Chapter 18
18
Isla had managed less than three hours’ sleep. She’d started doing research into whether the form of leukaemia she’d been diagnosed with, and whether the treatment she was due to start as a result, would affect her chances of a successful egg collection. But she’d ended up down an internet rabbit hole of conflicting advice and personal stories. The evidence suggested that the treatment wouldn’t affect her long-term fertility, but that patients shouldn’t get pregnant once they’d started taking the inhibitors, because it could harm the baby. Right now, there was no chance of her getting pregnant, unless it was an immaculate conception, because she hadn’t even been on a date in well over a year. But what she couldn’t work out was whether the treatment would affect the quality of her eggs and whether that meant she should go ahead with the egg collection before her treatment started, not just for Aidan and Jase, but to safeguard her own chances of having a baby one day.
The trouble was, she still didn’t know whether they wanted her to be their donor any more. Aidan had told her not to even think about the egg donation until the doctors had monitored her first round of treatment, and assessed whether or not her body was responding to the inhibitors. But her research had made her question if that was the right move. If she ever wanted to become pregnant naturally, she’d have to stop the inhibitors, and the same would apply if she wanted to undergo egg collection in the future. If she was going to do it, she couldn’t see the point in delaying. Although maybe it was Aidan’s way of gently backing out of their plan. There’d been more questions than answers, ever since she’d got her diagnosis, and it was the reason why sleep had been so elusive even after she’d stopped trawling through the internet. But by the time she dragged herself out of bed after far too little sleep, she had at least made one decision.
As she pinged off an email to the fertility clinic, a reminder popped up on her phone, telling her she had an appointment at The Thornberry Centre in ninety minutes. She hadn’t needed the reminder, even though the calendar on her phone seemed to be filled with appointments for blood tests and assessments. She was meeting her consultant again in three days’ time, and she wanted to be in a position to tell Dr Yang about the decision she’d made to go ahead with egg collection. In the meantime, Vanessa had arranged an appointment for her with one of the counsellors at The Thornberry Centre.
When Vanessa had called to tell her about the appointment, Isla had tried to say she didn’t need it, and that she had enough support ‘in real life’ not to need a stranger. She’d also tried to brush off the need to talk to anyone at all about how her diagnosis had left her feeling. After all, it was the ‘best’ kind of leukaemia she could have, according to Dr Yang. But Vanessa had clearly seen and heard it all before, and she hadn’t been prepared to take no for an answer. She could tell that Isla wasn’t taking this as casually as she pretended to be, and eventually she’d been forced to admit that her diagnosis had triggered some painful memories of her father’s battle with his own health. What she hadn’t confessed to Vanessa was that she couldn’t talk to her family, because she was terrified about how it might affect them. And that the ‘family’ she claimed to have so much support from was really Aidan and Jase. She hadn’t told any of her old friends yet, either, because they all knew her family and she didn’t want to risk the news getting back to them, even if one of them thought they were acting the good Samaritan by getting involved.
She’d had dinner at her grandparents’ place the night before, and Joy had fussed around her the way only a grandmother could, asking her if she was dieting again. Even when Isla had tried to insist, as she always did, that it was just a side effect of being on her feet for so much of the day, her grandmother wouldn’t let it go. It was like she was some kind of bloodhound, sniffing out the fact that there was more going on this time, and Isla had almost buckled under the pressure. It was only when Grandpa Bill had noticed how uncomfortable she was getting, and had told his wife to stop nagging, that Joy had eased off. That hadn’t stopped him taking Isla to one side afterwards, and quietly offering to gift her a regular monthly payment to ‘help out’ , so she could reduce her hours and get a bit more rest if she needed it. Isla was surrounded by people who loved her, but they were incapable of letting her sort out any problems she might have by herself.
The medication Isla would be taking when she started the inhibitors would be much easier to hide than chemo would have been, but going away with her grandparents to visit her mother and Lexi, after the babies arrived, still presented a risk. If she was stopped at customs and asked about her medication, the cat would be out of the bag. She wasn’t ready to tell them yet, and she wasn’t sure when she would be. But one thing she knew for certain was that she didn’t want it to overshadow the joy they should all be feeling at the arrival of the twins. It was just one more reason why she wanted to go ahead with the egg collection, because her grandmother would definitely want to know why her plans had changed if she didn’t. Isla knew how lucky she was to have a family who cared about her so much, but there was no denying it felt overwhelming at times. And maybe there was more she needed to say to the counsellor than she was prepared to admit.
Sitting in one of the waiting rooms in The Thornberry Centre would have been a wake-up call if Isla had needed one. No-one would have been able to tell that some of the patients in the waiting area had ever been ill, but there were others who wore the side effects of their treatment like neon signs, declaring to the world they were in the midst of a storm, with the kind of devastating impact that only cancer could wreak. There were people from a wide span of ages too, from the elderly couple gripping one another’s hands in the far corner of the room, to the teenage boy in a wheelchair, whose lower left leg was missing, and who was listening to something on his headphones, whilst studiously ignoring his ashen-faced mother. Almost all the other patients had someone with them, except a woman who was furiously knitting, as if her life depended on it, the needles moving so fast they were in danger of giving off sparks.
