Another Way to Fall (18 page)
‘Come on,’ Emma said, punching through the depressing fog that had descended in front of her eyes. ‘Christmas isn’t over yet.’
I had no idea why Kate had insisted that we take a trip to the top of the Empire State Building. She had remained tight-lipped since my return from South America and there had been numerous furtive meetings to which I hadn’t been invited. I was beginning to wonder if my luck had run out. Even though I had delivered this latest project to the company’s exacting standards, it had been more of a struggle than previous assignments. I hadn’t had Ben there as my driving force and in my eyes, my latest offerings didn’t have the same kind of spark.
Knowing how ruthless Kate could be, I couldn’t help wondering if I would be taking the elevator back down to the ground floor or a more direct route to the pavement.
Kate waited until we stepped out onto the viewing platform before she broke her silence. ‘We did it!’ she cried, stretching out both her arms as if the whole world was hers for the taking.
Her hair was pinned back tightly as always but a golden strand slipped free and rippled in the warm winds that swirled around us. I hadn’t had the foresight to tie back my hair so my unruly curls slapped against my face, stinging my eyes. When I tried to speak, I almost choked on a mouthful of hair. There was still so much I had to learn from my mentor. ‘Did what?’ I asked.
‘I’ve been invited onto the board of directors,’ she told me. ‘But credit where credit is due: I couldn’t have done it without you and that’s why you’re being promoted too. Look around, Emma. The whole world is yours for the taking, the highest profile campaigns, the biggest budgets – and you’ll deliver the best results. I have no doubt about it.’
I looked out at the soaring city where I had lived for four years, looking over the tops of the skyscrapers that usually towered above me to the crowded horizon and the glittering water. In the distance, the Statue of Liberty looked impossibly small. Directly below us, lines of miniature taxis crawled along the avenues like yellow caterpillars, slipping past an army of scurrying ants that tried to cross their path. ‘It all looks so far away,’ I said.
My new perspective only served to highlight how much I had distanced myself from real life. I had lost my way at some point, somewhere between Tanzania and the Amazon. Distracted, I wandered over to the north side of the viewing balcony, my eyes still searching for something to ground me, but even Central Park couldn’t give me the inspiration I needed. I glimpsed the vast green between the skyscrapers and the smog and I knew it held an intricate beauty brought to life by the flora and fauna that could be found there. I knew it was there but I had placed myself too far away to see it clearly or touch it. As my eyes desperately scanned the horizon, I became aware that I too was under intense scrutiny.
‘You made the right decision, Emma,’ she told me. ‘You can’t get to these dizzying heights without keeping your focus on the big picture.’
‘But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life seeing the big picture without ever stepping into it.’
‘Work gives me all the reward I need and I had hoped you would have the same kind of mindset, but if you want something more,’ she began, carefully choosing her words. ‘I’m not saying it isn’t possible. There are a few women that have juggled their careers with a fruitful family life, but they all made sure they had secured their position in the business first. I have to warn you, Emma, you’re not quite there yet.’
Her last words were a veiled threat that I would be foolish to ignore but as I looked out at the sights that failed to inspire, that left me feeling cold and alone, I knew I had reached a crossroads in my life. ‘Life’s all about taking risks,’ I said.
Emma was sitting on her bed, cross-legged with her elbows on her knees and her palms propping up her chin. It was still early morning and the world outside was struggling to emerge from the darkness of the night. Its progress was slow, as was Emma’s. She had woken with a headache and the painkillers she had taken had fogged her mind. The only light in the room came from her laptop but so far she had been unable to continue with the chapter she had started shortly after Christmas. She felt frustrated, having psyched herself up to begin the next phase of her life and step into the world she had created, to give her heart the release that she denied herself in her real life.
It wasn’t the start to the New Year she had been hoping for. She massaged her temples in a futile attempt to release the pressure. Unlike her friends, who had been partying since the first strand of tinsel had been pinned up in the office, Emma’s poor health had nothing to do with overindulgence. She and her mum had opted for a quiet night at home on New Year’s Eve. They had stayed up long enough to stand on the balcony and watch the fireworks split open the darkness, their reflections shimmering like ghosts across the river. They raised a small toast to the success of their endeavours, or more precisely Meg’s endeavours, to secure Emma a place on the clinical trial: the news had arrived that day and Emma tried her best to share her mother’s enthusiasm. At least now she had a firm date to work to. She would be travelling to Boston on 23 January.
