Change of Life (37 page)

I sat up to greet him. “Hi, son, come and give your mum a hug.”

He backed away. “No hugs or kisses. I was in the car with Kirsty and she could have transferred some germs to me. Better to be safe than sorry. Remember your white cells are rubbish.” He sat down on the armchair furthest from the sofa and began unpacking his backpack.

“And what do you know about white cells?”

“They’re what protect you from infection – Dad explained it to me – they’re in your blood.”

“Okay, Dr McAllister.” I shrank back on the sofa with my hands over my mouth and nose.

He rolled his eyes at my feeble attempt at humour. “I’m serious. You need to be careful.” He held up his sketch pad. “Do you want to see my drawings?”

“Yes, please. Have you done more since your last visit?”

“Uh huh.”
He turned the pages. “This is one of Dad and Toby.” He passed me the book.

“Oh my goodness, Max, this is really good.” I stared at the picture. He’d drawn Tom and Toby together on the sofa, sleeping. Some of the proportions were slightly off and the shading wasn’t perfect, but Max had captured such an accurate likeness of his father.

“You okay, Mum - you’re not crying, are you?”

“No, I’m not crying. I’m just very proud of you, Maxy. You’re a talented artist. It’s a great picture.”

“Dad and
me
had been working in the garden all day. He’s been getting me to help him tidy it up. He says we’ve to keep it nice for you coming home. Grandma’s been telling him what to do. Anyway, he was knackered when we finished, said he just wanted to sit for a few minutes before he made the dinner. Next thing he was snoring away on the sofa. It was Jenny’s idea for me to draw him.”

I nodded. I told myself to focus on the excellence of the drawings. Determined not to cry in front of Max, I said, “Go and get yourself a drink. There’s some Coke in the fridge.” He didn’t need persuading to indulge in this rare treat. While he was in the kitchen, I blew my nose hard and tried not to think about Tom and the garden.

“Whose car is this?” I asked, pointing to another of his sketches, when he came back into the room.

“Uncle Dan’s – it’s his new one – it’s wicked – black – and the top folds down. He took me and Grandma for a run in it. We went over the Forth Road Bridge and got fish suppers in Anstruther. He says it’s the best chippy in the country. He told Dad to take you there, when you’re better, and won’t throw up. He even said he’d lend Dad the car to take you in.”

“Mm, it looks like a really cool car.” Once again I’d to concentrate really hard on the drawings. At the end there were a few sketches of some of the Harry Potter characters. “Oh, have you got the next one yet?”

“Yep, -‘The Half-Blood Prince’ – here it is.” He produced it from his bag. “Dad got it from Amazon for me. I’m racing Grandma to read it. We keep texting each other to say how far we’ve got.”

“Who’s winning?”

“Grandma’s a chapter ahead at the moment.”

“Are you enjoying it as much as the others?”

“Yeah – but it’s a bit soppy with Ron and his girlfriend, and with Harry fancying Ginny. I sort of skip those bits. Why are they wasting time with all that love stuff?”

“They’re growing up, Maxy. You’ll be the same.”

“Never!”

“Oh look, come and sit beside me. Kirsty’s germs must have worn off by now.” I held out my arm to him. “And since when are you calling her Kirsty?”

He came over and curled in at my side. “It’s been for a while now - since I left primary school - at the end of term. She said she wasn’t my head teacher anymore, so I didn’t have to call her Miss Mackinnon.”

I smiled and gave him a squeeze. “See, you are growing up! Now, do you think it would be cheating, in your contest with Grandma, if I read some chapters of Harry P. to you?”

“Nah, anyway, we won’t tell her.”

“You’re on. Are you sitting comfortably?” Max remained nestled by my side as I read. At some point his hand slipped into mine. After a while he took over the reading and I just relaxed and enjoyed his soothing, easy company.

Jenny’s visits were livelier than those of her little brother. She was lively, bright and opinionated on many issues – climate change, poverty, and politics – were just a few of the topics on which she regularly held forth.

During her visits she often talked about her hopes for the future of the planet. Her enthusiasm and optimism were infectious, and listening to her knowledgeable and passionate take on the world lifted my spirits. After one such discourse I couldn’t help smiling at her bright-eyed zeal.

“What?” she said. “What are you laughing at?”

“I’m not laughing. It’s just you make me feel good. Listening to you makes me feel good.”

In the middle of July, she arrived at the flat looking very excited.

“Guess what!” she said as soon as she was in the door. “I’ve passed my driving test!”

“Oh, Jen, congratulations!”
I hugged her. “You kept that quiet – I didn’t even know you had a test date – when was it?”

“Yesterday - I wanted to surprise you and tell you in person. Isn’t it great?”

“Yes – it’s fantastic – well done.” I hugged her again.

“Now, you need to put me on the insurance to drive your car, because there’s somewhere I want to take you.”

“Oh – right – okay. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where we’re going.”

“No – just get the insurance sorted out and then all will be revealed.”

Jenny had found out about the Maggie’s Centre, at the Western General and that was where she wanted to take me. Wendy had mentioned the facility to me and I’d passed the building many times. It was in the hospital grounds, but I’d never ventured in. I had a distinct feeling of role reversal the day Jenny drove me there for my first visit.

