Another Way to Fall

She had greeted each spring with a sense of victory but now more than ever, she wondered how many more victory dances she had left. As that thought settled on her mind, she gave up holding back the crushing weight of fear that had been growing for days if not weeks.

‘I’m scared, Mum,’ she said, the confession slipping out as easily as the first tear that slid down her cheek. ‘I don’t think I can go through it all again.’

‘I’m scared too,’ replied Meg, turning to face Emma, her tears a mirror image of her daughter’s.

‘Why me? Why is this happening to me?’ Emma demanded, neither expecting nor wanting an answer. ‘It was bad enough first time around but now, now it’s just so damned unfair.’

‘I know,’ Meg said, stepping towards Emma and wrapping her in her arms.

‘I thought I’d paid my dues.’ Emma’s voice was muffled as she buried her head within her mother’s embrace. ‘I was almost at the five-year mark, I was almost there. That was meant to be the start of the rest of my life. I was going to look for a better job, maybe even move back to London.’

‘I know,’ repeated Meg, her voice raw with emotion. ‘And to think, a month ago I wasn’t happy about the idea of you moving back there. I should be careful what I wish for.’

‘There’s so much more I wanted to do,’ Emma whispered as she let her mind dip into the pot of dreams she had once kept sacred. ‘I wanted to do everything, see everything, travel the world.’

Meg pulled back a little and chanced a look at Emma. She was clearly about to hand out another dose of blind faith but one look from Emma told her not to make promises that could not be kept. ‘We’ll see,’ Meg said.

There was another desperate hug as Emma and her mum clung to each other. Their bodies shook, muscles contorting and throats constricting as they tried to control their sobs. Emma heard the curtain being pulled around her bed and assumed it was Peter giving them some much-needed privacy. That simple act of kindness only intensified her pain and desperation. Somewhere between muffled gasps for air, she thought she heard her mum whisper, ‘Please don’t break my heart.’ Emma felt the crack in her own heart cut a little deeper. Time ticked by, precious seconds that she knew she shouldn’t waste. Slowly the sobs subsided until Emma was ready to face the world again. She sat up straight and unceremoniously sniffed back the tears until her mum handed her a tissue with an unspoken reproach.

‘I suppose I can expect this from now on,’ Emma said. ‘Being mothered.’

‘Mothered but not smothered,’ Meg assured her. ‘I know I had no right to interfere and make plans without speaking to you first. You’re not the frightened young woman you were four years ago. You’re old enough and certainly experienced enough not to have me telling you what to do. I promise I’ll give you more space.’

‘Easier said than done in your apartment,’ answered Emma as she thought back to the time she had already spent there. Her memories of the place were not pleasant. Meg lived in a modern two-bedroom apartment that overlooked the river Mersey, not far from the city centre. She had bought it after her divorce seven years earlier. At the time, Emma had her own life in London and Louise was away at university – it had been sufficient for her needs, or so she had thought.

She gave her mum her best impression of a rueful smile but it was forced. ‘So how did Louise take the news?’

‘She’s going to do whatever it takes to help,’ Meg answered.

‘She’s OK about moving out? She has somewhere to go?’

‘It’s all arranged. Ally and Gina will help over the weekend to move your things into the apartment ready for Monday.’

Emma let her body slump back against her pillows in resignation and as she did so, the corner of her laptop pressed against her thigh, vying for her attention. She was no longer in control of her own destiny and she was desperate to find a way back.

I ran down the corridor as if the hounds of hell were at my heels, driven by an all consuming desire to get out of the hospital. As I pushed my way through the exit doors, it felt as if I was crossing a finish line. I’d done it. At last I could stop running.

I came to an abrupt halt as soon as I hit fresh air. The sun had disappeared and the sky was leaden but it couldn’t dim my mood. I looked down at the dog-eared appointment card still clutched in my hand. Its list of dates marked my passage through the hospital corridors over the years and the final entry was today and then, well, nothing. No more appointments, not one. The bitter November wind slapped against my face and my jacket flapped around me but I stood tall. I took a deep, cleansing breath and my chest felt lighter. The fear I had carried around with me for so long had finally lifted. I could face anything now, I told myself as I tore the appointment card to shreds.

