by Dani Atkins
My lips parted to reassure him I was more than capable of standing, but then I saw the desperation in his eyes. It was hard to suppress my smile, but I just about managed it. The look of gratitude he flashed my way told me I’d just made a friend for life.
‘Would you like me to get you a plate of food from the buffet?’ he asked Barbara, his eyes going to the ivory-handled walking stick she’d propped up against the settee.
‘That’s very kind of you. Yes, please,’ she replied. When Todd was safely out of earshot, she turned to me. ‘I don’t think the poor man knows what to say to any of us.’
‘It is a very unusual situation,’ I agreed, which had to be the understatement of the century.
‘I’m pleased to see you looking so well, my dear,’ Barbara said, as though we were old friends catching up. ‘So young to have needed a heart transplant,’ she added in that unfiltered way the elderly sometimes have.
‘I am,’ I agreed. ‘Although of course it’s not always about age.’
‘That’s true,’ Barbara said, her wrinkled, liver-spotted hands fiddling unconsciously with the packet of photographs on her lap. I guessed she’d been about to show them to Todd. No wonder he had the look of a man who’d just dodged a bullet.
‘I was as fit as a fiddle in my sixties, then just two years after losing my Archie, there I was, suddenly hooked up to dialysis machines, thinking that would be how I’d spend the rest of my life. And now look at me. Look at all of us.’
My eyes travelled the private reception room and its occupants. Four of Lisa’s recipients had been invited this evening, but it was impossible to pick us out from the other guests. Before our surgeries we’d have been easy to spot. But because of Lisa and what she’d given each of us, we blended in undetectably.
‘My heart breaks for Alex and his little boy,’ Barbara went on, her gaze settling on our host, who’d just come back in, looking slightly distracted as he spoke into his mobile phone. He strode to the edge of the room by the buffet table, the phone pressed against his ear to block out the background noise. ‘Their devastation is the flipside of our good fortune. And I’m not sure if we should be seeing it up close like this.’
Barbara might have looked like a quintessential old lady, with her candyfloss-white hair and accordion folds of wrinkles, but those faded-watercolour-blue eyes obviously didn’t miss much.
‘Do you have children, my dear?’ she asked me unexpectedly.
I turned towards her, surprised at how reluctant my eyes were to leave the other side of the room. ‘I do. Thirty-two of them, actually.’
She grinned, displaying teeth that were too white and straight to be her own. ‘You’re a teacher.’
‘I am. Green Hills Primary. But to answer your question properly, no, I don’t have any children of my own.’
‘Plenty of time for that, my dear,’ she said kindly, covering my hand with her wrinkled one. ‘Now that you’re well again.’
She was right. What had once been a total impossibility was now something I could consider, one day, if the right man ever came into my life. Feeling a change of subject was in order, I nodded towards the envelope of photographs clasped in her hands. ‘Are those photos of your family?’
Her face lit up with a grandmother’s joy. ‘They are. My babies… and their babies. Would you like to see them?’
‘I’d love to.’
It took only a few photographs before I realised the truth. As she proudly shared the names and ages of each subject, I swallowed hard at the lump that had unexpectedly formed in my throat. They were cats. Every one of them. I didn’t need to ask if she’d ever had children of her own. The answer was there in the bundle of photos. Despite being more of a dog person, I was pleased with how I managed to find something complimentary to say about every single furry member of Barbara’s family.
An oblong of light fell into the room and I looked up to see Dee standing in the open doorway, flanked on either side by a child. The girl was the spitting image of her mother, with hair the exact same shade of red, only hers was worn in two long plaits and not a bob. As cute as she was, my eyes lingered only briefly on her before focusing on the other child, the one who was hanging back, slightly hidden behind his aunt. I’d seen that manoeuvre a great many times before, although usually only on the first day of school and in children a few years younger than Connor.
