A Sky Full of Stars

by Dani Atkins

  Like a well-organised team of commandos, the hospital staff swung into action. A wheelchair was waiting for me, which I insisted I didn’t need but was gently led to anyway. I’d been in and out of hospital so often since my illness, I was surprised by how alien everything felt that night. Even though I recognised the faces of several members of the cardiac team, tonight there was a seriousness and intensity in them I’d never seen before.

  I’d read up extensively on what would happen on this day, still never quite believing it would ever come. I was prepared for the blood tests, the X-rays and the ECG, as well as the many questions about my current state of health. What I hadn’t been expecting was the feeling of niggling disquiet, the one that had been lingering just out of reach since the hospital’s phone call. In a quiet moment between the tests and before my mother arrived, it surfaced suddenly like submerged wreckage rising from the ocean floor.

  Someone had died.

  On this night, when my life was about to be given back to me, someone else had lost theirs. The end of their story was the beginning of mine, and the weight of that responsibility felt suddenly overwhelming.

  ‘Do you know whose heart it is I’m getting? Do you know what happened to them?’

  With tears rolling down my cheeks, I listened solemnly as they gave me my answer. My donor was a woman; she’d been in her thirties and had been involved in an accident.

  There were gaps, cavernous ones, which they weren’t allowed to fill. But I asked the questions anyway. ‘What happened to her? What kind of accident? Was she married? Did she have a family?’ They answered me with a gentle shake of the head. In the world of organ donation, patient anonymity was more than just a byword, it was a sacred oath.

  ‘How can you accept something this precious without thanking the people who gave it to you?’

  The transplant coordinator took hold of my hands. Hers felt warm, while mine hardly ever were these days. That will change, I thought. After tonight, when the donor’s heart replaces mine, my hands and feet will be warm again; my body will grow stronger. It’ll be like turning back time as everything I’ve lost will be returned to me, given by a woman I’ll never be able to thank.

  ‘You’ll be able to write to the donor family – afterwards,’ the coordinator told me gently. ‘It will help both you and them.’

  She left me with thoughts of half-drafted letters that would never be able to adequately express the gratitude in my heart. Her heart, I silently corrected.

  *

  ‘Am I in time? Is she still here?’

  The starchy pillowcase felt scratchy behind my neck as I twisted my head towards the billowing cubicle curtains. In their gap stood my mother, white-faced and wide-eyed with concern.

  ‘Molly! Thank God,’ she said. The escaping tension seemed to instantly deflate her. Her eyes looked wet and were filled with a mix of hope, love and fear as they fell on me. We hugged, getting tangled up in the wires that connected me to a variety of monitors.

  ‘The cab took so long to get here and then I couldn’t find the ward and I was petrified you’d already have been taken up to the operating theatre—’

  She was as close to panicking as I had ever seen her and it was a weird reversal of the roles we’d played all our lives to suddenly be the one calming her.

  ‘Everything’s okay, Mum. Breathe.’ The sedative they’d given me had slowed my speech, but my new-found serenity wasn’t due to the drugs. A feeling of peace I hadn’t been expecting had settled over me, as comforting as a thick, downy fleece. My fate was no longer in my own hands, and, oddly for someone who liked to be in control, I was perfectly okay with that.

  ‘They’re still waiting for the heart to get here. It shouldn’t be long now.’

  Mum gulped noisily and her head bobbed up and down like a nodding-dog mascot on a car’s parcel shelf. ‘How do you feel, Molly?’

  I smiled into the face I’d loved for thirty-one years. Never before had I seen it look this terrified.

  ‘Like I’ve had one too many glasses of Prosecco,’ I said, my voice slurred from the medication.

  She went for a laugh, but it broke halfway through. She reached out and brushed the hair back from my forehead, the way she’d done through countless childhood fevers.

  ‘My brave, beautiful daughter,’ she murmured, as quietly as a prayer.

