There have been days when Audrey has felt chastened by Zoe’s courage, days when she has watched her laughing at a nurse’s jokes even as a needle pierces her skin, days when Zoe has smiled to greet the doctor who will be prodding her for the next half an hour, days when she has nodded to reassure Audrey that she is OK as she lies down on a gurney for yet another biopsy. There have been days during which Audrey has watched the suffering, pain, indignity and distress of her little girl and felt an impotent fury that she is unable to stop it. There have been many days when Audrey has silently raged against her own powerlessness.
She places the star-wrapped present on the beige bedside table, next to the Walkman and a selection of Zoe’s favourite cassettes: audiobooks of I Capture the Castle, Little Women, Roald Dahl and Shirley Hughes. On top lies the tattered copy of Ballet Shoes that Jess often reads aloud when they arrive to find Zoe awake. The twins know the story of Pauline, Petrova and Posy almost off by heart and they seem to find an unspoken comfort in it, as though time has reversed to the Christmas three years ago when Audrey first gave it to Zoe. Reading Noel Streatfeild, it is as if time has been paused in 1985 and they do not have to acknowledge what the future will bring.
Over the past few weeks, Audrey has watched Zoe grow weaker day by day. She has witnessed the tiny portions of food and water shrink even further, felt the heaviness of Zoe’s head as she has lifted it to plump her damp pillow. She has watched the life begin to seep from Zoe’s body, watched the light dim behind her eyes. Some days she feels as though she is watching her daughter slowly disappear, like some terrible, long-drawn-out magic trick, and there is nothing she can do to stop it.
She thinks about the consultant’s kindness when she and Edward had sat in his office six days ago: a compassionate elderly man who seemed to have the loss of every patient etched into the lines around his eyes. She remembers his gentle tone – almost a whisper, as if he knew the world wasn’t yet ready for what he had to say – as he had told them there was nothing more to be done. Recalling the conversation now, Audrey can feel the air leaking out of her, like a badly tied balloon, just as it had as she’d sat on a high-backed melamine chair, wishing her legs would carry her out of his office so that she didn’t have to listen to what he was saying. She hears his voice in her head, talking through their options: keep Zoe in the hospital; move her to a hospice; take her home. Three separate options, each with the same outcome: Zoe is going to die.
Audrey blanches as she thinks about all the arguments she and Edward have had in the past six days: more rows than in the past sixteen years. Audrey still cannot believe that he does not want to bring Zoe home, that he thinks she will be better cared for by professionals. They know what they’re doing, Audrey. They know best how to look after her. She’ll be more comfortable with them, I promise you. Sitting now beside Zoe’s bed, thinking of Edward’s rationale, disbelief rises again into Audrey’s chest, filling her lungs with a quiet fury. Her fists curl into tight balls, recalling her response: I’m the best person to look after my daughter. She’s coming home. There’s nothing more to say. She still cannot believe that Edward is prepared to forgo a single second of however long they have left with Zoe.
They have not told the twins the reason Zoe will be coming home later this week. She and Edward have discussed it and it is the one thing upon which they are agreed: Lily, at fifteen, is old enough to know the truth; Zoe and Jess are not. Audrey cannot bear the thought of the twins spending Zoe’s last few weeks under the cloud of knowledge that they are to be permanently separated. If it is not within her gift to ensure that her girls can spend their whole lives together she can, at the very least, give them time together unencumbered by the awareness of what is to come. She does not want Jess’s overriding memories of her sister to be the crippling apprehension of Zoe’s imminent death. Audrey already feels certain that Jess will never recover from the loss. The twins’ closeness is something beyond language, beyond understanding, a bond formed in a place preceding memory. Audrey cannot imagine how any of them will cope with the loss of Zoe. But it is Jess, she knows, who will feel it most profoundly.
Zoe’s eyelids flicker, and then open slowly, as if uncertain where they might find themselves. ‘Mummy.’
One word, two syllables: enough to break Audrey’s heart.
She leans over and kisses Zoe on the lips. They are dry, the skin unyielding, as if coated in a thin film of plastic. Audrey raises her head, painting an expression of reassurance on her face. ‘Hello, angel. How are you feeling?’
Zoe smiles but with an effort that causes the muscles to contract inside Audrey’s chest. ‘A bit tired. Where’s Jess?’ It is always the first question Zoe asks on the days her twin is absent.
‘She’s at Emily’s today, sweetheart. She’ll be here tomorrow.’
Zoe closes her eyes and Audrey thinks that perhaps she has gone back to sleep. But then they open again and Zoe’s voice, when it emerges, is low and small as if she has drunk a potion in Wonderland and it has shrunk to a fraction of its normal size. ‘When can I come home, Mummy?’
Audrey squeezes her daughter’s hand, the reply lodging in her throat. She blinks against her tears, forces her lips into a smile. ‘Soon, my love. I promise.’ The declaration tastes bitter on her tongue, not because it is untrue but because it is a half-truth so painful she is not yet ready to say it out loud.
Holding Zoe’s hand, she remembers the first day she cradled her in her arms, just seconds after Zoe had taken her first breath. She remembers promising always to protect her, to look after her, to shield her from harm. They are promises she is painfully aware of having failed to keep.
Zoe smiles again before closing her eyes and drifting back to sleep.
Audrey looks at her daughter, her heart aching with love. Where, she thinks, will all that love go when Zoe is no longer able to receive it?
Audrey stays for a few minutes more, watching, waiting, wishing that the sheer strength of her love could make her daughter well again. She leans over and kisses Zoe’s forehead, strokes her cheek, and is filled with a panicked disbelief at the thought that there will come a time, very soon, when she will never be able to do this again. A time when she will never again be able to caress her daughter’s skin, kiss her lips, hold her hand. It is baffling to Audrey: how can Zoe be here now and yet soon she will not? How can that possibly happen? It is incomprehensible, yet Audrey knows it to be true: a knowing and a wishing not to know that sears her heart as she gazes down at her daughter, yearning to fuse their bodies together so that she would never have to leave her side.
She kisses Zoe again – twice, three times – knowing there will never be enough time for all the kisses she aches to give. Grief stings her eyes with the loss she knows is to come. She hesitates beside Zoe’s bed, aware that it is time to leave yet longing to stay. The ticking of each precious second chimes loudly in her ears and she knows that in just a few days’ time she will leave the hospital for the last time, carrying in her arms the little girl she had once thought invincible, the little girl for whom she would give her life to shield from harm.
Part Five
June
Chapter 35
Audrey
The babble of conversation filled Audrey’s ears as she looked around the room at her fellow choir members and then down at her watch.
In just over an hour and a half, all ninety-three of them would step onto the stage of the Royal Albert Hall and, with Ben conducting, perform a song in front of a five-thousand-strong audience, half a dozen TV cameras, and potentially millions of television viewers.