The urge to get out of my seat and rush to him was as shocking as it was inappropriate. The poor kid would have been scared to death. But almost as though he’d read my thoughts, the little boy raised his head and looked straight at me. My heart began to race in a way the medication I was taking was supposed to prevent. Did everything really go quiet in the room for a moment or was that simply my imagination?
The spell was broken when Alex, who’d now finished on the phone, joined his son by the door. Barbara was saying something, but my attention was split between her and the family on the other side of the room.
‘Poor little mite. His daddy says he’s taking it very hard.’
Even if Alex hadn’t already told me that, I would have known it was true. When Dee directed the two youngsters back to their seat, I stopped trying to fight the inevitable and got to my feet. I perceived a glimmer of understanding in Barbara’s eyes when I excused myself, and maybe even a tiny nod of approval.
The little girl had picked up an electronic toy I recognised and was happily jabbing away at its buttons, but Connor had climbed onto the chair and was sitting too still and too straight, his hands folded unnaturally in his lap. I couldn’t remember a single child in my class ever sitting that quietly.
I bent to an easy crouch before them. ‘Hello there, guys. My name’s Molly. And you must be Maisie and Connor.’
Maisie’s eyes widened as though I’d performed an amazing feat of telepathy, but from Connor there was nothing except a long, careful stare. I swallowed and brought every ounce of my experience to the fore.
‘That’s a great game,’ I said, pointing to the electronic device in Maisie’s hands. ‘Except I can never beat the timer.’
‘You know how to play this?’
I suspected I’d just gone up even higher in Maisie’s estimation, but with Connor it was impossible to tell. His attention was now directed at his knees.
‘In the school where I teach, Friday is toy day, and lots of my class bring this one in.’ I smiled widely at both of them. Only Maisie smiled back. ‘Do you have a favourite toy?’
Maisie started rattling off half the items in the Argos catalogue, and although I was smiling and nodding as I listened, my attention kept being drawn back to Connor’s face. It was impassive, but at least he was looking at me now. Quite intently, in fact. Perhaps if I’d had longer, I’d have broken through his defensive wall, but his gaze shifted suddenly and travelled beyond me as his father and uncle approached.
‘So, was that him on the phone?’ I heard Todd ask.
I was still crouched down before their offspring and very much in their way.
‘Yes, that was Mac. Looks like he’s going to be late – if he makes it at all. He apologised, said something urgent had come up at work. It sounded a bit like an excuse to me.’
My legs were starting to cramp. I needed to stand up, but doing so without bumping into either of the men behind me was going to be tricky. With a complete lack of grace, I wobbled on my unaccustomed heels. Both of the Stevens brothers reached out to grab me, but it was Alex’s hand that caught my elbow to steady me. Connor’s head shot up, his eyes like miniature lasers boring into the spot where his father’s hand was touching me. I immediately disengaged myself with a mumbled word of thanks.
‘Auntie Dee is going to take you guys home in a minute. So why don’t you start gathering up your stuff?’
Maisie gave a token bleat of complaint, but Connor simply slithered off his chair and silently began dropping items into a bag. As I stepped discreetly aside, I caught the worried expression on Alex’s face as he looked down on his son’s b
ent head.
Not your business, I told myself. This family were scarcely more than strangers to me. Walking away from them shouldn’t have felt this hard – so why did it?
*
It was an evening of surprises, and perhaps the biggest one of all was that I ended up having an enjoyable time. I just had to stop myself from dwelling on the fact that we were there to mark the birthday of someone who would never celebrate another one herself.
Once Dee had left with the children, Alex’s guests seemed far more comfortable talking openly about Lisa. I lost count of the times someone told me how much I would have liked her. Every clustered group had their favourite Lisa story to tell, and it was clear how well liked and loved she’d been.