  I took her trembling hand in mine and laced my fingers through hers. We both turned with a start when the cubicle curtains parted with a parrot-like screech. In the opening stood a nurse I didn’t recognise and an orderly.

  It was time.

  ‘Please try not to worry, Mum,’ I urged as they began uncoupling my bed from the bay. She still had hold of my hand as they began to wheel me away, our palms gradually sliding apart until only our fingertips were touching.

  I knew how long the operation would take, and I really didn’t want her waiting around for another five or six hours, but there would have been little point in telling her not to stay. She would be there at my bedside until I opened my eyes. Hers would be the first face I saw – as long as everything went well. And if her greatest fear was realised and things went badly, then the face I would see would be my father’s.

  Either way, someone I loved would be waiting for me.

  8

  Alex

  Alex’s recollections of leaving the hospital would always be a series of distorted images; out-of-focus, jagged-edged memories that were too painful to either remember or forget.

  He recalled the porter wheeling Lisa’s bed from her hospital room and how, in a mark of respect that almost destroyed him, every nurse and doctor, and even passing orderlies, had stopped whatever they were doing to stand back against the walls of the corridor, bowing their heads in silence as Lisa made her final journey to the operating theatre. It was a guard of honour, and it ripped what was left of Alex’s heart to shreds.

  He sobbed unashamedly in the lift, as though the steel box was a confessional booth. Todd reached out blindly, pulling his distraught brother towards him. Neither was aware of the passengers that joined and left the lift on its descent, although Alex would always remember the gentle squeeze of a stranger’s hand on his shoulder and the gruffly spoken words of the heavily tattooed man who had the courage to speak when others did not. ‘Really sorry for whatever’s happened to you today, mate,’ he said before walking away.

  In the car Alex was numb. ‘He was practically catatonic,’ Todd told Dee later. ‘It felt like we’d lost both of them. He just stared out the windscreen for the whole two-hour drive. He only snapped out of it when he realised we were back home and that Connor was waiting.’

  Alex followed Todd down the path to the front door on legs that felt as detached as the rest of him. ‘Dee’s not told Connor anything?’ he asked as Todd fished in his pocket for his door key.

  Todd shook his head and Alex noticed how pale his usually ruddy-complexioned brother looked. All colour had been leeched from his skin. Was that how he looked too, he wondered? He slapped his cheeks hard enough to hurt as he crossed the threshold into the house. The physical pain was a welcome momentary distraction from the all-consuming emotional pain.

  Dee hurried into the hallway to greet them, her hand fleetingly grasping her husband’s as she swept past him to reach Alex. It was late in the evening, every light in the house was lit and yet she was wearing sunglasses. She pulled them off before enfolding her brother-in-law in her arms. The reason for the Ray-Bans became clear; the red of her eyes matched the colour of her hair.

  She held him close for a long moment, saying nothing, because words were redundant.

  Gathering up his resolve, Alex gently extricated himself from her embrace. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Watching TV with Maisie.’

  He nodded dumbly.

  ‘I think… I think he knows something’s wrong,’ Dee said, her voice dropping to a whisper as the door of the lounge swung open and Connor hurtled through it. His glance took in the adults in the hall
way. The realisation in his eyes was impossible to ignore. Three instead of four. Someone was missing.

  ‘Would you like us to stay?’ Dee asked softly, her eyes already going to her own daughter, who was standing hesitantly in the doorway her cousin had just raced through.

  Alex shook his head, his gaze fixed on his son’s confused face.

  ‘Where’s Mummy?’

  Connor peered around his father, as though Lisa was playing a really effective game of hide-and-seek. The quiet click of the lounge door confirmed to Alex they were alone.

  ‘Where’s Mummy?’ Connor asked again, and his voice was different this time, higher and more babyish than Alex had heard in years.

  ‘Come over here,’ Alex said, sitting down on one of the lower treads of the stairs and patting the vacant space beside him.

  Connor stared suspiciously at the step and then looked back at the front door. He shook his head.

