Chapter 40
The next week, Gemma was so busy with work that she didn’t have the time or energy to do anything but eat and sleep.
They had a rush of new patients as if cancer cells had bandied together to have a community party.
With every patient who left, having completed their treatment, there were even more to take their place.
It was tough but all she and her team could do was stay strong and positive.
Yet it wasn’t always easy, and sometimes it felt all-consuming and exhausting.
Come Friday night, she was pleased to have some time to think about her promise to Timothy.
She wondered how she could instigate a catch-up with Laila that wasn’t an obvious ruse for a serious conversation.
She still had Laila’s jar of Nutella which she could give her, but that wasn’t enough.
Then, she had an idea. Maybe Laila might be interested in an art exhibition – nothing she might view as fusty or boring, but something modern and edgy.
There was an exhibition by an up-and-coming installation artist at the Tate and a photographic one at Hamiltons Gallery.
Then, she found the one: the art of the infamous and elusive graffiti artist Banksy in Soho.
She would be keen to go even if Laila wasn’t.
Thankfully, Laila said yes, and they agreed to meet on Sunday afternoon at the train station.
Gemma wasn’t entirely sure how to broach the rift between Laila and her foster mother but knew that it would be better to ease it into the conversation later in their catch-up rather than hit Laila with it cold.
On the train, they chatted about Timothy and Gemma’s work and what Laila had discovered about the old luggage tag she’d found mudlarking.
Then at the exhibition, they got so caught up in the artwork that Gemma decided to leave it until the end, as they were leaving.
‘So tell me, what else is going on apart from a new haircut?’ Gemma said pointing to Laila’s hair, where one side had been shaved, the other kept long.
‘Do you like it?’ Laila said.
‘Well, it kind of looks like you changed your mind halfway through.’
‘Ha-ha. I like it anyway.’
Laila paused at the window of a clothing shop.
‘How’s school?’ Gemma asked.
‘It’s okay.’ They started walking again. ‘An expert on learning difficulties is going to give me strategies for reading and writing.’ Laila sounded unimpressed.
‘I’m sure it will be helpful.’
‘I’ve decided dyslexia should be called “unilexia”. “Dys” means bad or abnormal and is pretty insulting if you ask me. “Uni” is like unique, one of a kind.’
‘I like that,’ Gemma said.
‘Gramps has been helping me with my homework, too. Well, supervising really. It doesn’t make it nicer, just a bit easier.’
‘I could help, too, depending on the subject matter.’
‘Would you?’ Laila said.
Gemma’s heart expanded at hearing the eagerness in Laila’s voice.
‘You could come over on a weekend or a Friday night. We could hang out, watch a movie and do algebra. Maybe not all at the same time, though.’ Gemma laughed.
‘Really?’
‘Sure. I won’t be offended if you don’t want to. I’m not too bad at maths.’
‘Jodie was rubbish. Not that she’s dumb or anything. She’s just not cut out to be a teacher.’
Finally, an opening. ‘How is Jodie?’ Gemma asked.
‘I saw her the other day, if that’s what you mean. She’s the one who organised the teacher’s aide for my “unilexia”. She’s angry that I was somehow allowed to slip through the cracks. Plus, she wants me to go back and live with them.’
‘How do you feel about that?’
‘I came up with a better idea and made her a deal. My birth mother is coming out of prison soon and she’s reached out to me.’
‘Really? That’s great, Laila.’
Laila looked non-plussed. ‘I said to Jodie that I’d consider making contact with my birth mother if she lets me continue staying with Gramps.’
‘You’re a tough negotiator,’ Gemma said.
‘Nothing in this world is free,’ Laila said wearily.
‘You’re too young to be saying things like that. Oooh, I like that dress.’ Gemma pointed to a window mannequin.
‘Do you want to go inside?’
‘No, it’s okay. I can tell it’ll be wildly out of my price range.’
‘We can gaze at it longingly, then.’
For a moment, they stopped and stared at the designer dress on display.
Gemma continued, ‘The thing is, you’ve nothing to lose by connecting with your birth mother, especially if you’ve got the support of your foster parents. It doesn’t mean you have to go and live with her or anything.’
‘It’s not going to be some fairy-tale reunion, you know,’ Laila said with disdain.
‘I’m not saying it will be, but you won’t know unless you try.’
‘Even it was, there’s no guarantee she’ll stick around.’
‘Is that what you’re worried about?’
‘Yeah, I could lose her again, like I’ve lost her before. I can’t. I just can’t.’ Laila shook her head.
Gemma locked her arm in Laila’s as they headed down the street. ‘Or,’ Gemma said. ‘You could gain an extra mum and your life might be all the richer for it. There are risks to everything we do and often the bigger the risk, the bigger the gain.’
Laila was silent for a moment. Then she asked with an edge of defensiveness in her voice, ‘So what risks have you taken in your life that have worked out?’
Gemma stared ahead at nothing in particular, trying hard to think of risks she’d taken that had worked out. None came to mind. Unless she counted giving herself over to Adam. But even that ended up failing.