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‘How are you feeling?’ I finally build up the courage to ask.
Kayla lowers the cup and looks at me very seriously. My tummy somersaults.
‘Full,’ she says. ‘This thing was huge.’
I take the empty cup from her, twist in my chair and toss it into the small chrome bin behind me. It rattles more than I thought it would as the cup lands in the centre.
‘Score!’ Kayla cheers, raising her hands about her head.
‘Ugh, not exactly,’ I say, standing up when I notice the cup wasn’t completely empty and milky chocolate has dribbled down the side of the bin and onto the floor. I pull some baby wipes out of my bag and clean up. ‘You can never have enough of these with a four-year-old on your hands.’
I know it was a lame joke but I thought it might have roused at least a sympathy giggle from Kayla but she’s miles away. There’s obviously something she wants to talk to me about. And in private, if she tried so hard to get rid of her mother. But I’ve no idea what it would be and waiting is making me nervous. I don’t want to bulldoze my way in and drag it out of her, but if it’s important I’m sure we’ll need time to talk about it and I doubt Heather will stay gone long. Even if they do take a trip to bloody McDonald’s.
‘Does it hurt?’ I finally ask, throwing the grungy wipes in the bin and using some fresh ones to wipe my hands. I toss those in too and make my way back to the seat.
‘Not really,’ Kayla says when I sit down. ‘It’s more annoying than sore. It’s boring just sitting here, not even being able to walk down to the games room. Even though it’s crap down there. Broken jigsaws, half-coloured-in colouring books. But there’s a TV and a pool table.’
I study Kayla’s bright eyes and fed-up expression. I remember after my C-section I couldn’t move for days and it took me weeks to feel semi-normal again. Kayla is so full of energy. It’s hard to believe she’s recovering from a general anaesthetic. I guess that’s the difference between surgery at fifteen and at thirty.
‘This hurts, though.’ Kayla raises her arm and my eyes fall to the cannula that’s half the size of her hand. ‘It keeps stabbing me. Last night, I forgot it was there and I rolled over and Oh. My. God. It was torture.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’m not great with needles either.’
‘Or Molly,’ Kayla says. ‘She really doesn’t like them, does she?’
‘No,’ I admit. ‘She doesn’t. And I don’t blame her.’
‘Dad said she freaked out when they tried to take blood earlier.’
I take a deep breath and wonder what the hell Heather has been saying.
‘She doesn’t understand, Kayla,’ I say, gently. ‘She’s only four. And, to be honest, even if I tried to explain, I doubt it would make any sense.’
‘It doesn’t make any sense to me either,’ Kayla says, suddenly looking tired.
‘What doesn’t, sweetheart?’ I say.
‘Why would you let them do that to her?’ Kayla shakes her head. ‘She’s not sick. I am. She shouldn’t have to be poked and prodded like that.’
‘It was just a blood test, Kayla,’ I say, calmly. I sound exactly like Gavin when he tried to reason with me. ‘It hurt for a little minute, but she’s fine now. She will be fine.’
Compared to everything Kayla is going through, a simple blood test seems inconsequential. But then that’s no consolation to a confused four-year-old. Kayla is so sweet to be concerned for her little sister. I smile, proud of her.
‘What’s the test for?’ Kayla says. ‘Mam and Dad had blood tests too. But no one has told me why exactly. Are we all at risk of this cancer?’ Kayla takes a deep breath, and horror splashes across her face. ‘Oh. My. God. Could Molly get this? Could she get sick too?’
‘No, no, no.’ I swallow, and I stand up and turn my back on Kayla for a moment feeling like such a damn hypocrite. Of course, one of my first concerns was that Molly could get sick too. It could be a gene. Something Gavin has passed to his kids. I’d be a liar if I said I don’t still worry. But I can’t let Kayla see that. ‘These tests see who’s a match for you, Kayla. No one else is sick. Okay?’
‘A match for what?’
‘I don’t know, Kayla,’ I say, pacing. ‘Options, I suppose. They want to keep all options open.’
‘Is that why you and Mam are fighting?’ Kayla asks.
I shake my head. ‘We’re not fighting.’
‘Oh come off it, Charlotte. You and Mam barely said two words to each other earlier.’
‘It’s complicated.’