‘Rube!’ The boy, who looked to be in his late teens and until that point seemed to have an expression set in stone, beamed with delight as Reuben came into the waiting room with a huge box in his arms. ‘I spoke to the coach and now that we’ve got some sponsorship, he’s going to look into starting a wheelchair rugby team.’
‘That’s brilliant, Ben, and I think we both know who their number-one player is going to be.’ Reuben hadn’t noticed that Isla was on the other side of the waiting room, and she wasn’t planning to alert him to it. She couldn’t take her eyes off him all the same.
‘Ben Meredith.’ A woman in a smart grey suit came out of one of the consulting rooms and called the boy’s name, but as his mother went to stand up, he shot her a look.
‘I told you, I’m going in by myself. I’ve got to start being more independent if I’m going to get back to uni.’ When she still tried to protest, he held up his hand. ‘Mum, please , we’ve talked about this.’
‘Okay.’ The woman sat back down with a thud, her eyes following her son’s every move as he said goodbye to Reuben, and then slowly wheeled himself towards the consulting-room door, finally disappearing from view.
‘Thank you for talking to him about the wheelchair rugby.’ The boy’s mother reached out to Reuben, and took hold of his hand. ‘He’s been broken-hearted since the op, thinking he’ll never play sports again. But he’s been in the home gym all week, since they said they’re going to start a group at the club, working on his upper body strength. He wouldn’t have spoken to the coach, or started to get excited about things again, without you and your sponsorship.’
‘It was nothing, Sam, honestly. The sponsorship helps me out with my tax bill.’ Reuben shrugged as if what he’d done for Ben really was nothing, but Isla had seen with her own eyes how much it had obviously meant to the boy. ‘And he’s too talented not to keep up his rugby.’
‘I can’t tell you how much happier he’s been, and like he said, he’s making plans to go back to uni now too. I’m trying to focus on the fact that he’s got no evidence of disease at the moment, and that we’re moving ahead now he’s getting a prosthetic, but all of that was really hard to do when he was so down. Meeting you has made so much difference to him.’ Sam squeezed Reuben’s hand again. ‘He’s getting so independent again, and I’m sat here twiddling my thumbs. So I might as well go and grab myself a coffee.’
‘Make sure you get yourself some of this before you go.’ Reuben inclined his head towards the box he was carrying. ‘I remember how I ate my mum out of house and home when I was Ben’s age, and there’s lots of good stuff today, including some strawberries. I know he likes those.’
‘Thank you.’ Sam stood up and planted a kiss on Reuben’s cheek, before taking some things from his box. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’
‘No, thanks. Just go and enjoy having five minutes to yourself. I’ll see you both soon.’ It was only when Reuben turned away from Sam and set the box down, that he spotted Isla.
‘Are you following me?’ He grinned and her pulse seemed to quicken in the annoying way it always did whenever he was around.
‘I was about to ask the same of you. Let’s face it, you could reasonably expect to find me here, but I can’t say the same of you.’ Even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t true. It was typical of what she’d seen of Reuben that he’d come along and donate produce to patients in the cancer unit.
‘I come in a couple of times a week with leftover stock. On Tuesdays I leave a couple of boxes for the patients having chemo, and on Fridays I split them between the radiotherapy and counselling waiting areas.’
‘The world would be a nicer place if there were more people like you in it.’ The words were out of her mouth and hanging in the air before she could stop them, and a wave of heat flushed up her neck, staining her cheeks.
‘Not half as nice as it would be if there were more people like you, but a one-off is even more precious.’ From anyone else it would have sounded unbearably cheesy, the chat-up line of someone trying way too hard, but somehow Reuben made it sound as though he meant every word. Although that didn’t stop her cheeks going even hotter. ‘How are you doing?’
Reuben had taken the seat beside her and lowered his voice, but she could still feel the eyes of everyone in the waiting room on her. Even the click clack of the knitting needles had stopped, and she suddenly understood what it must feel like to be a goldfish in a bowl.
Isla glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve still got fifteen minutes until my appointment, and I could do with a bit of fresh air.’
‘Let’s go then.’
The area outside The Thornberry Centre was probably the nicest part of the hospital. There was a pretty garden, with raised planters, in a hexagonal pattern, flanked by six benches. In the centre of the garden was a fountain and, at the furthest end from the building, a bronze anchor with a plaque beneath it, engraved with the word ‘Hope’. Isla had sometimes sought refuge in the garden when she’d taken a break during a traumatic shift in A&E, and it had always filled her with a sense of peace.
‘You made such a difference to that boy’s life.’ Isla sat on the third bench, and Reuben took a seat next to her.
‘It was nothing special.’
‘It was to him. And to his mum.’
‘I’m only trying to repay what I’ve had. Sam’s a single mum and it’s been tough for her since Ben’s diagnosis with osteosarcoma. I think he just needed someone to talk to who wasn’t his mum, or a counsellor, and who was able to be a bit less emotional than the other people around him. When I had some tough times, and I couldn’t talk to Mum or Anthony about them, I was really grateful that I had Jase and Aidan. Especially when my dad died.’
