Chapter 4
4
HOLLY
Even as the coffee shop staff swung into action, replacing the spilt coffee free of charge, and giving the lovely lady who got soaked a complimentary muffin, I still couldn’t stop crying and I hate myself for it. I should have been the one comforting Louisa. Not letting a stranger comfort me, while she sat there alone. All I could do was keep repeating an apology for failing her at the worst time in her life, and sorry will never be enough to make up for that.
It took at least ten minutes for me to regain any kind of composure and when Lou suggested we go back to my place, I didn’t argue. It’s only a two-minute walk from the coffee shop and we didn’t exchange a single word on the way. I was frightened that if I spoke, I’d start crying again and I know that’s the last thing Louisa needs. A counsellor once told me to put an elastic band on my wrist and to ping it every time I feel anxious. As soon as we walked through the door to my place, I found one in the drawer of the hallway table and put it on. I’m twanging it now, over and over, and it’s reminding me how to breathe in and out. I’m certain I’d have stopped by now without it.
‘I’m an idiot, Lou. I’m making this all about me. I’m so sorry.’ I’m still apologising as we sit down on the sofa, facing one another again, like we were less than fifteen minutes ago at the coffee shop. It’s such a short space of time and yet everything’s changed. My whole world has been spun on its axis and nausea is swirling in my stomach. I can’t even begin to imagine how Louisa feels.
‘I shouldn’t have blurted it all out like that, but Tom won’t accept what the doctor is saying about how likely it is to have spread and what that means. He just keeps saying that anything other than beating this isn’t an option, and I know he thinks that’s helping, but it isn’t. Of course I want that, but I need to be able to talk about all the what-ifs and he won’t let me.’ Lou reaches out a hand to me and I want to take it and never let go. If I hold on tightly enough, she won’t ever be able to leave me. I’ve got to find a way to keep her here and I’ll do whatever it takes. We’re twins and if there’s any part of me they can use to make her better, it’s already hers, even if it compromises my own health. No question. I want to tell her that I agree with Tom and that getting rid of the cancer is the only thing we should be focusing on, but I know Louisa. She’ll need to have a Plan A and a Plan B in place, if she’s going to be able to do anything other than be paralysed by fear. She’s always been that way, needing a safety net for life because of the way we grew up. On every trip we’ve ever taken together, Lou has mapped out alternatives – a different way to the airport in case a road gets closed, an alternative flight we can book if we miss our planned one, and other hotels nearby if the one we’ve booked turns out to be a hell hole. It’s the only way she can relax, and it’s one of the quirks that makes her Lou. It’s ironic that when we used to talk about starting families, she was the one who had an alternative path mapped out in case it didn’t happen. In that scenario, she’d concentrate on her career, travelling as widely as she could and writing about her experiences. I was the one with no Plan B, yet it was me it never happened for, and maybe I should have learnt from Lou’s example a long time ago.
Having a plan mapped out for if they can’t get rid of the cancer will help her to focus on the treatment, and I need her to do that. I’m really not sure I can survive without her; she’s been my other half since before we were even born. The thought of being without Lou is something I can’t get my head around, but somehow the aching void it would leave behind already feels heavy in my chest, as if someone has placed a slab of concrete on top of me. Would there even be a Holly without Lou? Being her twin sister is who I am and, if I allow myself to imagine that no longer being the case, something akin to terror washes over me, making my skin prickle in response. She can’t die, I won’t let that happen, because if she doesn’t survive I’m not sure I will either.
It’s easier to focus on the anger that is welling up inside me at the injustice of all of this. Lou does all the right things to keep herself fit and healthy, to make sure she’s around for the kids in a way our parents never were. She puts the children first in everything she does. If anyone should be facing a diagnosis like this it should be Mum or Dad, who’ve abused their bodies for years, pouring so much alcohol into them that it’s become poison. Yet it’s Lou who’s been handed this terrifying diagnosis, and she’s handling it the only way she can. I’ll play along with the Plan B because I know that’s what Lou needs from me, but I’ll speak to Tom later and let him know that I agree with him. We’ll exhaust every option before we even think about acceptance, because I know Tom can’t live in a world without Lou either. But it’s the thought of Stan and Flo losing their mum that hits me like a knife to the heart, and there’s a physical pain in my chest when I look at my sister.
‘This can’t be happening to you, the kids…’ I’m failing her already and the tears are streaming down my face, as the words get lodged in my throat.
‘Holly don’t cry, it’s going to be—’ She’s about to say it’s all going to be okay, but she stops herself and another piece of my heart breaks at the realisation that she doesn’t want to lie to me. It’s a pact we’ve always made with one another, and I trust Lou more than I trust another living soul because of it. Only just this once I wish we didn’t have to be so honest. My own cancer diagnosis taught me lots of lessons I never wanted to learn, and I know that when the cancer has spread, it isn’t good news. Even in the best-case scenario of an eventual cure, this is going to be brutal. Another painful lesson I learnt was who I could rely on, and that list turned out to be far shorter than I ever expected, but Lou’s name was right at the top. I need to repay that now, so I squeeze her hand even more tightly than before, making a promise to my sister that I’d rather die than go back on.
