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I find myself checking my phone ridiculously often. I can’t shake the feeling that Kayla’s school will call at any moment. They’ll tell me she has fallen. Or fainted. Or fainted and fallen. And I will feel like an even worse mother than I already do.
I know the doctor asked to speak to me and Gavin alone first so we can ask all the adult questions that may be too distressing for Kayla to hear, but I can’t help wishing Kayla was beside me now. I need a big, squishy hug, the kind she used to give me when she was little. No matter how tough things got over the years, Kayla’s hugs always gave me the strength I needed to keep going.
The train journey seems to take so much longer than usual. I count down the minutes until I’m finally outside the large doors of the children’s hospital. I haven’t been here since I was a kid myself and I fell off my bike and chipped the bone in my elbow. It hasn’t changed much in twenty years. It’s still the same intimidating square, red-brick building it always was.
My phone rings as I walk through the doors and I’m greeted by a large sign expressly forbidding the use of mobile phones. I answer nonetheless.
‘Hey. Where are you?’ Gavin’s husky voice asks.
‘Just here now. Where are you?’ I say.
I’m stopped by security at reception and the guard points to the sign and at my phone.
‘Third floor,’ Gavin says. ‘Doctor Patterson’s office is the second door on the right. I’m waiting on the corridor for you.’
‘Okay. Okay. Coming,’ I say, glancing at the lift right in front of me and the stairs to the side as I try to decide which will be faster.
‘Miss, please,’ the security guard says, pointing to the sign again.
Oh piss off, I think. But I smile politely and say sorry as I slide my phone into my handbag and decide on the stairs.
I take the steps two at a time, glad I wore flats. I’m surprised Kayla didn’t notice. I only ever wear heels to work.
FOUR
HEATHER
I find myself sitting inside the window of a once-familiar coffee shop waiting for Gavin. I left him outside the hospital. He called Charlotte as soon as we stepped outside the main doors. I didn’t have anyone to call so I just began to walk. Maybe Gavin thought I was giving him space. Maybe I was. I think I needed some too. I texted him as soon as I sat down and although I didn’t expect him to follow, he said he’d be here soon.
The back of my chair is pressed right against the glass and there’s a draft blowing in where the latticed window isn’t an exact fit in the old stone wall. The chilly autumn air seems determined to work its way between my neck and the collar of my coat to pester me, nagging me to switch seats. But my legs are shaking, and it’s not overly dramatic to think I might topple over if I try to stand up right now. Instead, I pull my collar tighter around my neck, fold my arms on the table and stare into a cup of murky coffee.
I haven’t been in here in years – not since Gavin and I were teenagers – before Kayla was born. The décor is still exactly the same, although a little tired and worn now. Mismatched chairs dot around oval, mahogany tables. There’s a neon-orange couch in the centre of the floor in front of the only rectangular coffee table in the wholeshop. A bunch of college kids hog the whole space, sitting laughing and chatting. It reminds me of an early episode ofFriendsand I can’t help thinking how much Kayla would love this place.
‘Can I get you a refill?’ someone asks over my shoulder.
‘Ummm….’ I say, as if it’s a particularly difficult question.
‘I’ll just take this one away, yeah?’ An arm reaches over me and lifts the cup full of cold, white coffee away.
‘Hi.’ Gavin finally appears next to me. ‘Is that dairy?’
‘No. It’s soya,’ I say. ‘They do that here now.’
‘Cool,’ Gavin says, awkwardly unwrapping his chunky, colourful scarf from around his neck – I recognise it straight away. Kayla knitted it a couple of years ago in school and gave it to Gavin as a Christmas present. I didn’t think he’d actually wear it.
‘Whoever thought this place would be keeping up with the times?’ Gavin looks around and then nods to the waitress. ‘That’s cool. Very cool. Anyway, sorry I took so long. Parking was really hard to find.’ Gavin shuffles his arms out of his coat, drapes it over the back of the seat opposite me and sits down.
‘I’m sorry,’ I sigh, reading Gavin’s face as he scans the familiar surroundings. ‘I didn’t mean to just walk off. But I had to get out of there, you know? I wasn’t sure this place would even still be here.’
‘It’s fine,’ Gavin says. ‘I get it.’
‘And then, I didn’t know if you’d remember where to find it,’ I ramble on. Neither of us know what to say.
‘Here’s good. This is good, Heather,’ Gavin assures me. ‘And of course I remember where to find this place. It’s special.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, remembering. ‘It is.’
Gavin and I spent more hours than were healthy in this pokey corner café. Gavin sipping tall black americanos and me guzzling cappuccinosand feeling instantly sick after, because I’d made it to seventeen and hadn’t realised I was lactose intolerant.