  ‘Is Mummy still at the Astronomy Fair? She said she’d be back in time for my bedtime story, but it’s so late now.’

  The gaping wound in Alex’s chest was growing larger with every second. The last thing in the world he wanted was to inflict this pain on his own child, but that was exactly what he was about to do.

  ‘Connor, please sit down,’ Alex urged, and something in his father’s tone got through to the young boy. His lower lip began to tremble as he shakily did as he was asked.

  ‘Am I in trouble?’ he said, his voice wobbling now as much as his lip. ‘Is it about the juice this morning?’

  Alex stared at him blankly. As though it had happened to an entirely different Alex and Connor, he remembered the incident in the kitchen. It existed in a world where Lisa was there to make everything right. A world he’d never live in again.

  ‘No, Connor. It’s nothing to do with that.’

  He wrapped one arm around his son and drew him gently against his side. His bones felt fragile. Make this not be real, Alex silently pleaded to a God he had never believed in. Please make this go away and I’ll do anything you want. He closed his eyes, but when he opened them again all he could see were Lisa’s eyes staring worriedly up at him from Connor’s terrified face.

  ‘I have something very sad to tell you.’

  The lower lip was trembling so much, Alex was surprised his little boy could still speak.

  ‘I don’t want to hear anything sad. I want Mummy.’

  Me too, Alex thought, his own tears beginning to fall.

  ‘You know that Mummy went to the Astronomy Fair today?’

  ‘On the train,’ said Connor, looking scared when Alex winced as the words stabbed at him.

  ‘Yes. Well, a terrible thing happened. The train had an accident and a lot of people were hurt.’

  Connor made the connection almost instantly. ‘Was Mummy hurt?’

  Alex’s throat had tightened. No words could squeeze through it, so he just looked into Connor’s eyes and nodded slowly.

  ‘But we can give her some Calpol and she’ll get all better,’ Connor said, his small fingers digging deeply into the flesh of Alex’s arm.

  Alex pulled Connor even closer, but it felt as though he was cuddling a small marble statue. He knows, Alex thought. Somehow, he already knows.

  ‘Mummy hit her head in the train and the doctors tried very hard to make her all better, but they couldn’t fix it.’ Alex swallowed. He was almost there. Just one more sentence and this torture would become an entirely new kind of agony.

  ‘A really bad thing has happened to Mummy, Connor. She has died.’

  ‘No. No. No. No. No.’

  The word rang through the house like a tolling bell. Connor wriggled violently out of Alex’s hold and marched towards the front door as though to leave this evil place where grown-ups told lies that couldn’t possibly be true.

  He turned around and faced his father, who was getting shakily to his own feet and reaching out for him.

  ‘No. I don’t want you. I want Mummy. Please, Daddy, make her come home. Make her come home right now. She promised. She promised me she’d come back.’

  9

  Molly

  Six months later

  ‘Honestly, Mol, it hardly shows at all.’

  I paused halfway through dusting another layer of powder onto the concealer I’d applied to the scar, which rose like an antenna from the V of my jumper. I sighed and leant a little closer towards the age-flecked mirror in the staff toilets. The light was always harsh in here, making everyone appear to be in need of an extended period of sick leave, even if – like me – you’d just had one. Under the ghostly white fluorescent glare, the vivid cerise of my scar refused to be hidden.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re worried about it. It’s a victory badge; you should wear it with pride.’

  Kyra was right, and I certainly wasn’t ashamed of my scar, but it did invite comment – even from total strangers, who’d boldly ask how I got it. It was a topic I still found difficult to discuss. But short of spending the rest of my life in polo necks, it was a hurdle I was going to have to get over. Perhaps it was something I should mention at my next counselling session?

  I zipped up my make-up bag and turned to my friend and colleague, who I doubted had suffered a single moment of insecurity about her appearance. Kyra had a face that made magazine models look ugly and risked giving men whiplash when she walked past them in the street. But perhaps that was just as uncomfortable as having people stare at your post-op scar.

