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NINETEEN
HEATHER
A few days later
The morning of Kayla’s surgery seems to sneak up on me and now that it’s here it has wrapped itself around my neck and tries to choke me. I’m standing in Gavin’s kitchen in his fancy, expensive house at four o’clock in the morning baking muffins. I could only ever dream of a kitchen like this. A house like this. A life like this. The smell of the muffins is good but the feeling in my stomach is horrendous. This time last week my biggest concern, as I lay in bed, awake at stupid o’clock, was finding the best way to ask my boss for a day off to go to an Ariana Grande concert. I’d bought tickets for myself and Kayla months ago and forgotten about them. If it wasn’t for the reminder on my phone, I’d probably have missed the concert altogether. Now I can’t help but think about how we’re missing it anyway, and I really, really wish it was only because I have bad time management.
The smell of coconut wafts towards me from the batch of coconut-and-raspberry muffins cooling on the wire rack next to the sink. There’s another tray of cinnamon-and-apple and some orange-chocolate ones too. They’re Kayla’s favourite. She loves chocolate. I stare through theglass on the oven door as I watch a fourth batch rise inside. I doubt the hospital canteen is going to sell this many tomorrow. But, the couple of dozen yesterday weren’t enough and the manager said I’d need more. She didn’t specify exactly how manymorewas. I’ve taken the liberty of making triple. If the canteen can’t sell them I’ll bring them up to Kayla’s ward. The kids loved them the other day and the staff did too. The manager also didn’t give me permission to bake from home but with Kayla’s surgery happening first thing I need this head start on the day.
The oven timer buzzes and I shut it off almost instantly, hyper aware of waking anyone upstairs. I slip on Charlotte’s novelty oven glove, which I’m pretty sure she never uses because it’s impossible to grip anything with it, and slide a tray of golden muffins out of the oven. I set them down on the countertop next to all the others and turn off the oven. Exhausted, I slide onto the floor. The cold from the porcelain tiles works its way through my jeans but I don’t budge. I tuck my legs into my chest, and I don’t bother to take off Charlotte’s oven glove as I wrap my arms around my knees and rest my chin on top. If I’m going to get any sleep at all tonight, I’m confident this is the spot.
My eyes are closed and I’m drifting somewhere between cinnamon, apple and chocolate when I hear footsteps approaching. I pull myself to my feet and pretend to clean as someone opens the kitchen door behind me.
‘Heather,’ a little voice whispers.
I turn around to find Molly bare foot and bleary-eyed in My Little Pony jammies behind me.
‘Something smells yummy,’ she says.
I swallow hard as I look at the pretty little girl looking up at me with huge, oval blue eyes. Kayla used to look at me with the sameeyes when she was little. Kayla and Molly also share cheekbones and a nose. But Molly’s smile is all her mother’s and so is her curious nature.
‘What are you doing?’ Molly asks.
‘I’m baking,’ I say. ‘I’m going to sell these muffins at the hospital tomorrow.’
‘The hostable where Kayla is asleep?’ Molly asks, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
‘Yes,’ I nod.
‘Why does Kayla sleep at the hostable?’ Molly asks.
I take a deep breath and look at the little girl who reminds me so much of a time gone by. I wonder what Gavin has told her about Kayla getting sick. Or what Charlotte has mentioned. I don’t know what to say.
I puff out and smile. ‘Kayla isn’t feeling very well.’
‘Does she have a pain in her tummy?’
I take a deep breath. I’d forgotten how simplistic life at four can be. It’s lovely to remember. Hard. But lovely. ‘It’s not her tummy, Molly,’ I say. ‘Kayla has a problem with her knee.’
‘Did she fall?’ Molly asks, rubbing her eyes.
I can see her little legs grow tired. I bend and pause, smiling. Molly reaches her arms up, ready for me to lift her. I scoop her into my arms and swing her onto the worktop.
‘Yes, Molly,’ I say, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. ‘Kayla did fall. In school.’
‘Oh no,’ Molly says, her eyes wide with concern. ‘Did she cry? I cry when I fall.’
I take a deep breath as I struggle to keep it together.
‘I know you think Kayla is all grown-up,’ I say. ‘But she’s really just a kid, like you.’
Molly shakes her head and laughs.
‘She is,’ I nod, enthusiastically. Anxious to explain. ‘She’s just a kid. And sometimes kids fall or get sick and the grown-ups get very worried about them.’
‘Are you worried about Kayla?’ Molly asks, and I wonder if she truly understands the question.
‘I don’t like that she’s sick, Molly,’ I try to explain as best I can.