I was tempted by the idea of launching the torn pieces of card into the air to shower myself in winner’s confetti but I wasn’t quite ready to throw caution to the wind. It was going to take a while to get used to my new sense of freedom. I tried to recall my life before cancer had come crashing into it. I had been confident and carefree once … hadn’t I?

I had left home with a handful of dreams and headed for university. From there, I had moved to London where, unlike many of my peers, I had landed on my feet. I was taken on by a big PR and marketing company that had offices all over the world and amazing career prospects, and it wasn’t long before I started to climb the ladder of success. I loved a challenge and I knew straight away I was well suited to the work. That was when the first symptoms had started to appear. The blinding headaches and blurred vision had made working difficult and then the diagnosis of a brain tumour had made it impossible. I was forced to turn my back on my dream job and return home. I later heard that the young woman who had taken my place was now based in New York and taking on all kinds of amazing assignments.

The tumour in my brain had been removed but the surgeon’s knife had taken away much more than simply my cancer. My ambitions, my desire to be a wife and a mother one day, these were things that required an undisputable belief in the future and I had lost that. So I had buried the dreams that I feared would always be denied me and spent the last few years treading water, taking a job as an office manager with a small family business that made fittings for kitchens and bathrooms. The business was expanding, and a new position came up as Marketing Director. I had already shown that I had the experience and the capability, but it was Alex who got the job, not me. Alex, whose father just happened to be a close friend of Mr Bannister, the owner of the company. He had the confidence and the contacts. The lost job opportunity was only a minor addition on a long list of life’s injustices so I had swallowed my disappointment and trudged onwards.

But all my troubles were behind me now and I was ready to take back what was mine. I took another deep breath of cold, November air and held it as I waited for inspiration to strike. A frown began to crease my brow as I let go of the breath in a long low hiss. What exactly did I want from my second chance at life? Other than savouring every minute, I hadn’t really thought it through.

I suppose I had imagined that the rest would be easy. I was free! If I could beat cancer, surely I was entitled to pick and choose what else my life would hold. I’d had my fair share of misery and pain, now I wanted to get to the good bit. I half expected to be met at the hospital gates by a kindly shopkeeper who would magically transport me to his store of dreams. He would stand with his hands deep in his pockets, watching me intently as I scanned shelf upon shelf of boxes in an assortment of colours and sizes, each one containing something different but equally exciting. He would wait patiently for me to make my choices from a vast array of delicious adventures. It was all mine for the taking.

But sadly, there was no kindly shopkeeper to greet me so I stood transfixed, not knowing what to do. The next step I took was an important one and I didn’t want to get it wrong. I lifted my right foot up nervously, holding it in midair, still unsure where it would lead.

Chapter 2

It was Monday morning and Emma was alone, or at least as alone as she could be in a crowded ward. So confident was she of being discharged that she was already fully dressed and ready for her escape. She sat patiently on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed and her wayward foot tapping to the beat of the rain hammering against the window. Despite the miserable weather, the thought of being set free was no less enticing. She had already instructed her mum to stay at home, knowing that she would be busy enough preparing for Emma’s arrival. It was Louise who would be on call to pick her up as soon as Emma was ready, so now all she had to do was convince Mr Spelling that she was fit enough to be released. Leaving hospital and moving in with her mum may not be a complete escape from her nightmare but it was the nearest she was going to get to a semblance of normality.

Emma closed her eyes as she pondered the next phase of her life but her thoughts immediately took her to places she didn’t want to go. She didn’t have her mum’s unerring belief that there was a miracle cure out there somewhere and she wasn’t sure she should go chasing rainbows simply because her mum believed in them. Emma suspected that any experimental treatment would need to be unimaginably intensive to give her any chance of survival, involving what Mr Spelling would describe as ‘heroic measures’. She was already war weary and the question that haunted her was, did she want to let other people decide how much more treatment she should endure or did she want to take a more painful decision?

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Mr Spelling asked.

When Emma opened her eyes, her doctor was standing next to her and for once he had arrived without his entourage. ‘You know the inside of my head better than I do,’ she countered. ‘I’m surprised you need to ask.’