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure what had happened with your dad, because Aidan and Jase have only really talked about your mum and Anthony.’ Isla had told Reuben things that some of her closest friends didn’t know. But now she thought about it, she hadn’t really given him the chance to tell her anything much about his life. She’d assumed he’d had the perfect upbringing, because that was how everyone else’s lives had looked when she was growing up, and she’d been envious that none of her friends had been forced to face the prospect of losing a parent. But Reuben had lost his dad too.
He sighed. ‘I don’t talk about him much, because for a long time he wasn’t a part of my life. He left Mum when he found out I was on the way, and he was never really interested in seeing me. We had patchy contact from when I turned five, but he was always more absent than present.’
‘That must have been hard.’ Isla searched his face as she spoke. She was old enough now to know that the assumptions she’d made about how happy other people’s childhoods were weren’t always true. And she’d come to realise that losing a father who adored you was far better than having one who’d never cared, but Reuben shrugged.
‘Not as much as you’d think. Anthony has filled a lot of that void and he’s been incredibly good to me. Any gaps that were left were more than made up for by having Jase and Aidan, who were like the fun dads, balancing out the serious and stable side I got from Anthony. Then there was mum, and my grandparents. Honestly, no kid could have got more love than me.’ Reuben smiled. ‘It was when my father got back in touch on a more regular basis that things got a bit tougher. He was dying of liver cirrhosis, and I didn’t know how to feel about him, or the fact he was dying. He was a stranger, who suddenly wanted this close relationship. There was such a lot of pressure and I felt guilty because part of me wished he’d never got in touch.’
‘I can understand that. Watching someone slowly fade away is hard enough when you love them.’ Isla swallowed hard.
‘I was so confused and I felt like the worst person in the world because I didn’t want to spend all my time with him, even though we did manage to get closer than we’d ever been. It was hard to talk to Mum and Anthony, because they were still so angry about how my dad had treated me. I spent a lot of time with Ricky in the final days, and Jase and Aidan would often come with me. I don’t know what I’d have done without them, because they were the only people I felt I could be completely honest with. I knew it was hurting Mum and I felt terrible about that, but Ricky had no one else. It was such a sorry existence he’d had in the end, and I couldn’t be angry with him any more. He’d messed up his own life, far more than he’d ever messed up mine. When he died, and I discovered he’d left me a substantial amount through a life insurance policy, the guilt I felt about not loving him the way a son should got even worse, and to counter that I started to talk about Ricky like he’d been some kind of saint. I clashed with Mum and Anthony, and even with my grandparents, but Aidan and Jase got me through that too. They listened and they didn’t judge or project how they were feeling about my father on to me. I could so easily have blown the money he left me, but the uncs helped me get my head straight and decide what I wanted to do. It’s how I was able to buy the deli. Being able to help a few other people out, because of the business, makes me feel better about what happened to my dad and that his life wasn’t for nothing after all.’
Isla wanted to tell Reuben that his father’s life had meant so much more than the deli because without him Reuben wouldn’t have existed. But she managed to bite back the words. When she was around him, it was hard to remember what a mess she could create by crossing a line between them, and she had to keep reminding herself why it could so easily end up being a disaster. It was safer to talk about losing their fathers, than to allow how she felt about Reuben to creep into the conversation. ‘Creating a legacy like that for your father is amazing, and it’s what I still want to do for my dad. But I don’t even know if Aidan and Jase want me to be their donor any more.’
‘Have you spoken to them?’
‘I’ve tried. Aidan just keeps telling me that the priority is for me to look after myself.’
‘It is.’ Reuben’s eyes met hers and the look he gave her was so intense she had to drop her gaze.
‘I might have a normal life span, or things might escalate quickly, to a point where it could be too late to do any of this. I don’t want my life to have meant nothing.’
‘It already means so much and not just to your family, or the patients whose lives you make such a difference too. You’ve got no idea how it felt for Aidan when you made that offer. He hasn’t had the easiest of times with his family and I know that’s affected his self-worth, but you will have helped change that. You’re trusting him with the most precious gift you could give anyone, and I know that will have meant the world to him, and to Jase.’
Tears pricked her eyes, and Isla focused on some yellow flowers in one of the raised beds, so Reuben wouldn’t realise how emotional she was. ‘I do trust Aidan and Jase. It’s what made the decision so much easier than being an anonymous donor, but I need them to understand that they’re helping me as much as I’m helping them. I’m terrified that without them, I won’t get to give my dad the kind of legacy he deserves and I don’t want to risk waiting until it’s too late. But I don’t want them to feel like I’m forcing their hand either, because it’s got to be right for them. I really wish I’d got through the egg donation, before I was given my diagnosis.’
‘Just tell them what you’ve told me.’ Reuben reached out for her hand, and her fingers curled around his, exactly like they had the first time their hands had touched, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. This situation was already so complicated, and she’d told herself time and again that her attraction to Reuben should be left to pass, as it no doubt would eventually. She didn’t even know for certain if he felt the same, although it often seemed like he did. Either way, she’d already discovered to her cost that sometimes she couldn’t control what went on in her body, and all she could do was try to trust that everything would somehow work out for the best.