Emma could hear her mum pottering about in the apartment. Meg had been torn between working all the hours she could to fund Emma’s treatment and spending precious time with her daughter. For New Year’s Day at least, she would ease her guilt by spending the day at home. She had suggested they go for a walk along the prom and then order a takeaway to eat while they watched some old movies. It was a plan that might appeal to another Emma, one half her age or, more likely, twice her age, but this Emma was looking at the clock and thinking about escape. It was eight thirty and she wondered if Ben would be having a well-deserved lie-in after a busy night at the bistro or if he was already preparing for his trek.
To occupy her mind, Emma checked out the latest photos that Ally and Gina had posted online. Her motives were disguised as mild interest but in reality it was a form of self-torture, a reminder of the life she had already lost. There were plenty of snaps of her friends at the office party posing drunkenly for the camera but Emma’s focus was on those standing on the sidelines. There was something more appealing about seeing people in mid-flow. The way Dan was looking at Gina, a yearning in his eyes that would, by all accounts, be satiated by the end of that night. There were other silhouetted figures and one reminded her distinctly of Peter, but if there was a reason for her oncology nurse to be at the party that Emma had excluded herself from, then Ally hadn’t made her aware of it. There was one photo that Emma would have preferred not to look at but it came as no surprise, a glimpse of Alex with his arm around Jennifer, whispering in her ear. Jennifer had her head turned away so it was difficult to tell if she found his tall tales as enthralling as Emma once had.
She was about to switch the computer off there and then but a message appeared at the bottom of her screen. An email had arrived and it sent a chill down her spine. As the sender’s name faded and then disappeared like an unwelcome ghost, Emma continued to stare at the empty space until her eyesight blurred.
Rather than read the message, she shifted her gaze to the collection of picture frames on the dressing table. The latest addition was the one Ben had given her but it was a frame covered in seashells that drew her attention, an image of Emma and Louise building a sandcastle. Her dad had taken the photograph and she wondered what he had seen when he looked through the lens. What did his family mean to him? The answer was within touching distance and when she was ready, she opened up the email from her father.
With the words barely registering, she closed down the computer and dragged herself off the bed. She had pins and needles from sitting too long in one position and her left leg in particular took its time to wake up. She limped over to raise the blinds and then opened a window before taking a deep breath to clear her mind. The air was bitterly cold and had a salty tang reminiscent of the grey mist that lingered over the Mersey.
Emma struggled with her thoughts as she picked up the seashell frame from her dressing table, gripping it tightly as the anger built inside her. She didn’t notice the tingling in her hand until it went into spasm and she didn’t notice when it slipped from her grasp. She was already two thousand miles away.
The air she expelled from her lungs in one harsh gasp was as warm and acrid as the smog that enveloped her. The wind whipped her hair across her face as she tried to find her bearings. Emma pushed away her unruly locks, and glanced out towards the river, which seemed impossibly far below her, half obscured by tall angular buildings that reached up to scrape the sky but still failed to reach her. The distant hum of traffic drew her gaze further over the edge of the Empire State Building towards the yellow caterpillars that crawled along the streets.
The picture frame clattered to the floor as the bedroom walls were effortlessly reconstructed around her. She tried pulling the hair from her mouth, only to find that it was already neatly tied back. Carefully, she picked up the photoframe. It had lost a couple of shells but was otherwise undamaged.
Emma closed the window but kept her eyes on the horizon as she tried to focus her mind. Her seizures didn’t frighten her but rather left her with a sense of comfort, leaving only remnants of the places she had been. One thought persisted and she spoke it out loud. ‘Life’s all about taking risks,’ she said. The Welsh mountains were obscured by murky skies but they still managed to pull at her heart. She looked at the clock. It was nine o’clock.
‘Do you mind if we take a rain check for today? I’m going out with Ben,’ Emma said, sweeping into the living room.