Welcoming though Lisa’s friends and former colleagues were, I still spent most of my time chatting to Barbara and Jamie, aware that to outside eyes we must have appeared a very peculiar trio. By unspoken agreement, none of us talked about our surgeries, which should have left us with nothing in common, but it didn’t feel that way at all. I had no friends of Jamie’s or Barbara’s age, and yet as the evening wore on, I realised that I’d been missing out. In their individual and completely different ways, they were both great company.
Even so, it was still a surprise when Jamie was the one to suggest, ‘You know, we ought to swap numbers and meet up again sometime. Maybe we could go out for a pint or something?’
I tried and failed to visualise Barbara in the kind of pub I imagined Jamie liked to visit.
‘Or afternoon tea,’ Barbara quickly countered. ‘I do love a cream tea,’ she said, with obvious longing in her voice.
Jamie delicately nibbling on cucumber sandwiches was an equally hard stretch.
‘I’m sure we can find something we could all do together,’ I said. ‘I think it’s a great idea.’ And it really felt as though it was.
‘Right then,’ said Jamie, his attention now on the buffet table, which had just been replenished. ‘I might just go and see what else they’ve brought out.’
He cut an incongruous figure as he loped a pathway between Lisa’s family and friends. Barbara waited until he was at a safe distance before leaning closer and saying something that I didn’t quite catch. It was either ‘He’s a really lovely boy’ or ‘He’s a really lonely boy’. Either could have been true. I looked at Barbara and felt a sudden and inexplicable connection to both her and Jamie that was more than a little unsettling.
Alex had been busy circulating, spending a little time with every group. I sensed he was leaving ours until last. On more than one occasion I had the feeling that if I were to turn around, I would find his eyes on me. I’d never considered myself particularly sensitive, but it was as though I could feel his presence whenever he walked past or stopped to talk to people nearby. I was pretty certain Barbara and Jamie felt it too. Was it because we were the outsiders here, or was something drawing us together like an invisible thread?
I shook my head at the fanciful notion as I made my way back to the buffet table to investigate the desserts that had just been brought in. Apparently they’d all been Lisa’s favourites, and it was uncanny how her taste in confectionary was practically identical to mine. I was weighing up the merits of cheesecake versus something sinfully chocolatey, when the final dish was set down on the table. It was a pyramid of golden-brown profiteroles held together by gossamer strands of spun sugar. Plate and fork in hand, I approached the miniature mountain, trying to work out what it reminded me of. The answer came in a blinding flash. The tiny choux buns looked just like conkers, and all at once I was back in the hospital car park staring up at a tall man wearing sunglasses and an irritated expression. Which meant that when I looked up and saw that same man standing right there in front of me, I was shocked enough for the plate to slip from my fingers and embarrassingly shatter all over the floor.
‘Is it just me or are you a really awful juggler?’
If anyone else had made that comment, I would probably have laughed, but there was something about this man that made my hackles rise. Besides, I was bent low, busily picking the shards from the floor before someone accidentally stood on them.
Like a swooping angel, one of the catering team suddenly appeared beside me, wielding a dustpan and brush and politely urging me to step aside. I took my time straightening up, aware from their heat that my cheeks were still flushed pink.
The man standing before me dropped his own handful of broken crockery into the dustpan before speaking.
‘Are you okay?’
I nodded. ‘You seem to have an unfortunate habit of surprising me.’
‘Ah, yes, I can see how my standing here might easily have startled you.’
There was more than enough humour in his voice to defuse the sarcasm, but I still felt wrong-footed and awkward. Was it suddenly several degrees hotter in there, I wondered? Trickles of perspiration had begun moving in convoy down my spine. The cashmere dress was starting to seem like a huge mistake, and I lifted a hand to pull the cowl neckline away from my skin.
‘Careful!’ the man cried out as his hand shot forward, cobra fast, to capture my wrist and immobilise it.
‘What the—?’
‘You’re bleeding,’ he explained, turning my hand over to reveal a pearl-sized drop of blood on the tip of my index finger. ‘You must have cut it on one of the fragments. You were about to get it all over your dress.’
