Another Way to Fall (21 page)

‘That’s where you’re wrong. She wasn’t making her own decisions, not about her treatment. She left all of that to me,’ replied Meg, her words followed by a stifled sob. ‘I’m not setting out to destroy my daughter’s life; I’m trying to save her.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ben said, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I don’t want to add to your pain, really I don’t.’

‘Then go.’

Emma could feel the grip on her hand loosen so she held on to it even tighter. ‘Emma?’ Ben asked and his voice sounded closer. He was leaning over her, his face only inches above hers. She could feel his breath on her face. She could smell his damp clothes.

‘Emma?’ repeated Meg.

Shadows danced across Emma’s closed eyelids as more faces loomed over her. ‘He stays,’ she whispered.

‘How are you feeling, Emma?’ Mr Spelling asked. He was shining a light into her eyes and although she could sense light and shade, her vision was nothing more than ghostly shapes that floated across a sea of blackness before slipping into the river of morphine pumping through her body.

‘I don’t think I’ll be able to walk a straight line today,’ she confessed drunkenly.

‘We need to take some serious decisions,’ he told her. ‘Are you up for that?’

Emma felt someone give her hand a quick squeeze. It wasn’t Ben. He had gone home but promised to be back within the hour and Emma had only let him go when she had firm promises from both her mum and Louise that they wouldn’t bar his entry.

‘I can handle all of this for you if you want,’ Meg told her with another squeeze of her hand.

‘No, I’m up for it, doc,’ Emma said.

She was determined to make her own decisions but it was difficult for Emma to concentrate as disconnected images flashed across her mind. She saw herself standing in the kitchen. Apples being sliced. Her mum’s voice telling her she wasn’t facing reality.

‘I’m facing it now,’ Emma replied with a soft sigh.

There was a pause. ‘How can you expect her to make decisions while she’s pumped full of drugs?’ Meg asked.

‘Your daughter has never had any problems getting her point across, morphine or no morphine. Am I right, Emma?’ Mr Spelling replied firmly.

‘Hit me with it, doc,’ Emma murmured and fought through the fog to concentrate on the life-or-death decision she was about to take.

Mr Spelling explained in careful detail what he thought was happening inside her head. He was absolutely certain that Emma would not be able to travel to Boston in her current state. She needed an emergency operation to relieve the pressure caused by the sudden growth of her tumour. But that was the only thing her consultant was certain about. Everything else would need to be taken a step at a time.

‘But if you operate, then it may affect her eligibility for the clinical trial,’ interrupted Meg before Emma had a chance to respond.

‘Emma’s current condition has already put that in doubt, I’m afraid. We’ll know better after the operation.’

‘No,’ Meg continued, ‘that’s not good enough. I want a second opinion. I want to hear directly from Boston before we agree to anything.’

‘I’m still here,’ Emma said. ‘And it’s still my decision.’

As Emma lay back on her bed, she felt like Alice in Wonderland rising above the figures that surrounded her, growing taller and stronger as the magic potion in her veins transformed her from a small defenceless child into a giant.

‘Emma, we need to operate. I need your permission.’

‘Then you have it,’ she told him. ‘Discussion closed.’

Days passed and the first sign that the operation had been a success, for the short term at least, was the return of Emma’s vision, and one of the first things she saw with any clarity was Ben’s face as he slipped into her dimly lit hospital room. It was early morning and he was the first to arrive. She watched through half closed eyelids as he crept over to her bed and leaned over to kiss her forehead.

‘Nice shirt,’ she whispered.

Despite the lighting being restricted to ease Emma’s eyes, the colours on his shirt were bright enough to sting. She peered at the swirling patterns of oranges and blues, which morphed into life, a flurry of exotic flowers and birds that would look at home in Hawaii. For a moment she wondered if it was her mind playing tricks on her. She had been warned that it would take days for the swelling to reduce after the operation and she could still expect some symptoms to persist during that time and, of course, the morphine didn’t help. But somewhere at the back of her mind, a more rational explanation emerged. ‘You’ve read my book,’ she whispered.

‘Tabernacle,’ Ben told her. ‘It took me a while to realize that you had given me the password to your computer. You didn’t mind, did you?’