‘I’m here for whatever you need. Every step of the way.’ Right until the end . The last four words remain unspoken, and I don’t think I could say them out loud if my life depended on it. I’m not ready to face that possibility, even if my sister needs to believe that I am.
‘Do you promise?’ Louisa holds my gaze with such an intensity that I find myself thinking about all the times we played stupid staring games as kids, locking eyes until one of us burst out laughing. Only now there’s nothing to laugh about, so I nod slowly instead.
‘Anything.’
‘Thank you.’ Louisa closes her eyes for a couple of seconds and, as her tears come at last, I have to dig my nails into the palms of my hands to stop myself from crying again too. I can’t keep doing this; I’ve got to try to be the strong one now, or at least pretend I am, otherwise Louisa won’t be able to let her guard down. She’ll feel like she’s got to keep holding it together, like she has since my diagnosis and the domino effect it had on the rest of my life. When we were kids, I relished being the big sister and looking out for Lou. But all of that changed when I was ill, and if she hadn’t helped me up from the pit of despair I fell into, when the future I’d thought I was building disappeared almost overnight, I might not be here now. So, I’ve got to be strong, even if it feels like I’m dying inside.
‘What can I do to help? Just tell me and I’ll do it.’ I’m already thinking about how I can arrange to take some extended time off work, but I’ll quit if I have to. The only thing that matters now is Lou.
‘I don’t know how to tell the kids, but I won’t be able to avoid it once the chemo starts.’ Her words make the breath catch in my throat and I can’t stop myself from picturing Stan and Flo, the children I love as though they were my own. People might think I can’t say that and truly understand what it means, because I don’t have children of my own, but I know what’s in my heart. I’d do anything for them, and the thought of not being able to protect them from the hurt that’s coming their way is agony. I can see it’s unbearable for Lou too. She looks exhausted, but I’ve seen that kind of tiredness in my sister before, borne out of a chronic absence of sleep when the children were tiny. The thing I’ve never seen before is the naked fear in her eyes, and I’d give anything to take that away. Whatever the next scan results show, we just need to find a treatment that works. There are probably things her doctor hasn’t even heard of yet. They’re always coming up with amazing new treatments in the US and, if anyone can find out about them, Tom can; he breaks news for a living. But just because I’m going to cling on to hope for a miracle with both hands, it doesn’t mean I can’t help Lou with what she’s facing right now too.
‘I can help you work out how to tell the children; we’ll speak to the specialist nurses about how best to handle it, but you don’t have to do any of this on your own. I’ll be there and so will Tom.’ Even as I say the words, I wonder if this will end up being the first lie I’ll tell my sister. I love Tom, he’s a great guy, and from the outside it probably looks like he’s the family’s provider. But he’s the first to admit that he’s nothing without Lou. She’s the one who’s supported him and who makes sure the children never feel like they’re missing out, despite how often he’s absent. That’s an incredibly difficult trick to pull off, and one that no one managed for us, despite how hard our grandparents tried to make up for our mother’s absence. I’ve got no idea how Tom will react to that support disappearing, let alone how he’ll respond to the progress of Lou’s cancer, and the prospect of her dying, if the worst really does happen. There’s a chance he might bury himself in the work he loves to avoid having to face losing the woman he loves even more, and I’m in no position to promise her that he won’t. But she’s far from stupid and what she says next makes it clear that she understands that too.
‘I’m not sure Tom will be there, not in the way I need him to be, or the way the kids do.’ As Lou shakes her head, her sadness is palpable. ‘Almost the first thing you mentioned was Stan and Flo, and they’re all I’ve been able to think about since the consultant told me just how serious this is. I might get five years, maybe even more, but I might not even get two. I’m far more scared of leaving the children behind without me than I am of dying, and I’ve barely slept since my diagnosis. Every time I shut my eyes, they’re all I can picture.’
‘Oh Lou.’ It’s impossible not to cry, and I let the tears flow as I wrap my arms around her. She already feels thinner and more fragile, which makes this feel even more real. The idea of Lou having to leave the children is agony, and even as I try to find the words to comfort her I know it’s futile. There are no words capable of doing that. It’s like trying to find specks of dust in the pitch black, and nothing I say will make the prospect any less painful for either of us. I want to scream at the top of my voice about how unfair this is, and to thump my fists against the wall, but I can’t let her see how scared and angry I am. I’m having to fight the urge to bundle her into the car and keep driving until we’re hundreds of miles away, as if getting away from here will somehow allow us to escape from the horror of her diagnosis, but I know it won’t. All I can do is be here for Lou and wait for her to tell me what she needs.
