Another Way to Fall (16 page)

‘We would take an MRI about a month later to check for any initial indications of how effective the radiotherapy had been and to give a new baseline before we start you on six months of high-dose chemotherapy. I know it sounds intensive and it is,’ he said, noting the look of trepidation on Emma’s face. ‘But then the treatment we’re trying to secure for you in America will be even more rigorous.’

‘And do you think they’ll accept her, now you’ve seen the scans?’ asked Meg.

Mr Spelling nodded. ‘I think so, but that will be for the clinic in Boston to decide and, of course, it will ultimately be Emma’s decision whether or not she wants to go ahead with the treatment.’

The blind spot in the corner of Emma’s eye hid her mum from view but she could sense her bristling at the comment. ‘We’ve come this far,’ Meg told him curtly. ‘I don’t think it’s helpful revisiting the options. That particular decision has already been made.’

Emma knew that Mr Spelling was testing her resolve one last time and she fought the urge to get up and run rather than confront what lay ahead. She didn’t particularly savour the idea of the treatment awaiting her overseas and she certainly didn’t want her family to face the inevitable financial strain but she also didn’t want to rip out the final shred of hope from her mum’s heart. There was something else that kept Emma pinned to her chair and nodding in agreement with her mum. Something far more obvious but still difficult to face. She didn’t want to die. Not yet. ‘When will we hear from Boston?’ she asked.

‘They’ve promised to get back to me by the first week in January at the latest. That way we can keep to the schedule here if for some reason Boston doesn’t accept you.’

‘When would we go to America, do you think?’ Meg asked, ignoring the suggestion that there was still a chance she wouldn’t get her own way.

‘That would be in their hands but I would think you’d be over there before February.’

Emma could feel the clock counting down. She began to make a mental list of all the things she wanted to do in the time she had left before treatment so she tuned out of the verbal ping pong that continued between Mr Spelling and her mum. She needed to make sure her plan for the bistro was followed through and then there was the issue of her dad. She still didn’t know if Louise had contacted him, she had refused to be involved, but she would need to know if he was willing to plug a gap in the funding for her treatment, otherwise all her plans for the bistro’s future would go to waste.

And then there was still her friendship with Ben to smooth over. She hadn’t seen him since their argument and although they had parted on good terms, she needed to know that she could still feel comfortable with him again. She missed him. Thoughts of Ben led naturally to thoughts of her book. She wanted to continue to write more than ever and she started to consider where her imaginary life should lead her next but her musings were brought to an abrupt end when she realized there had been a lull in the conversation around her. Mr Spelling was looking at her with a raised eyebrow, aware that her mind had wandered.

‘Wouldn’t you agree, Emma?’ he asked.

Emma matched his raised eyebrow and returned the wicked smile he was giving her. ‘If by that you’re asking if you’re boring me yet then the answer is yes.’

Despite the sharp intake of breath from Meg, Mr Spelling laughed. ‘Then we’ll call it a day,’ he said, ‘and I’ll see you in a few weeks. Until then, have a good Christmas.’

‘But not necessarily a happy new year,’ muttered Emma to herself.

Chapter 8

I returned to earth with a bump when the plane landed at Kennedy, and as I walked out of the airport, I lifted my face to the sun in a feeble attempt to warm my spirits. It was April, cool and crisp, a refreshing change from the relentless heat but that hadn’t been the only thing I had left behind in Tanzania. I was already missing Ben and that worried me.

At my insistence, he had returned to England to follow up on the smallholding he had talked about, while I continued with my own dreams. I had promised him I would be in touch to arrange our next expedition but now I wasn’t so sure. Wasn’t I delaying the inevitable? Our paths would separate one day so wouldn’t it be better to end things now? I kept telling myself that Ben and I were never meant to be.

‘But isn’t that what I’m here for?’ the shopkeeper asked me. ‘To make it be?’

I played with the wrappings on the box he had placed in front of me. I didn’t need to read the label to know what the contents held. Ben would make a wonderful husband and father one day.

‘We have different dreams,’ I insisted.

‘Really? You don’t want to spend your life with a man who loves you? To raise a family together?’

