were being charged it hadn’t gone down well. Bryan had yet to source the palm trees. Then there was the menu. They wanted buffet food from all over the world. François had sworn first in English, then as fury overtook him, resorted to his native language.
But the thing that really got Bryan’s goat, was that local news and gossip was all about Holly Lodge and Nell Jones and the amazing things she was doing for the town by hosting local events. Even the mayor, rather than cancel her do, had moved it to Holly Lodge and the Langdon Mansion’s reputation locally had taken a battering. Apparently the bad reviews weren’t slowing her down. Every week they checked the number of hits on the spider-soup video and it was still going up. If only they’d been able to get hold of the woman who posted it and edit it first. To make matters worse, there’d been an increase in the number of bad reviews of the Langdon Mansion Hotel, particularly the restaurant. Kevin was firefighting with the top brass and reassuring Find the Sun that they were the ones to stick with, but they both knew that if this big event didn’t go without a hitch, there was every chance he and Kevin would be transferred to some hotel in the back of beyond or simply sacked.
Kevin came into the office and sat on the edge of Bryan’s desk. Bryan hated the way he did it. He also hated the way Kevin pulled up the drainpipe trousers of his suit to reveal his hairy calves. ‘So, I’ve just seen Tallulah.’
‘Oh yes,’ Bryan raised his eyes. He didn’t enjoy the pang of guilt that shot into his brain when the young girl’s name was mentioned but he couldn’t stop it happening.
‘She said the carol concert thing was packed and everyone was impressed with Holly Lodge. It seems Miss Jones has had some more bookings. Some bloke’s staying for a good few weeks while he visits family and she’s doing lots of offers too. Everyone was talking about how we’d let down the town because they mayor’s party had been dropped.’
‘Tallulah got all this from a few mums at a carol concert?’
‘No, you idiot.’ Bryan didn’t like being called an idiot but bit his tongue. If he insulted his boss, he’d be sacked on the spot. Kevin didn’t like to be challenged. ‘She’s heard a lot at the school gates when she’s gone to pick her brother and sister up and just general chit-chat in town too. Our name’s mud. The only good thing is that she’s heard Holly Lodge is still in financial trouble. Nell Jones is hoping that a wedding she’s holding for her best friend just before Christmas is going the be the saviour of her business.’
‘So, what do we do?’ asked Bryan.
‘I think,’ Kevin said with a malicious glean in his eye, ‘we get someone at that wedding and sabotage it.’
‘What? Isn’t that going a bit far?’ Though Bryan tried to swallow down his fear, his voice dripped with it.
‘I don’t think so with the damage she’s done to our reputation.’
For the first time, Bryan wished they’d never started this campaign against Holly Lodge. Everything seemed to be spiralling out of control and a tiny, annoying part of his brain told him it was his fault. But it was too late. Without a doubt, if head office found out what they’d been up to, Kevin would blame him for everything, denying any involvement and leaving him out to dry. Bryan had no choice but to go along with it now. There was no turning back.
‘If we can tell the bosses that our only real competition has gone under,’ said Kevin, ‘and we’ve got a monopoly here, there’s every chance they’ll overlook the video and the recent bad reviews, and we can keep our jobs.’
‘But what about the number of complaints we’ve had? They’ll know about those as well.’
‘Only the ones that go direct to head office.’ Kevin shrugged.
‘But …’ However hard he tried Bryan was having trouble grasping things. ‘We’re supposed to report on all complaints we receive here, face to face. Formal or informal.’
‘Do you want to keep your job or not?’ Kevin snapped. ‘If we keep a lid on the smaller, minor complaints we’re getting here face to face—’ Kevin mimicked the way Bryan had said it and he felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end ‘—and pull the Find the Sun event off without a hitch, we won’t be looking at the sack, we’ll be looking at bonuses.’
Still reeling from his mockery, Bryan stayed calm. ‘So how do we get someone into this wedding?’
‘I’ve already thought of that,’ he said smugly. ‘She’s hired Niall Peters as the chef and I know his business partner who takes care of staffing. I’m going to make sure Tallulah is included on that list as a favour.’
‘Tallulah? Don’t you think she’s done enough? She’s only a girl.’ That damn scruple was flicking his conscience into life again.
‘What are you, her skint father? This is the last thing she needs to do, and I’ve promised her a whacking great Christmas bonus if she can.’
‘The mayor’s ball is before that. Can’t we send her there rather than to a wedding and ruin someone’s day?’