We don’t speak for a long time, just cry together, but typically it’s Lou who manages to get herself together first and breaks the silence.
‘It’s okay. I’m going to do whatever it takes to be here for the longest time possible, but if I’m going to have the energy to do that, there has to be a Plan B.’ I knew this was coming and I almost want to smile at Louisa’s words, because this feels comforting and predictable in a way that nothing else does right now But I can’t smile, because my lovely sister has cancer, and I’m already scared that if she doesn’t get better, I might never smile again. So instead, I say what I know she needs to hear.
‘I’ve already told you I’ll do anything I can.’ I’ve got no idea where this is going, but it doesn’t matter. I made a promise to give Lou whatever support she needs, and I meant every word.
‘Do you remember when the kids were born and we made a will, we asked you to be Flo and Stan’s legal guardian if anything happened to us?’
‘Of course I do.’ I’d felt so honoured when they’d asked and I hadn’t needed any time to think; it had been the easiest yes of my life. I couldn’t love Stan and Flo any more than I do and, if the unthinkable had happened, I’d happily have given my all to raising the kids, but I’ve always known I’d never do as good a job as Lou.
‘And do you remember the night we met up to ask you if you’d do it? It took both of us to finally get Tom to discuss what would happen if neither of us were around any more, even then it was like pulling teeth.’
‘I remember.’ It wasn’t something I could ever forget. I felt like I’d got to know my brother-in-law a whole lot better that night, and it had shown me just how much he loved my sister. Ever since they met, he’s been open with her about the risks that come with his job, heading off to war-torn countries, where the prospect of a safe return is never a given. Before they got married, she told me that he made her promise that she’d be open to finding love again and starting over if anything ever happened to him. The night they asked me to be the children’s guardian, she tried to turn the tables on him, but no matter what she said he wouldn’t even discuss the idea of starting a new life without her.
‘It was so easy for us to pick you as the children’s guardian and I knew if anything happened to us, the kids would get all the love they need from you. There was never anyone else in the equation for either me or Tom, because you’ve loved the children like they’re your own from the moment they arrived and I’m so grateful for that.’ Louisa gives my hand another squeeze, and I want to tell her it’s me who should be grateful, because Stan and Flo saved my life. Five rounds of failed IVF treatment before my breast cancer diagnosis left me with nowhere to put all the love I’d stored up for the moment I held my baby in my arms, a moment that never came. So I poured all that love into my niece and nephew instead. They filled the gap my ex-husband had left behind too, and they don’t care that I’ve got wonky breasts or scars on the outside. It’s because of them that I’ve got far less scars on the inside than before they were born, which means any idea Lou has about being grateful to me for loving them is ridiculous.
‘They’re everything to me.’ Our eyes lock for a moment and I know what she’s thinking, that the children are everything to her too, but she’s having to face leaving them behind. She doesn’t have to tell me that it’s the prospect of doing that that scares her more than death, because I can see it in her eyes. My heart is breaking again for Lou, for the children, for all of us.
‘I know and that’s why it was so easy to choose you to raise them if we both died. But I never thought about making a plan for the children if Tom was left on his own to care for them. I need you to promise you’ll always be there to make sure they don’t miss out because I’m not around. He’ll be brilliant in lots of ways, but there are things he’ll have no idea about, and there’s no way of knowing what outside influences he might listen to. You know me better than anyone, and you’ll know what I would probably have done or said in any situation that might arise.’
‘It’s not going to come to that; you’re going to be okay.’ I can’t help myself, because I can’t bear the thought of her thinking like this, but Lou shakes her head.
‘Please Holly, I need to know you’ll do this for me if I’m not here, and that you’ll do whatever it might take to fill in the space I leave behind.’
It’s the last half of the sentence that floors me, and suddenly I’m not sure I can make the promise after all. It would be like accepting that it’s inevitable Lou won’t survive until the kids have grown up, and it feels as if she’s already giving up on any hope of the best-case scenario, where the cancer can become just a horrible memory, like it is for me. I can’t give up on that, I won’t. Except Lou is still watching me, waiting for my answer, and I know she needs me to do this in order to face whatever tomorrow’s scan might reveal. So I look her in the eye and make another promise.
‘Okay.’ It’s just one little word, and I’ve got no idea how big its connotations might be. All I know is that what we both need right now is hope and faith. Hope that doctors can either cure Lou’s cancer or keep it at bay for decades, and faith that it will somehow be okay for Stan and Flo if they can’t. I push down the fear that is making my heart thud against my rib cage, and force myself to silence all the what-ifs that are clamouring inside my head, about how any of us will carry on without her. We have to find a treatment that works, because the alternative is unthinkable and, if I let myself truly go there, I’ll be no help to Lou or the children.