‘I’m good, but I’m not that good.’

‘So why are you so happy?’ Emma asked suspiciously as Mr Spelling grinned at her.

‘Because,’ he said, still smiling, ‘all the arrangements are now in place to escort you off the premises.’

‘What? You don’t want me to perform any more tricks for you?’ demanded Emma. ‘Wouldn’t you like me to walk in a straight line even? I’ve been practising,’ she said as she made a move to slip off the bed, but Mr Spelling lifted a hand to halt her.

‘No more tests today. You’re free to leave.’

‘And then you’ll breathe a huge sigh of relief.’

‘For now, at least,’ he replied with a note of regret.

Emma wrinkled her nose at him. ‘You don’t like accepting defeat, do you?’

Mr Spelling shifted uneasily. ‘We haven’t given up yet. We’ll start radiotherapy in January and take it from there. I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again: I will do my best for you, Emma, whatever that may be.’

‘Do you think it’s a waste of time trying to find a clinical trial?’ Emma felt nervous asking the question, not sure if she really wanted to know but at least without her mum by her side she stood a chance of getting an uninterrupted and open answer.

‘There’s a programme in America that looks promising but …’ Mr Spelling’s words trailed off but Emma waited for him. ‘There’s hope. There’s always hope.’

‘Is there? I can’t help thinking that it might be better to simply accept my fate. If you told me right now that there was nothing more you could do for me, no more treatment, then I swear, I think I’d actually feel relief. It’s hard clinging onto hope, knowing how bad the effects of the treatment are going to be and as you’ve been keen to point out, with no guarantees.’

Emma’s emotions were in complete flux and she couldn’t completely blame the cocktail of drugs she was taking for the mood swings. At times, she was ready to take on the world, whilst at others, she keenly felt its weight on her shoulders and could barely lift her head to the horizon. And then there were the darkest moments when all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and literally die. To make matters worse, she could switch from one mood to another without warning, but at least Mr Spelling’s calming presence gave her the confidence to dip a toe in each of her emotions and test the water.

‘It’s ultimately your choice, Emma. Whatever treatment we can offer you, there will always be choices.’

‘Quality versus quantity, by any chance?’ asked Emma.

‘Yes, I’m afraid in my business, it often comes down to that.’

‘It’s not only me I have to consider though,’ she said with a sigh of resignation. ‘I have to do what’s best for other people.’

The doctor gave Emma a stern look. ‘You have to do what’s best for you, Emma. What helps the people you love in the end is knowing that you got to do what you wanted.’

‘In that case, I want to see Paris in springtime, stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon and stroll through the Valley of the Kings,’ Emma quipped. Mr Spelling didn’t respond other than to raise an eyebrow and she held up her hands in surrender. This was not the time for smart remarks and Emma’s heart quickened as the words to her next question formed in her mind. ‘Are you really telling me I can call it a day now?’ Her tone remained light but, in Emma’s mind, a serious temptation was taking hold.

‘You have choices,’ repeated Mr Spelling sagely.

Emma was briefly lifted at the thought of bringing her treatment to an abrupt and total end, but then she let her body sag. ‘Then my choice is to make my family happy. My mum’s not ready to give up yet, so neither am I. I don’t want to be responsible for breaking her heart, not if I can help it.’

‘Then I’ll support your decision one hundred per cent,’ replied Mr Spelling with an unreadable poker face.

‘I suppose my next challenge is to build up my strength so I’m ready to take whatever you can throw at me. If memory serves, you don’t do things by half measures.’

‘And neither do you. It will be a tough fight, I won’t deny that,’ he agreed. ‘So is there anything else you need to know while we’ve got the chance?’ He had also recognized that the conversation would be quite different if Meg had been there.

‘No, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ she told him, fearful that if the debate continued about her treatment plan she might just change her mind, but Mr Spelling didn’t seem ready to leave. The smile had slipped and he had a look of sadness on his face that Emma was finding all too familiar. She felt obliged to ease his pain. ‘Can you keep a secret?’ she asked.

‘Trust me, I’m a doctor,’ Mr Spelling said, his eyes brightening with interest.

