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Zoe straightened in the chair. 'It's odd—money never meant very much to me, probably because I always had enough. I can pay the best in the world to treat my son, and it isn't going to do a damn bit of good.' She thumped her fist on the table in an agony of frustration. 'It is so unfair. . .'
Mrs B caught her hand in hers. 'Steady, girl,' she soothed gently. 'Tell me what's wrong.'
Zoe threw back her head, laughing, on the edge of hysteria. 'You won't believe it; I didn't at first. I thought it was some kind of sick joke. My son, my baby Val, has apparently got Fanconi's anaemia.
'Before you say anything, I know it sounds like an Italian pizza house. It would be funny if it wasn't so serious.' And, dropping her arms on the table, she laid her head on them and wept. . .
She didn't hear the doorbell, or the murmur of voices in the corridor; she was too lost in her own despair.
'Hey, come on, partner.' A pudgy arm reached around her shoulders, and she lifted her head to meet the soft brown eyes of Margy.
'Margy, has Mrs B told you?'
'Yes, and nothing is as "bad as it seems, believe me, I know. Medical science is a miraculous thing, as is the power of prayer. Pull yourself together. Where is the fighting spirit, the human dynamo that has made our business a success? Use the same energy and determination and you and Val will beat this together.'
'You're right, I know, but sometimes, just sometimes, the strength goes '
'More tea?' Mrs B cut in. 'Because if not, and you don't want anything else, I need to get home.'
'No, thanks, Mrs B, and thank you for being here today. I'm truly grateful,' Zoe said quietly.
Five minutes later the two friends retired to the living- room, where Mrs B had left a welcoming log fire burning, and, after opening a bottle of wine, they relaxed in the comfortable armchairs.
Zoe quietly sipped the wine and gazed into the red- gold flames, trying to sort her thoughts into some kind of order. She could do nothing about the churning in her stomach; it was plain
anxiety, and likely to be with her for evermore.
'So what exactly did Professor Barnet say?'
She raised her head, her blue eyes gazing over Margy's dark head, the sweet, rounded face full of sympathy and understanding, and thanked God that she had such a good friend.
'I saw him the day we arrived, and then the team took over and carried out all kinds of investigations on Val. I had another appointment to see Professor Barnet and hear the results, but when I walked into his consulting rooms it was a Dr Freda Lark, his replacement; apparently he was involved in a pile-up on the freeway the night before and suffering from concussion.'
She took a sip of her wine. 'It was weird but, in a way, probably better. She hadn't had time to read the file thoroughly. So she gave it to me straight. Val is suffering from Fanconi's anaemia.'
She took another swallow of wine, her eyes meeting Margy's. 'I know—I'd never heard of it either. Apparently it's extremely rare; they were not sure what causes it, but the treatment '
She stopped and swallowed the lump in her throat, determined not to cry again.
'The treatment is transfusions, which Val has already had, followed by, in twelve days' time, a course of chemotherapy.' Just the word horrified her; she licked her dry lips, 'And the best chance for success is a bone- marrow transplant.'
'Oh, God! Does Val know—understand?'
'Yes, and sort of,' Zoe said sadly. 'The reason we were late back was that I was screened immediately and I waited for the result to see if it matched.' She drained her glass and, picking up the bottle, refilled it. 'I don't.' A despairing sigh escaped her as she handed the bottle to her friend.
Margy took the bottle but put it on the floor. 'You must tell him; you have no choice.'
Zoe knew she was not referring to Val. She had confided the circumstances of her marriage and separation to Margy years ago.
'I know. . . Dr Lark, unaware of my marital state, was quite adamant. "Bring your husband in as soon as possible and any brothers and sisters; the most likely match is the immediate family."' Dully Zoe repeated the doctor's words, but not all of them. . . The rest she was keeping to herself. . .
"There is the phone.' Margy indicated the instrument on the table with a wave of her hand. 'Call him now, Zoe.'
'Ring Justin? Just like that? No, I can't.'
'Why? Are you frightened he won't come? Doesn't he like children?'
Zoe thought for a moment, remembering her years in England, which had been mostly happy if she was honest with herself.