Emma’s story had been her secret domain and although she had shared so much with Ben, she hadn’t shared everything. In writing her future, Emma had looked to the past and bared her soul. There was a brief hesitation but then she remembered Ben carrying her in his arms and she knew she could trust him with her life. She smiled. ‘No, of course I don’t mind. It’s our story now, isn’t it?’ When Ben didn’t immediately respond, icy fingers of self-doubt wrapped around her heart. ‘It wasn’t all a hallucination, was it?’ she asked weakly.

Ben gently stroked the side of her face, pushing back a dark and, no doubt, sweaty strand of hair. ‘No, it wasn’t. It was as real for you as it was for me,’ he told her.

‘But now you’ve had time to think and …’

‘… and write,’ Ben added quickly, ‘in your book.’

Emma’s reactions were sluggish, her emotions subdued and she had to dig deep to identify the correct response. The idea of someone not only reading her story but weaving their own fantasies into her imaginary world was at first an uncomfortable thought. But this wasn’t anyone, Emma told herself, this was her leading man. ‘And what exactly did you write?’ she asked.

Ben had been looking guilty but he relaxed when Emma showed nothing but curiosity. ‘I began with the dilapidated cottage you described and I built a home for us.’

‘So we are together?’ Emma asked bravely.

Ben didn’t answer her with words. He leaned in closer and kissed her lips softly. Emma let her fingers trail slowly up his arms before wrapping her own arms around his neck. Gentle caresses were not enough and she pulled him closer and their kiss became deeper and far more sensual. It was Ben who had to draw breath first. ‘And not only in the book. I want to be a part of your real life too, Emma.’

‘That might not be a long-term commitment,’ she warned.

‘It could have been even shorter,’ Ben said, guilt returning to his face. ‘I nearly killed you.’

‘No, you didn’t. This thing in my head nearly killed me. Besides, I was the one who ignored all the signs that there was something wrong and still decided to go. My fault, not yours. Please don’t blame yourself.’

‘If you say so,’ Ben said but he didn’t sound convinced.

When he perched himself on the bed next to Emma, there was no hint of awkwardness between them. Ben knew her like no other.

‘Yes, I do,’ Emma said. ‘So have you finished with your confessions or is there anything else I should know?’

Ben shook his head. ‘No, only that I love you.’

‘Good, because I love you too,’ Emma replied and despite the morphine, her heart raced. Ben’s eyes were glistening and Emma was determined not to let his tears fall. She kissed him again.

The door to her hospital room opened with an unnecessary bang and Emma didn’t need to open her eyes to know who it was. When she did look up, Meg was standing at the door, silhouetted in the bright lights from the corridor beyond. She looked small and Emma wondered how such a tiny frame could have towered over her life for so long. Emma was torn between trying to escape her mother’s control and wanting to rescue Meg from the pain that consumed her and smothered Emma. She released Ben but held on tightly to his hand. ‘Stay,’ she whispered to him.

‘You’re in early,’ Meg said to Ben. She seemed reluctant to go closer to the couple, moving instead towards the window. ‘Do you want to see if you can stand a little light in the room, sweetheart?’

‘Just a little,’ Emma replied. She felt bubbles of anxiety starting to build in the pit of her stomach but it wasn’t the fear of bringing light into the room, Emma was preparing herself for what she would say next. ‘When am I due to see Mr Spelling?’

Light crawled slowly from beneath the blind as it was inched upwards. Emma could make out vague streaks of fresh raindrops slithering down the windowpane; they glimmered dimly in the grey light of dawn.

‘Tomorrow at eleven thirty, he said, but he has clinic first so don’t expect him before midday,’ Meg said in a singsong voice.

‘I want to see him alone.’

Meg was still adjusting the blind, judging the amount of light being drawn into the room. ‘Is that OK? Not too bright?’

‘It’s fine, Mum. Did you hear what I said?’

Meg turned and looked from Emma to Ben and then back to her daughter. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

‘No, we don’t need to talk about it,’ insisted Emma, her tone soft but firm. It was the exact same tone her mum had often used when Emma was a little girl.

Meg waved her hand dismissively and the bubbles in Emma’s stomach started to fizz. ‘You need me with you,’ she said. ‘You won’t remember all the questions let alone the answers.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my memory,’ Emma reminded her. It was one of the few symptoms that Emma had avoided this time around, so far at least. ‘I can manage. I insist.’