‘In the story I’m writing, I survive this thing.’

‘Would this be the book you want to finish?’

Emma nodded. Her book was another reason she had to fight, for time at least. She’d had many visitors over the weekend, her closest friends and family with the notable exception of Alex, and all of them had heard that she had started to write. Every single person had tried to find out more about what exactly she was writing but so far Emma had remained tight-lipped. She wasn’t prepared to share her flight of fancy, unsure if she was ready for their judgement, but Mr Spelling was different. She could trust him with her life.

‘Yes, and my biggest problem will be how to fill that life I have in front of me.’

‘So tell me, do I play my part in your story or have you discovered that doctor with the sharper knives?’

‘You give me the all clear,’ she assured him.

‘Good. I like a happy ending.’

‘Ending?’ Emma laughed. ‘Oh, no, that’s just the beginning. Cancer is not the sum of my life, I am,’ she said firmly. ‘My story begins with me getting the all clear, an alternative to what happened last week really. Another life.’

‘Your life as you would want it to be,’ observed Mr Spelling.

Emma smiled, liking the description. ‘Yes, but I’ve already hit a hurdle. I haven’t got a clue what I would want if I could have anything!’

‘Springtime in Paris? Walking through the Valley of the Kings?’ Mr Spelling reminded her.

‘They’re certainly pretty snapshots from an interesting and varied life but I still need to add more depth to my story and the truth is, I don’t have any great ambitions, not any more.’ Emma sensed she was talking herself out of writing her book. Her tumour was about to take away the last of her dreams.

‘Any more?’ So you had ambitions once? You hold such power at your fingertips, Emma,’ he said, taking hold of her hand and looking at it. When he looked up at her again there was a shadow of regret in his eyes. ‘Just think, you have far more control over your destiny than any doctor. Your hopes and dreams are still there waiting to be handed to you on a plate.’

‘Or off a shopkeeper’s shelf.’

Mr Spelling shrugged his shoulders. ‘You say tomato, I say tom-A-to,’ he said.

‘In New York, I think they say tom-A-to,’ Emma said with a surge of enthusiasm. ‘Mr Spelling, I do believe you’ve just given me the inspiration I needed.’

I was still dangling my right foot in midair as I pondered my next step but then I looked up and was met with an encouraging smile from the kindly shopkeeper. I forgot all about my feet.

‘So, what would you like first?’ he asked, tipping his head towards the shelves of boxes that were lined up behind him where the hospital car park should have been.

My heart quickened as I realized that everything I could possibly want was within easy reach. ‘I … I don’t know where to begin,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry, I have a reputation for being able to size up my customers and I sense that what you want most is a purpose in life, something with a bit of a challenge. How about we make a start with your dream job?’

‘I had that once.’

‘Then you shall have it again,’ he replied, sweeping a brightly coloured box off a nearby shelf. It shone with promise. ‘But if you don’t mind, I’ve made some improvements.’

I didn’t need to ask what he meant. The colour of the box reminded me of a juicy green apple or, more precisely, the Big Apple, and I couldn’t wait to begin peeling away its skin to take a closer look.

With my career sorted, the shopkeeper naturally wanted to know what romantic aspirations I had. He looked me up and down, fingers curled around his chin. ‘Is Alex good enough for you?’ he asked sceptically.

I wrinkled my nose as he pointed to a shelf full of various other options, an enticing row of boxes in eye-catching gift wrap. ‘Not if you ask my friends and I have to admit that I had been contemplating moving to London and was expecting to have to make the break but … well, I still think there’s some potential there,’ I told him. I wasn’t ready to start my life from scratch and I didn’t have to. I could work with what I had and even make a few of my own modifications.

‘I’ll leave that one in your hands then but your decision isn’t binding. I can do a good deal when you’re ready for a trade-in.’

‘Don’t you mean if?’ I asked but my words were drowned out by the beeping of a car horn.

I was standing in front of the hospital, my foot still dangling in midair and if the noise of the horn hadn’t already startled me, then the face of the person behind the wheel would have been enough to knock me off my feet. My arms flailed and as I stumbled, the torn pieces of card I had been holding in my hand were snatched away by a gust of wind. As the winner’s confetti fluttered around me, I stepped forward to claim my prize, not even registering that first step that I had been debating, or the next.