‘There’s that conscience again, Bry.’ Kevin wagged a finger in his face. ‘And anyway, Tallulah’s just seen her in the town, and said she’s sure Nell recognised her. It’s too soon for her to work the party. Nell Jones will figure it out. We need to wait until this wedding. By then she’ll have forgotten who Tallulah even is. The girl’s plain and easily forgettable. Plus the wedding will be more impactful. She can – I don’t know – destroy a few decorations, knock a couple of bottles of wine over, chuck a fly or two in the soup.’
Byran’s mouth had gone all dry. This was al
l spiralling out of control. Tallulah was just a young girl desperate for money. If his mother could see what he was doing, she’d be absolutely appalled. He knew that by letting this continue he was letting himself down and Tallulah too. But what could he do? Kevin’s enormous bright white teeth and tight smile were slightly menacing, and he really didn’t want to go back to working in second-rate hotels with damp and bug infestations. ‘Okay,’ he agreed quietly. ‘If there’s no other way.’
Chapter 18
On Monday morning, Tom sat in the consultant’s waiting area at the hospital. He hated hospitals. Hated them with a vengeance. It was the smell. That awful disinfectant smell. If they smelled of flowers, or something much nicer people probably wouldn’t get as nervous. It was just so … clinical.
Last Thursday he’d had an appointment here for some tests and somehow, he’d snuck away without Janie or Nell knowing even though, the next day, she’d quizzed him at the carol concert. He’d managed to palm her off with a rather flimsy excuse and she’d been too kind to press him further. Kieran knew and had thankfully covered for him. He’d wanted to tell Nell, especially when he’d seen the concern in her eyes, but it would have spoiled the carol concert and he still couldn’t form his concern into words.
Kieran had driven him here today after Tom had been advised not to drive until they knew what was wrong. Kieran had agreed fully, advising Tom in no uncertain terms that driving with, as he put it, ‘wafty eyes’ was a really bad idea considering he’d already had one accident. As grateful as he was for his friend’s support, Tom had asked him to wait in the café. He just couldn’t stand the sympathy radiating off him. All it did was make him worry even more. After all, he’d managed to get through all the tests on his own and now he was at last going to get the results. With any luck, the heavy weight in his stomach would be gone in the next half an hour and he could maybe get some glasses to sort things out and then his life would return to normal. He sat forwards, both arms resting on his knees, his scarf dangling from his hands. Though he kept telling himself that, he couldn’t quite believe it.
Tom sat back, having read the notice board in front of him several times. He now knew the importance of having your poo checked for signs of bowel cancer when you were over 60; that, surprise, surprise, smoking wasn’t good for your health; and he also knew that in the UK they ate below the required number of portions of fruit and vegetables per day. Maybe he’d be told to eat more carrots, he mused. If only.
The consultant was running late which he’d expected, knowing how busy and understaffed the NHS was, but it wasn’t helping his nerves. He’d been waiting an extra half an hour already and Kieran kept texting asking what was happening. Had he gone in yet? What had they said? Was he okay? Tom’s last reply had been a bit sharp and he knew he’d owe Kieran a pint by the end of the day, but the questioning was just too much for his stressed-out brain. Hopefully soon they could celebrate that he was okay after all, though the headache he’d had last night, that had caused him to go to bed at seven and lie in a dark room, reminded him the chances were slim. The hand of panic gripped him again inching up his neck and tightening the skin at the back of his skull.
The door opened and his consultant, Mr Carrington, asked him to come in. Mr Carrington’s long slim face gave a polite and welcoming smile that Tom tried not to read too much into, but his nerves were tingling with worry and anticipation. He suddenly needed a wee and wished he’d gone earlier, but he hadn’t wanted to risk missing his name being called. Mr Carrington rounded to the other side of the desk and Tom sat opposite. He wrapped his scarf around his hand then unwound it again.
‘So, Mr Barton, how have you been? Any more headaches? Any other problems?’
‘A few more headaches, everything is much the same as last week.’
‘I see.’ He typed on his keyboard and clicked the mouse, checking some details. Then he turned and his calm eyes focused on Tom. ‘Well, we’ve had the results of your tests and I’m afraid to say you have a condition called Retinitis Pigmentosa.’
Tom tried to take in the words, but his brain had stuck on the phrase you have a condition. It meant something was actually wrong and vomit sprung up into his throat. He tried to swallow it down and catch up with what Mr Carrington was saying. ‘It’s a hereditary degenerative eye condition where the cells of the retina die and that affects a person’s peripheral and night vision. It can sometimes affect the central vision as well.’
‘Right.’ Tom wound the scarf around his hand again, tighter this time, as if focusing on the discomfort would stop him panicking. ‘What does that mean exactly?’
