An Impossible Choice: Utterly gripping and heart-wrenching family life fiction, page 17
As the image of Tara’s wan face flickered behind Honour’s eyes, she stepped forward, touched the stone pedestal of the dial, and then kissed her fist. Pressing her mouth into her curled fingers, she muttered, ‘Kenny, I need your help. Tara is in trouble, and I’m scared.’ She blinked her vision clear. ‘She needs your strength to get through this. She depended on you for so much. I’m doing my best, but she misses you terribly.’ Honour gulped, a surge of self-pity making her shake her head defiantly and push her shoulders back. ‘I’m not going to bloody well cry anymore. Just please be here for us, Kenny. In whatever way you can.’
Honour turned her back on the sundial and looked along the castle wall, when something inside her shifted. Earlier, as she’d been thinking through all the family members that could be tested as donors, one person had not made the list. Kenny’s brother, Jack. He was the only other blood relative who might be a match, albeit a remote chance, and as Honour stopped in her tracks, the idea of contacting him to ask this of him felt unthinkable.
After her promise to Kenny, and the way she’d dismissed Jack when he’d phoned, the painful memories that she had buried for so many years once again threatened to overwhelm her. She turned and leaned her back against the wall and forced herself to think of bright things – the smell of the pots of lavender on her front steps, the sound of Tara laughing, of Callum and her bickering then ending up giggling together, feeling the strength of her mother and father’s arms around her – until, eventually, her heart rate returned to normal.
Whatever happened next, she would keep Jack at arm’s length unless there were no other viable options. She owed that to Kenny’s memory, at the very least.
Tara lay on her back, her head turned towards the window and her leg supported by a pillow under the knee. She looked fragile, as if her lean body were sinking into the mattress, the blanket barely rising above the surface of the bed, other than over her raised knee. Her thinning hair had been brushed and was in a low ponytail that fanned scarlet across the pillow, and as Honour walked slowly into the room, unsure whether her daughter was awake or not, Tara turned and looked at her mother.
Honour instantly saw the wet tracks on Tara’s cheeks, the familiar flush to her face and across her nose. Honour’s heart lurched as she perched on the edge of the bed and lifted Tara’s hand. ‘You’re awake, darling girl. How are you feeling?’ She gently thumbed away a tear that hung under Tara’s jaw. ‘Are you in pain?’
Tara shook her head. ‘Only a little. It’s dull, but deep inside.’ She laid her hand on her knee, the gesture making Honour wince.
‘Careful, love.’ She tucked a wisp of hair behind Tara’s ear.
‘I can’t really feel it.’ Tara lightly tapped her knee. ‘The bandages make it sort of numb.’
Grateful for that small mercy, Honour shifted off the bed, dragged the plastic chair closer and sat on the edge of it. Honour could see the sadness cloaking Tara’s fine features, a face that she knew better than her own. ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart? You can tell or ask me anything.’
Tara took a few moments, her eyes flicking between the window and Honour’s face, then she shifted a little higher up the bed. ‘Is the cancer gone?’
The simplicity of the question was not unexpected, nor the directness of her daughter’s manner, but Honour took a few seconds to gather herself.
‘Doctor Hail said the operation went well. They replaced your knee joint to make sure they got rid of it all.’ She nodded as Tara’s eyes bored into hers.
‘Do I have to do more chemo?’
Honour shook her head. ‘Not at the moment. In fact, you might not need to again.’
Tara nodded, her fingers going to her mouth as fresh tears began to trickle down her cheeks.
‘Oh, Tara love. Talk to me. What are you feeling, or worrying about?’ Honour leaned her elbows on the bed and gripped Tara’s hand tighter.
‘I have to tell you something.’ Tara licked her lips. ‘Don’t be cross, OK?’
Honour frowned, convinced that there wasn’t anything Tara could confess that would make her cross, ever again. ‘Of course not.’
Tara swallowed, then whispered, ‘I lied about not wanting to play football anymore. It felt bad to want to play when Dad couldn’t be there.’ She shrugged miserably. ‘So, when you asked me, I lied.’