‘He wants to settle down on some Godforsaken farm and make cheese,’ I said with a laugh that felt hollow and empty.

‘But settling down was in your original plan, wasn’t it?’

The shopkeeper’s persistence was unnerving; it was as if he knew every twist and turn of the life I had mapped out for myself. I had been twenty-two when I had first joined Alsop and Clover and had been ready to give the company the best years of my life. My intended reward would be a senior associate position by the age of thirty, after which I would spend the next few years establishing myself in my chosen career before concentrating on the other aspects of my life, such as finding a soulmate. And that would lead nicely to the next phase. Unlike my mum, I intended to carve out my career first. Family would be the cherry on the cake rather than a pebble in my shoe.

‘I’ve had a lot of catching up to do,’ I reminded him. I was thirty-three already and my career wasn’t quite back on track. There was no reason why I couldn’t let my plans slip a little. ‘I haven’t landed my promotion yet or seen half the things I had in mind.’

‘What is it you’re afraid of, Emma?’

I put my hand firmly on the lid of the box and willed myself to push it back towards him but the box didn’t move. ‘What if it’s as wonderful as I suspect it will be?’ I asked. ‘What if it’s so precious that for the rest of my life, I spend every day paralysed by the fear of losing it?’

The shopkeeper hooked his fingers around his chin and stroked his beard. ‘You wouldn’t be the first but answer me this. What would be worse? To die knowing what a wonderful life you’re leaving behind or to release yourself from a life barely worth losing?’

‘The second option would be easier,’ I answered a little too quickly.

‘So what are you doing here in my shop of dreams?’

I wanted to tell him I didn’t know but the image of the shopkeeper flickered and vanished, replaced by the April sun as it reflected off a river of yellow cabs flowing down Fifth Avenue. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Kate was calling to ask why I was late for our meeting. She was impatient to hear the details of my latest trip and to go through my next assignment. I had been excited by the prospect of exploring the Amazon but as I considered the possibility of making this trip without the man who was intent on leading my heart astray, the dream lost its lustre.

Emma knew it could be her last Christmas but as a family, they had all been there before. After the initial shock of her first diagnosis, there had been an inordinate amount of energy put in to making every day like Christmas Day, to be grabbed desperately by the throat and have the life throttled out of it.

But Emma had learnt that it was too exhausting to make every day special. She quickly became tired of being the constant centre of attention, of having nothing denied and of having every waking moment captured for posterity on film. At one point she had almost forgotten what her mum looked like because she spent so much time peaking at life through a camera lens. Everything that Meg did to make life special for her daughter only served to amplify their fears, so that there was no room left for life. So, in Emma’s inimitable style, she had brought the frenzy to an end. Cameras were put away and normal life was embraced with a new sense of appreciation that needed no fanfare.

Some of those harsh lessons lived on and this Christmas was going to be as normal as it could be. It was a special day that would leave special memories but no more or less lavish than for any other family. There would be no extremes: it would be business as usual, and that included the bistro, and Emma and Meg planned to be there, hopefully to witness its success, and to help out if need be.

Louise was looking relaxed despite the chaos as she slipped between crammed tables to welcome her mum and sister into the noise and vibrancy of the bistro. It was midday and the Traveller’s Rest was to remain open until four o’clock, at which point, the well-oiled customers would be sent on their merry way, leaving a select gathering of family and friends to make their own merriment.

The day was dazzlingly bright but icily cold and Emma was grateful for the warmth of the bistro. After a relaxing morning opening gifts and eating breakfast, she and her mum had gone for a brisk walk along the promenade and Emma still needed thawing out.

‘Happy Christmas,’ carolled Louise, hugging her mum and then Emma.

‘Wow, it’s so busy. You must be rushed off your feet,’ Meg said, having to shout above the lively chatter.

‘Yes, I know. Isn’t it great?’ replied Louise with a broad smile. ‘Now, I’m sorry but there isn’t a single table free at the moment but I have set aside some chairs at the bar. If you would like to come this way, ladies.’ Louise turned to escort them to their seats.

Meg and Emma’s feet remained rooted to the spot. ‘We will not,’ Meg told her firmly. ‘We’re here to help.’