‘I thought you couldn’t bear the sight of hospitals?’ I said. The sun had broken through what had seemed impenetrable cloud cover. I shaded my eyes with my hand and Alex beamed a winning smile at me, his olive skin pulling taught across his square jaw. He had the decency to look just a little shamefaced. As he absentmindedly smoothed his hair, hair that was slicked back so neatly that it needed no taming, I noted the delicate sprinkling of grey at his temples and knew Alex was proud of this first sign of aging. He was only thirty-two but he was embracing the more mature look, he thought it made him appear more distinguished. ‘I couldn’t keep away, I’ve been thinking of you all morning. So tell me, how did it go?’

It was my turn to smile. ‘Complete remission,’ I said and the tremor in my voice travelled down my spine in a delicious shiver.

‘Then that makes your next decision rather easy,’ he said with a meaningful look.

‘And what decision would that be?’ I asked.

Alex leaned over and opened the door for me. He waited until I was safely secured in the passenger seat before he answered. ‘I would love to tell you but Ally took the call and she’s insisting that she should be the one to tell you,’ he said, picking his phone up from the well between the seats. He thumbed a few buttons briefly and then passed it to me before the call was connected.

I gave him a quizzical look as I took the phone but Alex’s face was unreadable.

‘Ally, do you have some news for me?’ I asked when the call was answered.

‘Oh, no. Tell me your news first,’ Ally demanded into my ear.

‘I’ve been given the all clear,’ I said. I had already made frantic calls to my mum and Louise but it didn’t matter how many times I said it out loud, it still hadn’t quite sunk in. ‘All clear, Ally. At last, I have something in my life to celebrate.’

‘More than you think.’ Ally’s voice broke and there was a pause. I could hear a nose being blown. ‘I’m so relieved that you can finally get on with the rest of your life.’ There was another pause as Ally took a deep breath. ‘And what a life it could be. Someone called Kate rang from your old firm, when you worked in London. She wouldn’t give me all the details but she told me enough. She, or rather they, Alsop and Clover, want you back. She wants you to call her urgently. I’ll text the number to your own phone, OK? Emma, the job will be based in New York!’

My eyes widened in shock. I was speechless.

‘Emma?’

‘New York? Seriously?’

Ally laughed. ‘I’m so happy for you, Emma. Enjoy the moment. It’s been a long time coming.’

I was still stunned when the call ended and I handed the phone back to Alex. ‘Why me?’

He laughed. ‘One of the biggest PR and marketing firms in the world is offering you the job of a lifetime and you make it sound like it’s a bad thing.’

‘Oh, my God, Alex, I don’t think I can take this much good news in one day.’

I could feel a scream building inside me as I took one last look at the hospital before Alex drove away. The pavement flickered white as the wind continued to play with the discarded remnants of my appointment card. I had left my mark on the hospital but then it had left its mark on me too and, in fairness, it was I who had taken far more of a beating. But I wasn’t interested in keeping score; we were even as far as I was concerned and I was ready to put it all behind me.

It was only once we had driven through the hospital gates that I regained my power of speech. ‘And are you OK with me moving to New York?’ I asked, surprised at how selflessly Alex was basking in my glory.

‘I want what’s best for you and only you,’ he told me earnestly. ‘It doesn’t matter where you are, I’ll always support you. You can count on me.’

‘Are you ready, Em?’ The voice was familiar but held a note of trepidation that would be out of place anywhere except perhaps an oncology ward.

Louise’s face had the same shadow of fear across it as her own but that was where the similarity ended. Louise was a complete contrast to her sister, taking after their dad’s side of the family. Emma coveted her blue eyes and the blonde hair falling poker-straight halfway down her back, not to mention her body, which was the picture of health. What she didn’t envy was the weight of responsibility that would be placed on her little sister’s shoulders. Louise wouldn’t only have to stand on her own feet as her mum had said, she would need to be strong enough to keep the family together if the worst happened. One of Emma’s legacies would have to be preparing Louise for the task. Judging by her red and swollen eyes, Emma suspected that she was asking too much of Louise, but there really was no choice.

