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‘Didn’t Daddy explain this to you, sweetheart,’ I say.
Molly stares at me blankly. For a kid who almost never stops talking, Molly is a mute statue now. I turn away and roll my eyes. I asked Gavin to speak to Molly last night; ease her gently into what we’re facing.
‘WhatdidDaddy tell you Molly?’
‘That we could see Kayla after school…’
‘And…?’
‘And that we’d see Aladbin and Mooblee.’
‘And?’
‘And that’s all,’ Molly says sweetly, smiling as she tugs on my hand, ready to get moving again.
I tug back, gently. ‘Did Daddy tell you Kayla might not be feeling very well?’
Molly shakes her head. ‘Does Kayla have a pain in her tummy again?’
‘Great! Thanks, Gavin,’ I groan inwardly.
‘What’s great, Mammy?’ Molly asks.
‘Nothing. Nothing,’ I say, wishing my kid didn’t have the ears of a bat. ‘Come on now, let’s go see Kayla. Yeah?’
‘Yay,’ Molly says, beginning to skip again and clearly forgetting that less than two minutes ago she was complaining about tired legs.
Molly complains about tired legs, a pain in her finger, and needs to stop off on the second floor for a wee, before we finally reach Kayla’s ward. Bleach and disinfectant seem to seep from the walls up here. The smell is so much stronger in this part of the hospital than anywhere else. I wonder if it’s my imagination or if everything has to be more sterile because the kids are so sick. A lump swells in my throat and I try not to think about it.
Molly’s fingers wriggle away from mine and she charges into Kayla’s room with renewed energy. I hurry after her, wishing I’d reminded her not to jump on Kayla’s bed. I told her in the car but, in her excitement, she might forget.
‘Shh.’ Heather is in the chair by Kayla’s bed and places her finger over her lip. ‘Kayla is asleep, Molly.’
‘But it’s daytime.’ Molly points to the window where autumn sun shines through the panes of latticed glass and creates squares on the floor tiles like a patchwork quilt of light.
‘She’s very tired,’ Heather explains.
I try not to act visibly shocked by how pale and thin Kayla looks tucked up in bed. The chemo has stripped the colour from her cheeks and the shine from her hair.Oh, Kayla. Heather looks positively awful too. Her hair is messy, looking as if she hasn’t brushed it today. There are deep, dark circles under her eyes and her skin is almost as grey as her jumper.
‘How is she?’ I ask, tilting my head towards the bed.
‘She fell earlier,’ Heather says, her voice crackling.
‘Fell. Oh Jesus.’
‘I fell in school,’ Molly says and pulls up the leg of her school tracksuit pants to show off a scab on her knee that’s at least a week old.
‘Is she okay?’ I ask. ‘I mean, she didn’t hurt herself, did she?’
‘Oh, it hurt.’ Heather nods. ‘They gave her morphine, I think that’s why she’s so sleepy. Thankfully there’s no damage done. Just a bit of bleeding.’
‘Oh thank God. But how did it happen?’
‘She was playing pool in the games room.’ Heather rolls her eyes. ‘She doesn’t even like pool.’
‘There’s a games room?’ Molly bounces. ‘I want to go to the games room. Please, Mammy. Pleeeaaassseee.’
‘Molly we came to see Kayla,’ I say.