  ‘I just don’t want to draw the children’s attention to it,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t want it to scare them.’

  Kyra gave an inelegant snort, making her sound like an Antipodean Miss Piggy. ‘You’re joking, right? Half the kids in my class are convinced you’re related to Iron Man. Your street-cred rating is through the roof.’

  I laughed and turned back to the mirror, running my finger down the line in the centre of my breastbone. It was less puckered now than it had been, but it was still raised, like a brand seared onto my chest.

  Beneath my fingertips I could feel the strong steady beat of my new heart. If the school boiler hadn’t been noisily chuntering away on the other side of the plasterboard wall, I might even have been able to hear it. Transplanted hearts beat faster and louder than the ones we are born with. In the middle-of-the-night hours, in the quiet of my bedroom, it resonated with a rhythm I still couldn’t decipher. Was it protesting about its new location or beating out a tattoo to signal that it lived on?

  ‘And I wouldn’t go wasting a single second worrying about what any future boyfriend will think of it,’ added Kyra, jumping lithely down from the narrow window ledge she was perched on.

  If my eyebrows had risen any higher, they’d have disappeared into my hairline. ‘I truly can’t think of anything less likely to have crossed my mind.’

  ‘Good,’ Kyra said, throwing an arm around my shoulders and giving me a comforting squeeze. ‘Because, believe me, with assets like yours, the last thing any guy in that region will be looking at is your scar.’

  A wave of pink flooded my cheeks, which even the draining fluorescent lights couldn’t wash away.

  We walked together down the corridor towards our respective classrooms. The novelty of being easily able to keep up with Kyra’s long-legged stride still hadn’t worn off. It was just one of the many changes I was getting used to. These days there were sportswear outfits hanging up beside the vintage dresses in my wardrobe, and they weren’t just there as a fashion statement. Tom, who’d begged me for years to join his gym, would have barely recognised the new me. At times, when I looked in the mirror and saw the healthy glowing complexion – no hint of grey in it now – I didn’t either.

  ‘Whoa. You’ve certainly rung the changes in here this term,’ Kyra exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt by the open doorway of my Year One classroom. ‘Where’s the woodland frieze with the cute foxes and bunnies you always put up at this time of year?’

  I followed her gaze to the back wall, which this year wa
s covered in a wide swathe of black sugar paper rather than the forest green she’d clearly been expecting to see. She was right; in place of the trees, tractors and farm animals was a galaxy of stars and planets.

  I gave what I hoped was an inconsequential shrug, while trying to ignore the prick of disquiet that pierced my conscience like a needle, because this new fascination was a mystery to me too. ‘I don’t know. No reason, really. I just fancied doing something a bit different with the class this year.’

  Kyra looked at me curiously, before sending a broad grin my way. ‘Well, good on you for doing something different,’ she replied, her accent suddenly much more pronounced. ‘I bet the kids will love it.’ She glanced once more at the display I’d worked on for hours after school the day before, and then with a shrug turned towards her own classroom. I wondered if she even realised she was quietly humming the Star Wars theme tune as she went.

  *

  I parked in my favourite spot in the hospital car park. It was tucked away in the furthest corner, half hidden beneath the boughs of an elder tree. By June, when I’d finally been given the all-clear to drive, I used to come out from the latest of my frequent appointments to find my car half buried in confetti-like blossom.

  I marked the passage of time not via the pages of the calendar but from the foliage by my car. The end of summer had seen the ground covered in leaves which crunched like cornflakes beneath my feet. But now, as October took hold, the tarmac was a minefield of spiky green husks from a horse chestnut tree that towered over the elder like an ancient guardian.

  ‘No problems with any of your anti-rejection medication, Molly?’

  I shook my head. The drugs I would need to take for the rest of my life were a small price to pay for still being here.

  ‘And are you sleeping better now?’