‘Going where with Ben?’ Meg asked, looking up from the kitchen counter where she had been preparing a breakfast of fresh fruit and yoghurt for them both.
‘Going for a drive to Wales,’ Emma said lightly but her body was already tensing up for the fight. She was dressed and ready to go, kitted out in walking shoes and waterproofs. ‘He’s on his way over to pick me up now.’
‘You’re climbing Moel Famau?’ her mum asked pointedly, not fooled in the least by Emma’s use of the term ‘drive’.
‘Don’t, Mum,’ Emma warned. The anger that had sparked to life as she read her dad’s email still simmered.
‘No. Don’t
you
, Emma. Don’t make me be the one forcing you to face reality.’ There was less anger in Meg’s voice than Emma had expected but the pain in her voice was no less difficult to hear.
‘Don’t you think I face reality every day?’
‘I don’t know, Emma. Do you?’ Meg said, the last words coming out as a guttural sob. ‘I’m not sure you have faced up to what’s about to happen. You were ready for the fight last time but now … now you’re putting all your efforts into the bistro or that book thing of yours.’
‘And why shouldn’t I? What’s wrong with escaping this prison once in a while, whether that involves going through the front door or into my imagination?’
‘You can’t run away from your cancer, Emma. If it was that easy, I’d have bought you the plane ticket years ago.’
The tears that had sprung to her mum’s eyes had dampened Emma’s anger enough for her to speak more calmly. ‘I know, Mum,’ she said. ‘But it’s so damned unfair, especially when other people are getting more than their fair share of life. Far more than they deserve.’
‘Alex?’
‘No,’ Emma said, pausing to take a deep breath. ‘Dad.’
‘You’ve heard from him.’ It wasn’t a question. It had been inevitable. ‘What did he have to say for himself?’
‘He’s living in Edinburgh and doing very well, by all accounts. He even has a nice little replica family, complete with two new daughters. It’s as if he’s been allowed to wipe the slate clean and start again.’
Meg looked down at the food she had been preparing. She breathed out an ‘oh’ and let her body sag.
‘So,’ Emma continued, ‘I may not have that kind of luxury but what I do have is a small window of opportunity between now and 23 January. I want to enjoy the little freedom I have left. Please, Mum. Let me go.’
Meg was still looking down, cutting up an apple into chunks that were becoming so tiny they were practically dissolving into the cutting board. ‘Promise me, you’ll be careful,’ she said.
‘I will.’
‘Don’t take any chances.’
‘I won’t,’ Emma said. ‘We’ll have a proper talk when I get back. And you might want to warn Louise. I’d like to know why she gave him my email address.’
‘Did he mention anything about finances?’ Meg asked, her voice still strained.
‘No, but maybe he’ll contact Louise about that side of things. He certainly sounds like he’s doing well, so we might be in luck.’ Emma moved tentatively towards Meg until she was standing behind her. She gently rested her head on her mum’s shoulder. ‘Happy New Year, Mum,’ she whispered.
Meg made a sound a little like a laugh and a lot like a sob. ‘I hope so, Emma. Oh, God, I hope so.’
The day was cold and the skies above Liverpool were clearing by the time Emma and Ben set off for North Wales. Meg had helped load up the car with enough supplies to cover every eventuality, including an entire bag of medical supplies to counter her daughter’s recklessness.
‘She didn’t seem that pleased with me,’ Ben said once they were on their way. ‘Are you sure you’re well enough to go?’
‘I know my limitations,’ Emma told him, secretly thanking the cocktail of drugs she had taken, which had cleared the headache she had woken with. ‘I wouldn’t have phoned you if I didn’t think I could do it. I climbed Moel Famau when I was at school so I know what I’m doing.’
‘I never doubted it,’ Ben said, knowing it was time to change the subject. ‘Great news about your treatment, by the way.’
‘I wish I could share everyone’s enthusiasm,’ Emma said as they drove into the yawning mouth of the Mersey Tunnel. ‘I’m being sent halfway across the world to go through treatment that won’t only attack my cancer cells but pretty much every other cell in my body too.’