‘Yeah, I can help in the kitchen and Mum can serve out here,’ suggested Emma.

‘Don’t even think about going into the kitchen. It’s battle stations in there at the moment. Ben was adamant that he and Steven could manage the service but I’d be surprised if they’re still talking to each other by the end of the day.’

‘Steven’s cooking Christmas dinner?’ Meg asked, her jaw hitting the floor.

‘He’s been doing really well on his catering course, although it might be a case of sinking or swimming. From the way it’s looking at the moment, I’d say it’s more like sinking,’ Louise explained with a half-smile. She clearly had more faith in the two of them than she was letting on.

‘All the more reason for me to go in and help,’ insisted Emma. She still hadn’t seen Ben since their disagreement and the irresistible pull towards the kitchen was difficult to ignore. ‘We don’t want anything going wrong today of all days.’

Louise put her hands on her hips. It was a stance that Emma had often assumed with her sister but now the roles were reversed and Louise was enjoying the switch. ‘No,’ was all she said to put an end to Emma’s temptations.

Emma bit down on her lip to stop herself from begging. ‘OK then, we’ll both help with the waitressing,’ Emma said, knowing that there would be ample opportunity to break the ice with Ben once she started taking orders.

‘How about you two look after the tables in the far section over there?’ offered Louise.

Emma looked over to the section they had been assigned and spied two familiar faces who had been pivotal in filling the bistro to the rafters. Emma made a beeline for them.

Iris and Jean were chatting away merrily with a couple of friends when Emma arrived at their booth. The table was strewn with wrapping paper, precarious piles of gifts and a collection of drinks. They were wearing lopsided paper hats, matching grins and all had very rosy cheeks. Jean had a crumpled tissue in her hand and she was wiping away the tears from her eyes, which were clearly tears of laughter as her body was still heaving with repressed giggles.

‘Hello, ladies, and a merry Christmas to you all. My name is Emma and I’ll be serving you today.’

‘Ooh,’ chorused the women, ‘very professional.’

‘And this is my assistant, Meg,’ Emma continued before leaning in towards Jean to whisper conspiratorially. ‘It’s my mum, so go easy on her.’

Meg coughed politely. ‘I’ll have you know I’ve been serving hot dinners since before you were born.’

‘But I have a feeling this crowd are going to be difficult to please,’ replied Emma.

Iris wafted a hand dismissively. ‘I have no idea what you mean. We’re going to be perfectly well behaved.’

‘So how is my plan working so far?’ Emma asked eagerly. ‘The place is packed out and if you don’t mind me saying so, they look like they might know you.’

‘If by that you mean it’s full of old biddies then, yes, you can thank us for that. Pretty much everyone here is a fellow escapee.’

Iris and Jean lived in a sheltered community and they had been flattered when Ben had tracked them down to ask their advice. His powers of persuasion had then secured their help and by the time Louise had contacted them they had already been plotting how to save the day. Apparently, there was an annual dispute over who organized the communal Christmas dinner. A clique had formed from which Iris and Jean were consistently excluded, and so this year they had led a revolt to the Traveller’s Rest.

‘Our gratitude will be reflected in the bill,’ Meg promised. ‘It’s wonderful to see the bistro so busy. I only hope it stays this way.’

‘I think you’ll be onto a winner if we get those special discounts,’ Iris said.

‘I’ll make sure Louise keeps to her promises,’ Emma assured them with mock severity.

‘She’s lucky to have you,’ Jean told her.

‘We all are,’ Meg added, giving Emma a tight squeeze.

Iris and Jean nodded in agreement. In Emma’s dealings with Iris and Jean she had been determined not to mention her illness but their inquisitiveness had worn her down and Emma had eventually confessed. She had hoped the death sentence that shadowed her wasn’t quite so visible and had asked them if she looked so obviously ill. They had assured her that she didn’t, that they were perhaps more in tune to recognize the signs at their time of life.

Before the mood was allowed to turn morose, Emma directed her mum to another table that demanded attention whilst she tried to take the order for Iris and Jean’s table. The sooner she had her first order, the sooner she would be allowed into the kitchen. ‘Now, ladies, what can I get you?’