Page 17 of Happiness Under a Summer Skye

‘Like I said, you don’t need to apologise. Who’d have thought it, eh? Me sitting in a pub eating steak and kidney pie and chips with a gorgeous, famous actor? I can’t believe it. I never expected him to be so down-to-earth. He sounds like he’d be into oysters and foie gras.’ She giggled. ‘I can’t believe it’s actually happening.’

‘Well, it certainly is. The way he looked at you, Meghan,’ Angelia said with a shake of her head. ‘I think he’s besotted.’

Meghan jiggled in her seat. ‘I think I am too.’

7

For the rest of the afternoon, Angelia sat on the sofa with Scrappy who couldn’t seem to get close enough to her. He clearly sensed something was amiss. He was such a sensitive wee soul. With one hand she stroked his fur while the other was clutching one of her many copies of Wuthering Heights, her go-to book when she needed a distraction, her favourite book ever, a book she had over one hundred different versions of – it was more than a book to her. She tried to immerse herself in the chaotic relationship within the pages, the angst and turmoil that was Cathy and Heathcliff, but her mind kept wandering off until she eventually gave up and decided to nap. Scrappy snuggled into her, his head resting just under her chin, and they both fell asleep.

She was woken by her phone vibrating itself towards the edge of the coffee table. Scrappy leapt up and barked as she reached and rescued the handset just before it collided with the oak flooring. The lamps in the room that were fitted with timers had illuminated now, casting a warm glow across the space, and Angelia was surprised that it was pitch-dark outside. She hadn’t expected to sleep for so long.

Glancing at the screen, she read the time as 10 p.m. and hit the answer call button in a panic when she saw who was calling. ‘Hello?’ she asked in a strained voice, rubbing at her eyes and worrying why on earth the surgery could possibly be calling at this time of night.

‘Angelia? It’s Violet Latimer. Sorry to bother you so late in the day. But I have good news, I’ve been waiting on a reply from Harry Novak. He’s been at an awards dinner and has just replied. He can see you tomorrow. You need to be there at ten thirty. Wear something comfortable like leggings and a T-shirt, okay?’

Angelia straightened up and put her feet down until they touched the floor. ‘Oh… oh right, okay. Sure. Thanks, Dr Latimer. I’ll be there.’ She wondered what kind of doctor’s appointment warranted such comfortable clothes, and what she could possibly be letting herself in for.

‘And I know it’s easy for me to say this but try not to worry. Stress will only make things worse.’

The call ended and Angelia stared at the screen as it faded to black. She turned to the little dog who sat, his gaze fixed on her as if he knew exactly what was going on. ‘Well, Scrappy, it looks like I may be getting answers sooner than anticipated.’

She messaged the group chat for the band and let them know what was happening. Luckily Heath and Agda hadn’t left for Sweden just yet and the only person not in London was Dom. They agreed to meet at Angelia’s apartment during the evening after her appointment. They were all concerned, which she had expected, but she was still grateful.

On Tuesday morning, Meghan insisted on accompanying Angelia to the Harley Street clinic, and on arrival Angelia was surprised to discover that Mr Harold Novak was a fellow Scot. He had grey hair, and she guessed he was in his mid-sixties. He had kind blue eyes and wore dark-rimmed glasses and a white coat with his name embroidered on the left breast pocket. A lanyard around his neck showed a photo of him from around ten years earlier and beside the photograph it said:

Clinical Neurologist

‘Good to meet you, Miss MacAuley. Please have a seat. My grandchildren are huge fans of your music. I’m more of a Schubert man myself. Now, I’ve heard from Violet Latimer about your symptoms, and I think it sounds fairly straightforward. There are a number of tests we’ll need to do to ascertain the level of your weakness but there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing too invasive.’

A morning of tests ensued, some of them a little strange in her opinion, involving what appeared similar to acupuncture needles, and electric currents, but Angelia now understood why Dr Latimer had recommended comfortable clothing. Just over an hour later, Angelia sat before the consultant again but this time he had graph printouts laid on his desk before him. Meghan had joined her for moral support and a second pair of ears. Mr Novak had been talking for a few minutes, but nothing was really sinking in for Angelia.

‘So, to clarify, the electromyography tested the amount of electrical activity in your muscles. It gave a good indication that there is an issue with messages reaching your muscles via the nerve pathways. This, along with your other symptoms, including the weakness in your vocal cords, and the information Dr Latimer passed over to me, has confirmed my suspicion that you have a condition known as generalised myasthenia gravis.’

Angelia’s thoughts whirred around her brain at a hundred miles an hour and she struggled to form anything cohesive from them. ‘I’m sorry— myas— what?’