Her words were left hanging in the air and it was Ben’s turn to shift uneasily. Emma gave him a small, apologetic smile as she let go of his hand, which he flexed painfully to encourage the blood flow.

‘I haven’t told Emma yet how everyone is helping out at the bistro,’ he said in an attempt to smooth over the tension.

Meg smiled stiffly, taking her seat next to Emma’s bed. She was looking down at her lap, picking at an invisible piece of fluff on her skirt. ‘Jean and Iris are in their element by all accounts,’ she replied. There was no singsong tone to her voice any more and she sounded much further away than she ought to be.

Emma felt the first sting of tears but she knew that if she didn’t hold her nerve, she may never be able to take control of her life. She swallowed hard and painted on a smile. ‘They’re helping at the bistro? How?’

‘They’re my latest apprentices, although if you saw them at work, you’d swear I was the new recruit,’ Ben said with a nervous laugh. ‘They’re already planning to introduce some of their own dishes. Give them a few more weeks and I could be out of a job.’

‘They told me to send you their love,’ added Meg. ‘Everyone does.’

Emma smiled at her mum. ‘Tell them I’ll be back before they know it. I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.’

‘We can ask Mr Spelling about that,’ began Meg but then she faltered as did her smile. She looked down at her lap again, took a breath and when she looked up, Emma knew Meg was seeing her daughter with new eyes. ‘You can ask him.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ Emma said, reaching out her hand, which Meg took and squeezed fiercely.

‘It’s your life, your decisions. I know that.’

Emma felt her chest expand as she took a breath and let her confidence build. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy, her options were becoming limited but the decisions she would take from now on would be her own. No-one else would share the burden and that was exactly how she wanted it.

Her meeting with Mr Spelling went as well as expected. He answered Emma’s questions as honestly as he could, something she had insisted on. Together they were able to form a clear and realistic view of the future so that she could plan accordingly.

Mr Spelling had offered to stay around to give Emma some moral support when she shared the news but she had refused, knowing that her mum would only open up a debate with the doctor. She knew what needed to be said and who needed to hear it.

Three faces stared back expectantly at Emma as she sat in her bed but no-one was ready to ask the question that was on everyone’s lips.

‘They were able to remove some of the new growth but the tumour isn’t going to go away,’ Emma began, knowing that she was doing precisely what she had asked Mr Spelling not to do. She was sugar-coating the prognosis but then she knew in many ways it was a harder pill for them to swallow. They would be carrying their grief far longer than she would. ‘In a few weeks I’m going to go ahead with the original treatment that was planned for me here. A combination of radiotherapy and chemotherapy that will slow the growth but won’t stop it.’

‘And the treatment in America?’ Meg asked.

Emma hesitated before answering, knowing it was the last thread of hope her mum had been clinging onto. ‘Mr Spelling has had confirmation from Boston that I wouldn’t be able to start treatment in my current condition and once I’ve had radiotherapy here, then I would no longer be eligible for their programme.’

‘But there must be a way …’

‘Mum,’ Emma said. There was a note of authority in her voice and it cut through that last thread of hope. ‘I’ve agreed my treatment plan with Mr Spelling.’

Meg was trembling and Louise put an arm around her shoulder as tenderly as she could manage, afraid that her mum would shatter into tiny pieces. ‘I won’t stop fighting, Emma. I won’t,’ Meg insisted. ‘I can find another clinic, another trial.’

‘Please,’ interrupted Emma. She had been planning exactly what she had to say and she hoped she had it word perfect. ‘I know how hard you’ve been fighting for me but what I’m asking you to do next is going to take a lot more courage. I don’t want you working all hours to pay for a treatment that isn’t going to happen. I don’t want a warrior woman who’s trying to take on the world to save her daughter; I just want my mum back. If you can do that for me, then you’ll have no regrets, not one.’

A deathly silence followed and the only thing that Emma could hear was the thudding of her own heart. There was a dull ache behind her nose and for once she couldn’t blame her tumour, it was pressure from the torrent of tears she was holding back.

Emma was exhausted and she bit down hard on her lip to rein in her emotions. She wasn’t the only one struggling but she knew that neither her mum nor her sister would crack, not unless Emma cracked first and she wasn’t prepared to do that. ‘Why don’t you go for a nice cuppa with Louise,’ she told her mum softly, ‘I wouldn’t mind some time on my own with Ben.’