“Isn’t this a lovely place, Mum?” Jenny said, as we were shown round by one of the volunteers who worked there. “You can get support, therapies, counselling and all sorts of stuff to help you.”

The volunteer smiled at me. “Your daughter’s done her homework.”

“Yes, indeed she has. This is a lovely place. I’ll definitely be back.” The centre had an atmosphere that was both tranquil and energising. I became a regular visitor. Jenny even organised Lucy to drive me to the centre when she couldn’t do so herself.

“It was Dad who told me about this place,” Jenny said, as we walked back to the car after our first visit. “He talks about you a lot, Mum – thinks about you and what you need. He said I wasn’t to tell you it was him who suggested the Maggie’s, because it would put you off the place, but I just think you should know.” She took my arm. “I’m not telling you to upset you. It was nice of him wasn’t it – to suggest it – and it was just a suggestion. He wasn’t saying you must go or anything.”

I couldn’t answer her immediately.

“You’re not angry are you - with Dad or me?” She looked at me, serious and uncertain.

“Oh, Jen, don’t look so worried. No, I’m not angry. It was thoughtful - of both of you.”

As we approached the car, she stopped walking and turned to me. “You are coming back – coming home to live with us – with Dad aren’t you – once you feel better about everything?”

Again I couldn’t answer right away. I shook my head.

“I mean, I understand - at least I think I do – why you felt you had to go – and I’m not taking sides or anything. But you’ve not left forever, have you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t intend it to be forever – I don’t intend it to be. I’m not ready to come back yet - I do know that.” I took her hands in mine. “And I know it’s hard for you, and it means a lot to me that you’ve been so understanding and supportive.”

She held me close for a moment before getting into the car. “I love you, Mum. I love you and I miss you.”

For Sam it was even harder than it was for Jenny. She felt for her dad and she struggled to understand my reasons for leaving. Like Evelyn, she was also suspicious of Rick.

During one visit to me, in the middle of July, not long after Rick had returned to Skye, she seemed especially tense. “The creep not here then?” she said, looking around when she arrived.

“If you mean Rick, then no, he’s not here. He’s gone back up north, to do the next phase of his project.”

“Good. I hope he doesn’t come back.” She flung herself down on one of the armchairs, and crossed her arms in a way that reminded me of a much younger and sulking Sam.

I sat opposite her and tried to change the subject, lighten the atmosphere. I asked her about her social life, her friends. Her answers were monosyllabic. I battled on. “Grandma and Ruby have been telling me what a great job you’re doing keeping things in order at home. I’m so grateful, Sam, for what you’re doing. It means I don’t have to worry about all that.”

“I’m not doing it for you. The money will come in handy and, unlike you, I actually like doing it.”

Although I was aware of her mood, I was taken aback at the vehemence with which she spoke.

She got to her feet, began pacing,
ran
a hand through her hair. “You could come home and I’d still do it,” she continued. “I know what you said, about having to be careful to avoid infection while you’re having the chemotherapy, but are you not just using that as an excuse not to come back?”

“What, no – no I’m not! What nonsense!” Of course, I recognised a grain of truth in this and I probably protested too much. “Come on, Sam. I’ve been over all this. Surely you wouldn’t rather I was in hospital a lot of the time.”

“Yes, I would actually, if it meant you were at home in between. And you can’t still be angry with Dad.”

I stood up, tried to catch hold of her arm, to stop her pacing and make her face me. She shook me off, went to the window,
looked
out.

“Look, Sam,” I said, “how I feel about Dad – about him and Robbie, and me being ill – well it’s complicated. I…”

She turned, leant against the sill, arms folded again. “No, it’s not. It’s simple. You’re punishing Dad. He doesn’t deserve it. He was trying to protect you. Why’s that so bad?”

“It’s not bad. It’s not just about that. I think-”

“Oh, I know what you think – you think Dad’s Robbie’s father. You think that’s why he didn’t tell you. How can you believe that? There’s no way Dad would’ve - would’ve done that. You’re just being stupid.”

I wasn’t surprised that she’d worked out my suspicions, or that she sided with her father, but it was hard to hear her say it.

And she wasn’t finished. “All this - this wanting time on your own – your – your stupid cancer – it’s just selfish.
It’s just a way of making Dad suffer
.”

“Oh, Sam, don’t do this,” I begged. “I know this is hard for you. But sometimes we can’t explain our feelings or our actions – not fully – even to ourselves. Please believe me – I’m not trying to hurt your father. Yes, I was angry and, yes, I don’t understand what he did. I can’t help how I feel. I can’t help having cancer. Of course I want to come home, but the time’s not right at the moment.”

“When will it be? When will it be right?”

“I don’t know. Look it’s difficult for you. You’re young-”

“Oh, don’t do that speech! I’m young - I can’t understand adult stuff blah, blah, blah. Heard it! You’re just bloody stupid and – and fucking selfish! It would be easier on all of us if you were dead!”

I gasped as if she’d slapped me. I’d have preferred it if she’d struck me. I put my hands to my face, trying unsuccessfully to prevent a sob escaping.