‘I have to wait for my prescription but other than that, I’m ready to go,’ Emma replied. Even the sudden surge of enthusiasm to write couldn’t delay her further. She eagerly closed down her laptop before slipping it into an oversize holdall, which was already crammed full of all the detritus of her latest hospital stay.

‘Shall I take that?’

‘I can manage,’ Emma said. She wouldn't play the part of helpless patient any longer than necessary but as she stood up, her determination faltered. The dizzy spell was more of a ripple than a wave so she did her best to hide it, taking longer than needed to pack up the last of her things.

‘Did you bring my jacket?’ Emma asked, thinking about the rain that was still coming down hard.

‘Oh, no. Sorry, Em, I didn’t think. Here, take mine.’

Louise had already begun to take off her coat but Emma stopped her in her tracks with a warning glare. She was still the older sister, which gave her an air of authority that she would cling onto until the bitter end. Louise raised an eyebrow in defiance but then shrugged her coat back on and as she did so, her eyes were drawn to something or someone behind Emma. She began to suppress a smile.

When Emma turned around, Peter was standing behind her. He had collected Emma’s medication, a cocktail of anti-seizure drugs, steroids and painkillers that would hopefully keep the tumour and its symptoms at bay in the weeks running up to her treatment. They were piled up high on the seat of a wheelchair. ‘That thing had better not be for me,’ she growled.

Peter was about to answer but Louise cut him short. ‘Don’t even try. You won’t get her to use it.’

Peter and Emma locked eyes. ‘OK, I give in,’ he said, having stood his ground for only a fraction of a second.

‘I tell you what,’ offered Emma. ‘We can use the wheelchair to carry all of my stuff to the car. In the meantime, you can have a quick break and collect it from the entrance in, say, ten minutes.’

‘If there was an element of compromise in there, then I think I missed it,’ he told her but, keen to take advantage of an impromptu break, didn’t argue.

With a few brief goodbyes to staff and patients alike, Emma and Louise meandered through the hospital towards the main exit. ‘You are alright about moving out of Mum’s, aren’t you?’ Emma asked. They had already had the same discussion over the weekend but Emma suspected that her sister had barely taken anything in, the news that the cancer was back was still sinking in.

‘Of course I am and I have a long list of friends offering to put me up. I’ll be fine, honest,’ Louise told her.

‘If I’d known this was going to happen, I would never have convinced you to rent out the apartment above the bistro.’

‘And if I had known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have depended on you so much to get me back on my feet after Joe and I split up.’

The breakup of Louise’s relationship had been a double whammy because Joe was also her business partner. He had been the head chef whilst Louise provided the front-of-house service and the bistro had been going from strength to strength. Joe had walked out on her just over a year ago and it had been Emma who had convinced her to go it alone.

This had all happened around the time that Emma had been overlooked for the marketing job at Bannister’s and she had been keen to concentrate her efforts on the bistro, where she knew she would be appreciated. It also allowed her bruised ego time to heal. Louise had bought Joe out with a substantial investment from her mum and she had eventually found a new head chef. Emma’s involvement had begun to dwindle when she started going out with Alex but she was still called upon to firefight now and again. The cash-flow problems that had resulted in Louise renting out her flat only served to prove that she wasn’t quite ready to go it alone.

‘What I wouldn’t give for a crystal ball right now,’ mused Emma as the main exit doors came into view. ‘But don’t think for a minute I’m going to spend all my time at Mum’s with my feet up.’

Louise took her eyes from the wheelchair she was trying to manoeuvre and checked Emma’s expression. ‘You’re not thinking of going back to work are you?’

Emma looked sheepish, as if she was still considering the possibility. ‘I need more in my life than hospital appointments. I need a purpose, I always will,’ she said with a smile as she realized that her kindly shopkeeper would say the same thing.

‘But …’ began Louise as she narrowly averted ramming the wheelchair into the back of an old man who had been walking down the corridor at a more sedate pace.

‘Don’t worry, even I think it would be a bit too much to go back to Bannister’s but there’s nothing to stop me interfering in your business.’