‘I’m afraid that, as has already started, your eyes will find it difficult to adjust to the changes in light levels at night, and over time you will lose your peripheral vision altogether. When I talk about some cases losing their central vision too, if that should happen you will unfortunately—’
‘Be blind.’ The words had tumbled out without him realising. It was almost as if his brain was trying to understand by verbalising it, but he couldn’t take it in. He couldn’t go blind. He didn’t want to go blind. His life would change forever if he went blind. How would he drive? How would he work? How would he live? How would he see the sunrise? Visit Grandad Nigel? See Nell’s face?
Mr Carrington’s patient and steady voice broke through the panic. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Barton. I know it’s a lot to take in.’
‘What – what can we do about it?’ Surely there was some kind of treatment to stop it. Drugs? Tablets? Laser beams fired into his eyes? Robot retinas? Modern medicine could cure virtually anything, couldn’t it? The room was suddenly ridiculously bright even though it was grey and rainy outside, the light too strong and penetrating, illustrating how his eyes were useless now.
‘I’m afraid there aren’t any treatments for it at the moment.’ Inside, Tom’s body crumpled. ‘But it is a field of study that’s being taken very seriously. What we can do is monitor your condition and help you adjust as it worsens.’
Tom forced his next question out through his dry, scratchy throat. ‘How long will it take?’
The consultant gave a sympathetic shrug. ‘I’m afraid there’s no way of telling. It could be months or years. We’ll monitor you closely from now on, but there’s no way to predict.’ He leaned forward a little, clasping his hands together on the desk. ‘I know it seems like the end of the world right now, Mr Barton, and it is going to be a huge adjustment, but it really isn’t the end. A lot of people continue to lead perfectly normal lives by making changes to their lifestyles.’
Tom replied with a nod of acknowledgement, but his breath froze in pure terror. A future that he’d thought looked normal now looked anything but. He wasn’t too ashamed to admit he was frightened. He was petrified. What would his business look like if he couldn’t see? He couldn’t cut and arrange flowers, that was for sure. Would he need a guide dog or a white cane? He could feel his confidence ebbing away as gloomy thoughts ran through his head and the fear of how different everything would be penetrated his soul. ‘You said hereditary?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Carrington nodded. ‘That’s why I was asking about your family background in our last meeting. You mentioned your grandad. I think it’s likely he has the condition too. I’d definitely advise contacting the RNIB. They’re an amazing support and will help you come to terms with the diagnosis. They can also give you lots of advice as to how you can make adjustments to your home and workplace so you can continue as normally as possible. I’m afraid you won’t be able to drive anymore and will need to inform the DVLA. Did you have any other questions for me?’
Probably, Tom thought. Only his brain couldn’t function enough to form any. He shook his head.
‘Well, if you do think of anything, I’m happy to help. We’ll be in touch shortly to arrange your next check-up appointment, okay?’
Tom nodded and stood up, taking the hint that the appointment was over. He could feel a headache coming on, but this wasn’t the usual t
ype caused by his eyes, this was a stress headache. His stomach lurched with queasiness and though he was clenching his jaw to keep his emotions in check, a stinging in his nose spread to the back of his eyes. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Carrington.’
‘Take care, Mr Barton.’ The consultant rose and the two men shook hands before Tom left.
Closing the door softly behind him, he noticed he’d wrapped the scarf tightly around his hand again. Tom slumped down into a waiting-room chair. He was aware of the receptionist stepping out from behind the desk. She went to the water machine and filled a small plastic cup then, to Tom’s surprise, she came over and handed it to him. ‘Here you are, love. Have a minute.’
She’d probably never know it, but that small gesture of concern meant everything to him in that moment. The bottom had fallen out his world and everything he’d ever hoped and imagined was sliding down a big dark hole, forever lost to him. It felt like his life was over.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to regain some perspective. Others had it far worse than him and he hadn’t been told he had an incurable brain tumour which was something he’d genuinely feared. He sipped the water, feeling the coldness slide down his throat. Calming down, Tom felt more able to find Kieran though his hands were trembling. He took his phone off silent and saw he had some more messages from his friend who was only down the corridor, clearly as worried as he was. Tom went to find him, thinking that they could go into town and get a coffee to steady his nerves and give him some energy to figure out how he was going to cope with the rest of his life. There was no way he could think about anything like that on his own right now. Thanking the receptionist for her kindness, he stood on shaking legs and made his way out of the waiting area.
He made his way to the café feeling wobbly and almost faltered seeing the troubled look on his best friend’s face. Kieran went to the vending machine and bought them both a coffee. When he brought them over, Tom wrapped his hands around the thin paper cup. He still had a plaster on his index finger though it wasn’t as huge as the previous ones. It was just a normal plaster now.