Honour tried to smile at her daughter, her insides crumbling not only at Tara talking about Kenny this way, but at the real reason for Tara’s change of heart proving to be what Honour had suspected. ‘That’s OK, love. I understand, I really do.’
Tara’s chin trembled as she continued, ‘I’ll never play for Scotland, now.’ She tapped her knee again. ‘Dad said I was good enough to.’
Feeling as if the sky had dropped to just inches above her head at her daughter’s despair, Honour took a moment, then said, ‘You were good enough, Tara. Dad was right.’ No sooner had she said it than Honour bit down on her lip. She had used the past tense when referring to Tara’s capabilities and, suddenly, all Honour could think about was righting that wrong. ‘You might still be able to play, though. People do a lot after joint replacements. We’ll ask Doctor Hail and see what he says. Don’t write yourself off just yet.’
Tara covered her face with her hands, her arms quivering. ‘I miss Dad. Why is all this happening?’
Unable to bear the remaining distance between them, Honour moved onto the bed, careful not to disturb Tara’s knee as she lay next to her and wrapped her arms around her daughter. ‘We will get through this, Tara. You have so much living to do, and so much to give this world. If it’s not professional football, then you’ll find a new passion. You’re too clever, and kind, and positive, not to.’
Tara leaned into her mother, her voice hitching. ‘I hate frigging cancer.’
Honour closed her eyes and began to rock Tara gently, the way she had when she’d been a baby. ‘I hate it much more, my love. Believe me.’
As she rocked Tara and waited for her to stop crying, Honour wished for the umpteenth time that this invasive, cruel condition had come for her, not her darling girl. Why did the universe seem to be punishing Tara – an innocent – for the mistakes of her parents?
26
Tara had been home for a week, her spirits gradually improving as she navigated the cottage on her crutches and made slow but steady progress with her physiotherapy. Her ingrained determination had kicked in as she pushed through pain, and the fear of uncertainty about her new knee, and, watching from the other side of the room while she battled on with her therapist, Honour’s heart had taken up permanent residence in her mouth.
She’d been trying not to tiptoe around Tara, fuss her too much or make her feel more vulnerable than she already was, but it was the hardest thing her daughter had ever faced, and Honour hated the helplessness of being reduced to an observer. This was the first serious thing that had happened that she couldn’t fix for Tara, and it was torturous.
Callum had been nothing short of amazing since Tara had been home, bringing her glasses of milk, letting her choose what they watched on TV and carefully carrying her tray into the kitchen when she’d finished her meals. Only once had he complained, when, on the first night, Honour had said that Tara needed to sleep on the couch for a few days, to avoid using the stairs.
Honour had dragged the old air mattress out for herself and, seeing it, Callum had said, ‘I can sleep down here, too. Tara and me can do a tickly-feet bed.’ Honour had told him no, that he and Tara sleeping at opposite ends of the couch, as they liked to do sometimes, wasn’t a good idea. When he’d resisted, and she’d reiterated that he needed to go up to his own bed, he’d crossed his arms tightly around himself and pouted, saying, ‘That’s not fair. You’ll probably have fun down here without me.’
As soon as Honour had taken him aside and explained that she was worried that he might kick or hurt Tara by mistake in the night, he’d grudgingly agreed to sleep upstairs on the condition that he could stay up half an hour later than usual, even on school nights. Amused at his negotiating skills, and not wanting him to feel any more excluded from what was happening to his sister, Honour had agreed.
Now, Callum and Dougie were up in his room playing with his telescope, while Tara lay on the sofa watching TV. It being a Saturday, Lorna had brought lunch for them all, and their empty plates were now stacked in the sink.
Honour and Lorna sat at the kitchen table, a pot of coffee between them, along with the remains of a raspberry cheesecake that Bridie had dropped in that morning that they were both picking at with forks.
‘So, you’ll know soon.’ Lorna put a chunk of cheesecake into her mouth.
