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‘Not really.’ Kayla shrugs. ‘You’re Molly’s mother, Mam is mine and then Dad is in the middle with both of us being his kids. I can kind of see why you’re all killing each other.’
‘We’re not,’ I say, and it comes out sharper than I mean it to.
‘Mam is living in your house,’ Kayla says. ‘That has to be awkward for a start.’
‘Well…’
‘And then there’s Dad trying to keep the peace.’
Not exactly, I think, realising I’m growing bitter, feeling that he’s growing close to Heather while pushing me aside.
‘And Molly. Poor Molly. She hasn’t a clue what’s going on,’ Kayla says. I’m about to reiterate Molly’s age and innocence but Kayla keeps talking. ‘And me. Then there’s me. And it’s all my fault.’
‘Kayla, no,’ I insist, devastated that she feels this way. I push the chair out of the way and climb up on the bed beside her. ‘None of this is your fault. None of it. You can’t control getting sick.’
‘My knee has been sore for ages. Like really bad. And getting worse and worse.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ I wrap my arms around her as she cuddles close to me.
‘I didn’t tell Mam,’ Kayla sniffles. ‘The last time I told her she said I was overdoing it. Training too hard, playing too many matches. I thought if I told her how bad it was she’d make me stop playing basketball altogether.’
‘And you love it so much, don’t you?’
Kayla nods and I feel her shoulders rise and fall as gentle crying shakes her body.
‘It’s my whole life. It’s the only thing I’m good at.’
‘That’s not true, Kayla. There are lots of things you’re good at.’
‘No there’s not. Mam is all arty and bakes these amazing cakes that everyone loves, and I can’t even get a C in Home Ec. Dad is mad clever with his big maths brain. I hate maths. Molly is so good on the piano already even with her tiny fingers. I just have basketball. I’m crap at everything else. And now I don’t even have that anymore.’
‘Oh, Kayla, sweetheart. Time. Give it time.’
‘No.’ Kayla shoots upright and twists to look me in the eyes. ‘It hurts, Charlotte, it really, really hurts.’
‘Your knee?’ I ask.
‘I should have told Mam,’ Kayla cries. ‘I should have just told her. If I told her last year, then none of this would have happened. See, do you believe me now? It really is all my fault.’
I don’t bother with words. There’s nothing I can say that will make her feel any better right now. I just sit and hold her as large angry cries shake her whole body. I take slow, deep breaths and I know the pain in my chest is the feeling of my heart breaking.
TWENTY-FIVE
KAYLA
October
I lie in bed with the blanket pulled right up to my neck. Someone must have tucked me in at some point.Mam, obviously. I’m roastin’. The hospital is always mad warm. But, even though I’m cooking away under the covers, I don’t move. It’s way too much effort. I’m awake but my eyes are closed. It’s early. Before seven. I know without checking my phone. At seven the breakfast commotion starts. Bowls of cereal and glasses of juice rattle on trollies pushed along the corridor. And no matter how badly I’ve slept, or how exhausted, or how sick I am, there’s no sleeping past seven in this place. I don’t mind so much this morning. I’ve been awake for ages already. Hours maybe and I’m glad everyone else is finally awake, too. And I’m hungry for the first time in days. I think I’ll try some toast. The nice catering lady will be so happy. She’s spent all week trying to get me to eat and when I kept refusing, mostly because I was too busy throwing up from the chemo, she seemed so disappointed.
There’s a soft knock on the door and I open my eyes. My mouth goes fizzy thinking about hot toast with melted butter and a glass oforange juice. I giggle – I never thought I’d see the day I got so excited about toast.
There’s another knock, but the door doesn’t open like usual.
‘Erm, come in,’ I say, and it comes out like I’ve a really sore throat or something.
The door doesn’t open.Oh for God’s sake.I pull myself to sit up. My arms are wobbly, and the effort knackers me. I clear my throat and it’s a bit phlegmy and gross.Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick. Please don’t be sick.I check that there’s a puke tray on the locker next to my bed, just in case. I take deep breaths and it helps. My tummy calms down. I’m not going to start today by throwing up.Progress.
There’s another knock.
