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He had hoped, he had prayed that he could learn to love his child, to prove himself worthy, but there was no learning involved. It was as genetically pre-programmed as breathing.
These were feelings that he’d never have known. Fear that he was as selfish and cold as his mother, or as uninterested as his father, would have kept him from experiencing them if Lily hadn’t fallen pregnant.
Their two-year-old had shown more guts than he had! He should have thanked Lily instead of blaming her. Whichever way you looked at it, half the responsibility and blame was his. Was it any wonder she had been and still was wary of his attempts to be part of Emmy’s life? It was not a right, it was a privilege and one that Ben had set out to prove himself worthy of.
Too late. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep shuddering breath, seeing a stream of images. They hurt but he prized each one. For the past two weeks, since Emily Rose had been infused with his cells, he had seen her every day. He had felt despair and anger as he’d watched her suffer, helpless to do a thing about it. His face-to-face contact was limited to a few short periods when Lily ate or showered; how she coped remained a mystery to him.
She smiled but her eyes held a haunted look that no amount of optimism could disguise. And, in unguarded moments, a sense of helplessness and despair he recognised all too well.
There were times when, to vent his anger or frustration, he wanted to hit something. Instead Ben channelled his energies to more practical things.
A firm believer that knowledge was power, and for once in his life he felt he had precious little of that, Ben read up on the disease so that he had a better understanding of the information the medical staff disclosed.
He set himself achievable goals. Sometimes they seemed pathetically small, like making Emmy laugh twice a day. He was not Daddy—it was much too soon—so he was the funny man. Encouraging her to eat at least two mouthfuls of everything on her meal plate. And making sure that when the time came they wouldn’t find themselves in the same situation as other families—whose discharge had been delayed because they lived outside the area that allowed quick access should an emergency arise—hence his meeting with the estate agent.
When did I start thinking of us as a family?
The solution to the last problem had been simple: buy a suitable house. Today he’d ticked that off his list, but his quiet sense of satisfaction vanished the moment he saw Lily’s tears. He felt the implication like a fist landing with the force of a sledgehammer in his solar plexus. He stood frozen, immobilised by the emotions that broke free inside him.
As she drew back from her mum’s embrace a movement in the periphery of her vision made Lily turn her head. Ben was standing there raking a hand through his dark hair that over the last couple of weeks had grown longer, curling crisply against his collar. Through the loose white gown, that they all wore on the ward, she could see one of the brightly coloured ties he had taken to wearing every day.
The sight of him revealing the day’s fashion faux pas with a magician-like flourish to Emmy never failed to make Lily’s throat tighten. Today it made her howl.
His face contorted as he held out his arms. ‘I am so, so sorry.’
Her normal mantra of Don’t rely on him, he might not be here tomorrow failed. Today she was too emotional, too giddy with relief to show the normal level of caution. Instead, crying out his name, she flew into his arms.
Enfolded in his strength, her head against his chest, it took her a few moments to realise what he was saying as he stroked her hair... ‘Sorry...sorry.’
She pulled back, catching his big hand between the two of hers as she looked up into his face shaking her head. ‘No...no... I’m crying because I’m happy.’ She sniffed, loosening his hand and pressing both of hers to her face.
‘Happy?’
Her hands fell away; her lovely eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot from many sleepless nights, glowed as though lit from within.
‘It’s taken. Emmy is going to be all right—the transplant has taken. You know the last results were—’ she lifted her hands and sketched ironic inverted commas in the air ‘—promising? Well, the latest results are back and they are conclusive—the transplant has taken.’
Ben didn’t do anything, he just stood there staring at her, much the way she had done when the doctor had taken her to his office to break the good news. Barely aware of what she was doing, she grabbed one of his hands and, lifting it, pressed her cheek to his palm before pressing a kiss to it.
Laughing, she barely registered his expression as she turned and hugged her mother before swinging back to Ben. ‘It’s taken, Ben, it’s really taken.’ Her voice cracked and broke with emotion.