‘Doctor Hail said next week, but he’d phone if the results came back sooner.’ Honour set her fork down, her appetite not what it used to be. Eating had been one of her favourite things to do, something they especially enjoyed as a family, but now it felt like a function of survival rather than a pleasurable experience.
‘Doc Hail’s a gem. When there’s any info, he’ll be in touch.’ Lorna cut another sliver off the cheesecake, letting the loaded fork hang in front of her mouth. ‘Tell me your fears.’ She eyed Honour. ‘Your worst fears. If you say them out loud, they lose their power.’ She popped the cheesecake into her mouth.
Honour took a moment, then shook her head. ‘It’s not like talking about a bad dream, Lorna. If I say the words out loud, it makes them a possibility, like I’m giving them room to grow.’
Lorna frowned. ‘Hm, well tell me something else. How’s Callum coping? He seems to be doing all right, whenever he’s over with us.’
‘He’s amazing. Honestly, sometimes I feel like he’s the grown-up and I’m the child.’ Honour nodded sadly. ‘He’s wise beyond his years – at least most of the time – so I haven’t sheltered him from what’s happening. It helps him to have the facts, so he’s pretty much up to date with everything, except the donation thing.’
Lorna stopped chewing and put her fork down. ‘So, what are you thinking about that?’
‘At the moment, I’m not having him tested, not until we know that none of the rest of us are a match. I can’t put him through that if it’s not absolutely necessary, and even then, with his Ménière’s, I’m not sure I can risk him getting an infection, or something worse happening. He’s vulnerable enough as it is.’ Honour’s throat began to tighten as, once again, she considered the dilemma that left her staring at the ceiling in the dead of night, tears leaking from the edges of her eyes and trickling onto her pillowcase. Pitting one child against the other in a freakish game of health roulette was undoubtedly the hardest decision Honour could ever have to face, and she dreaded the day that she might have no choice.
Lorna extended her hand across the table to Honour, who gripped her friend’s slender fingers. ‘Honour, you might not even have to go there. Once the results are in on Tara’s scans and bloods, whatever further treatment she needs will be clear. Let’s try to focus on the now, how well she’s doing with the new knee, how determined she is to get better, and the bright future she’s going to have when all this is behind her.’
Honour took in Lorna’s face, the moss-green eyes, the long, fair hair caught up at the crown with a pincer-like clip and the dusting of freckles across the slender nose, and despite the kind intention of her words, Honour wanted to snatch her hand back, shout at Lorna that if she was able to focus on the positives in this hellish scenario, that was only because it wasn’t her baby going through it. As Honour fought the power of the anger that surged through her, unwilling to take her fear out on her friend, she simply nodded.
As if reading her mind, Lorna gave a soft sigh. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to sound like I’m discounting how serious this is. You know I love you and your kids like my own. It’s an annoying habit of mine to quote the cheesy, inspirational calendar that’s up in the staff canteen whenever I’m worried.’ She grimaced, then tightened her grip on Honour’s fingers. ‘Whatever happens, you are not alone.’
Honour let out a strangled laugh, picturing the calendar. ‘I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done and are doing for us all,’ she gulped. ‘It’s so good to know you’re on our side.’
Lorna’s eyes filled as she sat back, lifted her fork and scooped up a huge piece of cheesecake. Sniffing, she stuffed it into her mouth, where, almost imperceptibly, her chin was quivering. Seeing it, Honour stood up and circled the table, then, standing behind Lorna’s chair, she wrapped her arms around Lorna’s petite shoulders.
‘It’s OK to let me know you’re scared, Lorna. I tell you all the time.’ Honour caught the earthy scent of sandalwood that lingered on Lorna’s skin just as Honour’s phone buzzed on the table next to her plate. Her heart leaping as it always did now whenever the phone rang, Honour released her friend and walked quickly to her place, picking up the phone.
Lorna wiped her nose on a paper napkin, stood up and lifted their plates, heading for the sink. ‘Who’s that?’ she mouthed, as she set the plates on top of the pile in the sink.