I hadn’t felt or even noticed it, but somehow he had, despite the dimly lit room and the fact that he was once again wearing dark glasses.
‘Oh, I see,’ I said awkwardly. ‘Well, thank you, then.’
The moment stretched on, and just before it got really awkward he suddenly remembered he still had hold of my wrist. As soon as he released it, I lifted the finger to my mouth and sucked it in an automatic reflex. Were his eyes on me as I did this? In the reflective glare of the polarised lenses, all I could see was my own face.
‘Molly, did you cut yourself? Are you okay?’
Alex must have covered the distance in quick long strides, and there was a look of concern on his face that was making me quite uncomfortable.
‘Despite being terminally clumsy, I’m fine,’ I assured him. The words froze on my lips a split second too late to recall them. What was the very worst thing you could say to a recently bereaved widower? Referring to yourself as being ‘terminal’ surely had to be up there in the top five. There was no chance that he hadn’t noticed. Having to project my voice above a classroom of excitable six-year-olds had made me pretty good at being heard – even when I wished I hadn’t been.
Surprisingly, it was the man in the dark glasses who salvaged the situation. Taking a step forward, he extended his hand in Alex’s direction.
‘You must be Alex. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Mac, by the way.’
Their handshake went on for what seemed like a very long time. It flew easily past a polite business introduction and then just kept on going, leaving a normal social greeting far behind. It was only then that the pieces fell into place: the hospital car park; the ophthalmology department; the coincidence of finding this man had also been invited to this curious birthday party. Mac was the missing transplant recipient. The eyes that were now turned towards me had come from the same person whose heart was beating a little too fast in my chest.
‘Is this… Are you… Are you Molly?’
My gaze flashed to Alex, who had the grace to look chastened. He’d told all of the others about me, and yet he and I had never discussed any of them in our letters. It set me apart from the rest of them in a way I didn’t understand or like.
‘That’s me,’ I said, aiming for chirpy and failing by quite a few degrees.
Mac’s hand went to his dark glasses and very deliberately he took them off, sliding them into the top pocket of his shirt. I tried not to stare at his eyes, mindful of how self-conscious I was whenever anyone directed their attention to my own transplant site. His eyes were an incredibly vivid blue, and I k
new their colour would have been his before the transplant. The only thing he’d have received from Lisa were the corneas, but even so, it felt as though the gaze of more than one person was on me now, as he gave a nod of recognition. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’
Alex’s head jerked sharply towards Mac, as though shocked to discover we’d already met. I braced myself, feeling certain he’d ask one of us to explain, but he didn’t. It was a relief because I wasn’t entirely sure what Mac had meant. Was he referring to our encounter in the hospital car park? I hoped so, because, quite honestly, any other interpretation was just too creepy to consider.
15
Alex
The speech Alex gave wasn’t great. Even he knew that. For a man who could hold the attention of a boardroom full of executives while pitching for a contract, there were far too many ‘er’s and ‘um’s in his disconnected ramblings. It was only marginally better than the one he’d given at Lisa’s funeral – at least he didn’t break down this time. But it was a world away from the joyous one he’d given on their wedding day, when he’d been unable to stop smiling or take his eyes off the amazing woman sitting beside him in the lacy white dress.
Almost everyone in the Stargazer Room that night had also been there on those previous occasions. All except the group of four individuals in the far corner, who had gravitated towards each other like iron filings on a magnet.
Lisa had always been a collector of people. Anyone lucky enough to become her friend kept that title for life. She never neglected a friendship or let it carelessly slip away. It was one of the countless things Alex loved about her. There were people there tonight who’d she’d known since childhood, ex-neighbours who now lived hundreds of miles away, as well as colleagues from every job she’d ever had.
She had a knack of holding on tightly to the important people in her life. So how could she have left Connor, and him, to flounder helplessly without her? She just wouldn’t have done that; would never have abandoned the two of them. Which was why Alex found it so hard to accept.
