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Mam is as still as a statue. The only thing moving are her eyes as she blinks.
‘Home to Cork, Mam. I know it’s been weird for you staying with Dad…’
Tears start streaming down Mam’s cheeks. ‘There’re trials, Kayla. We can try trials.’
‘Trials?’
‘Yes. It’s complicated.’ Mam sweeps the tips of her fingers under her eyes. ‘It’s new stuff; cutting edge. Not every patient is even eligible, Kayla.’
I didn’t realise I was crying but tears are running down my cheeks now too. ‘Mam, I don’t understand. I thought you meant I was done with chemo because it had worked. I want to go home.’
‘Sweetheart, we have to keep trying. These clinical trials?—’
‘I don’t want to be part of some experiment,’ I say, frustrated.
‘They’re not experiments, they’re scientific advances. I’m meeting Doctor Patterson today.’ Mam looks at her watch. ‘In an hour. And I’m going to ask him all about it. I’ll know more then and we can talk about it, okay?’
‘Whatever.’ I flop my head back, way too exhausted to think about any of this anymore.
‘Kayla. You will get better. Okay?’ Mam says.
‘I know,’ I say, and I wonder if I suck at lying as much as Mam does. If I was going to get better, we’d be packing our cases now that chemo is over. Not talking about other options that mean more needles, more blood transfusions, more operations, more hell. And it might not even work. Suddenly, I realise that Fortnite isn’t the only battle I’m not winning.
THIRTY-EIGHT
HEATHER
‘Shh, she’s asleep,’ I say, as Gavin comes into Kayla’s room.
Gavin looks as bad as I feel. ‘How is she?’ he asks.
‘Better than last night but still not great.’
Gavin shakes his head as he watches our sleeping daughter.
‘Did you talk to Charlotte?’ I ask.
Gavin doesn’t answer as he continues to watch Kayla. He’s jumpy and agitated and I know the answer, but I ask again anyway.
‘Gavin? Please tell me you at least tried to bring it up with her?’
‘She brought it up with me, actually.’ Gavin sounds annoyed and I’m not sure if his frustrations are directed towards me or at Charlotte.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ Gavin shoves his hands into his pockets and shuffles on the spot. ‘She found a letter. One explaining all the donor stuff.’
‘Oh.’ I’m almost certain I put that letter away in my room. Maybe it fell out of my bag in the kitchen or something. I need to be more careful. It must be the tiredness.
‘She’s not happy,’ Gavin says.
‘About the letter?’
Gavin shuffles, awkwardly. ‘About us not telling her. Not telling her sooner that stem-cell donation might be an option.’
I shake my head. ‘Yeah, okay. Fair enough. But we didn’t even know until last night whether any of this was going to be necessary.’
‘I thought I was doing the right thing,’ Gavin says, dragging his hands around his face. ‘I didn’t want to stress her out unnecessarily over something that might never even happen.’