The consultant smiled patiently. ‘Myasthenia gravis is an autoimmune condition, Miss MacAuley. It’s not hereditary, nor is it contagious. Scientists have yet to discover what triggers it, but when it occurs in women it tends to be around your age that it happens, whereas in men it tends to be later in life. To put it in layperson’s terms, and I don’t mean that to sound patronising but it’s important you understand what you’re dealing with, it’s when antibodies attack particular receptors in your body as if they are the enemy, and this results in fewer signals making it through, ultimately manifesting in muscle fatigue or weakness. And, unlike some conditions where exercise can strengthen and improve the condition, myasthenia symptoms are worsened with increased, repetitious activity, hence the reason for your vocal and chewing issues. It’s a kind of interruption of the signals, if you will. It tends to affect the muscles over which you have voluntary control, such as arms, legs, voice, eyes, etcetera.’

Angelia nodded slowly but didn’t really understand any of what he’d just said. One horrific thought fought for dominance. ‘Am I… am I…’ She struggled to get the words out, partly due to shock and partly because she didn’t want to ask the question aloud, lest she bring about some kind of negative manifestation.

The doctor smiled kindly now and tilted his head. ‘Are you going to die? Is that what you were trying to ask?’

She nodded again as her eyes welled with tears, and she chewed the inside of her cheek until she could taste the metallic tang of blood. Meghan reached across and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.

‘Well, we’re all going to die someday but I highly doubt you will die of the condition, Miss MacAuley. In days gone by, I will admit the mortality rate was definitely higher. But now that we know more, there are a variety of treatments available, and these are increasing all the time as more and more research is carried out. We just need to work out which treatment is best for your particular case, but rest assured that with careful monitoring most people with this condition go on to live full lives, if a little changed.’ He flicked through the papers on his desk and pulled out a chart. ‘I was able to expedite your blood results, and they confirm you have the rarer, seronegative – or antibody negative – strain which means certain treatments are not appropriate because the antibodies that most patients have are not found in your blood. We will therefore try some medication. Tablet form. It may take a while to get the dosage just right, but we will get there.’ He paused for a moment, placed down the document and intertwined his fingers, resting them on the desk and fixing Angelia with a stern gaze. ‘My main concern, however, is your gruelling schedule as a touring musician. As I mentioned before, repetitious movement of the affected muscles exacerbates the condition, but so does stress. And your voice is one of the main things affected. Along with the medication, the only surefire way to deal with this is frequent rest, no more touring, or a complete change of career, I’m afraid. But I am certain that continuing as you are currently will only worsen your symptoms, rendering you unable to tour anyway.’

Angelia widened her eyes as her heart thumped almost painfully at her chest. ‘But… no… I love my job. If you’re trying to say I need to quit, I can’t. I can’t let the band down. It’s not just my career we’re talking about here, Mr Novak; I have a responsibility… a… a contract.’

Meghan squeezed her hand again. ‘I’m sure if we talk to Den and the band we can⁠—’

‘No. This is my life, Meg. My dream. I don’t know who I am without the band. Surely there’s something else I can do to make it go away.’ Tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and she swiped them away. ‘So how do we cure it? Is there a surgery? And how long do I need to rest for? A week, two? A month?’ Her words came out in a rush, and she suddenly wanted her mum and dad as she had whenever she was ill as a child.

He sighed. ‘I’m afraid it’s not something that can be cured, Miss MacAuley, not yet anyway. There is a great deal of research being carried out but we could be years away from a cure. A thymectomy is the only surgery available but it isn’t always necessary or recommended because it doesn’t work for all cases. Myasthenia gravis is a chronic lifelong condition that requires lifestyle changes. It’s more about managing your symptoms than curing them and that’s where the medication comes in, but it can only do so much, and if you continue how you have been working the medication will give some relief but not enough to sustain that lifestyle. You will most likely need to drastically reduce your performances, or, as I said before, consider a complete change. You do run the risk of worsening your condition otherwise. Myasthenic crisis is the worst-case scenario, which can result in hospitalisation and that’s something we want to avoid at all costs. I’m not trying to scare you; I just want you to understand the full implications and severity of the condition.’

Angelia’s heart plummeted in her chest, and she exhaled as if she had been punched. ‘But… the band… What will I tell them? I can’t let them down. And the fans⁠—’

‘Miss MacAuley, you will be doing yourself a serious disservice if you don’t heed your body’s warnings. You’ve already had several. You cannot sustain a life of touring and singing for protracted lengths of time and expect to be well. That’s the reality of it. And I know that’s blunt, but you are an intelligent person, and I would be doing you no favours if I sugar-coated this. It doesn’t have to be life threatening, but you must make the necessary changes to your lifestyle in order to live as normally as possible.’

Angelia stared out of the window on the journey home, watching as the rain-soaked London streets passed by in a blur, and the tears were persistent. Her future with Angel and the Fallen seemed to be up in the air and she wasn’t sure how to process that. She couldn’t reconcile how it would be possible to carry on and deal with this condition simultaneously. What would the guys say? Would they be angry? Disappointed? Meghan periodically reached across and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. Angelia had tried to talk through her diagnosis in the hope it would make things clearer in her mind but had struggled to do so without her emotions getting the better of her, and in the end, she had instead resorted to silent contemplation and worry. Meghan had clearly been upset but trying not to show it. She had discreetly wiped at her eyes on a couple of occasions and Angelia had felt bad that she couldn’t ease her sadness when she was swamped by her own.