Honour’s pulse was racing as she looked at the screen, the number for the Victoria Hospital before her. ‘It’s the hospital.’ She frowned at Lorna, whose eyes widened. ‘On a Saturday?’
‘I’ll wait in there, with Tara,’ Lorna whispered, giving Honour a thumbs up as she walked into the hall.
27
Honour’s hands were shaking as she swiped the screen a couple of times before successfully answering the call. ‘Hello?’
‘Mrs MacLeod, it’s Doctor Hail. I wanted to catch you as soon as the results came in. Is this a bad time?’
Honour shook her head. ‘Not at all. What’s going on?’
The next moments that passed seemed elongated, like chewing gum was stretched between each one, until Honour was almost ready to ask her question again.
‘Tara’s blood tests show that there’s an elevated ALP level – that’s alkaline phosphate. It’s a chemical that is a measure of bone activity – indicating that the level of activity is higher than normal.’
Honour sat down hard at the table, feeling her face begin to tingle. She might not fully understand this, but she remembered that term from the very start of this nightmare and she’d surmised enough from his guarded tone to know it wasn’t good. ‘So, what now?’
‘The high number is generally a marker for cancer, so it’s likely that Tara’s tumour has metastasised. She also has a low white blood cell count, which, as we discussed last week, means that her bone marrow has been compromised by the chemotherapy. Her neutrophil count is low, too, so she’s highly susceptible to infection, which, should that happen, she’d struggle to fight off. We must do everything we can to protect her from that happening, Mrs MacLeod, so I’d recommend we bring her back into the hospital, where the environment is more controlled.’
Honour closed her eyes, the idea of not having Tara at home so painful, she could hardly breathe. ‘Are you sure? I mean about it spreading?’ She stared out of the window, where on the adjoining wall with Bridie and Scott’s house, the leaves on the clematis were turning brown – the vine shrivelling as the year began to wane. The wind was buffeting the wooden trellis, making it look as if it might break loose from the wall and collapse onto the grass, just as Honour felt she might collapse onto the floor and let her pain ooze out onto the tiles like a bloodletting.
‘The blood tests are an accurate gauge, Mrs MacLeod, so we need to move forward with a treatment plan.’
Honour forced herself to focus, ask pertinent questions, rather than let her anxiety make her mute. ‘So, what’s the next step?’
‘Well, at this point, I’d say that a bone marrow transplant would be Tara’s best chance of beating this.’
Honour nodded, the concept one that she’d been subconsciously readying herself for ever since he’d first mentioned it as an option. All she could think about now was how quickly they could proceed with the testing, so she said, ‘I want to get tested now. And so do my parents.’
‘Right. I understand you wanting to do that, but, as we discussed, it’s highly likely that none of you will be a full match.’
She sucked in her bottom lip. ‘I know, but how soon can we have the tests?’
It seemed he was hesitating to answer, as she pictured him looking in a giant ledger, as if he kept things like that written down somewhere. ‘We can arrange them for this coming week, if that’s convenient.’
‘It is. Just tell me where and when, and we’ll all be there.’ She stood up, feeling as if her knees might lock.
‘And have you thought any more about having your son tested? I do understand your concerns about his Ménière’s disease, but there is a much higher chance of a sibling being a full match.’
Honour walked to the sink, watching the autumn sky fill with starlings, a bubble of movement sliding away towards the horizon, fluid, graceful and a painfully beautiful sight at such an ugly moment. ‘Not yet. I don’t want to subject him to anything risky or distressing unless we have no other options.’ She heard the floorboards overhead squeak, Callum and Dougie’s laughter filtering through the floor filling her with doubt about her decision.
Was she risking Tara’s life to keep Callum out of danger?
Lorna had taken Dougie home soon after Honour had told her what the doctor had said, and now, Honour sat with her two children on the sofa, one on either side of her. Explaining about the bone marrow transplant process in a way that would make them feel empowered rather than afraid had tested Honour, but knowing her children and how they processed information, she felt that they had taken it in, in the best way possible.
