“We'll argue in person, okay? Now just tell me what room you're in.” I shook my head, trying to alleviate the pain. “Roxy?”
“It's 127.” I slammed the phone down, my eyes watering as I buried my face in the pillow. Being awake hurt too much, I wanted to sleep. It was all I could think of. A quiet voice in the back of my mind told me I should leave, get up, get dressed and go. Lucas was going to come and I didn't have the strength for that conversation. But right now, I didn't have the strength for anything. I pulled my legs to my chest, and didn't fight the exhaustion as I let it drag me back to unconsciousness.
I didn't know how much time had passed, but it was long enough for me to fall back into a deep sleep. When the knocking came I woke suddenly, pulled from a nightmare I was grateful to have escaped. A baby had been crying, locked behind the thick rusted bars of a bare cell, his eyes bloodshot and pleading as he screamed for me, pulling himself up to stand against the walls of his cot which stood lonely in the centre of the filthy prison cell. I'd thrown myself against the bars, numb to the bruises and injuries as they mounted up. I didn't care, I just needed to get to the child. But the bars wouldn't budge. Nobody came to help me, though I screamed until my lungs burned.
The baby's cries grew desperate and I shook with maternal instinct. The need to pick him up, to comfort him consumed me as it crawled beneath my skin. Then suddenly, though I hadn't believed anything could be worse than the crying, the baby went mute. I could no longer see his face, though I knew he was still there, hidden beneath the blankets. The silence was terrifying. He was fading away. And I still couldn't get to him. I was screaming and fighting but it made no difference. I knew that I couldn't save him, it was hopeless, but I also knew that I would keep trying until my last breath.
I lay against the hotel pillow, breathing hard, covered in sweat, wondering if I'd been shouting in my sleep. The knock sounded again, more insistent this time. With slow, careful movements, I stood, eager to avoid another sickening bout of head-rush. Wrapping a blanket around myself I stumbled to the door, swinging it back on its hinges. There on the threshold stood my husband, dishevelled in a creased white t-shirt and old blue jeans. The jeans he only wore when he was sick. Comfort jeans. Our eyes met briefly, and I looked down at the carpet, unable to say a word. “Oh Rox...” he breathed. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around me and I let him, melting into his chest, too tired to fight.
He pushed the door closed and led me back to the bed, sitting down beside me and taking my hand. I threw a quick glance at him, drinking him in. I had really believed that I would never see him again. I could smell his skin, warm, a little damp from the rain. He smelled alive. Real. But none of this felt real to me. How could it be? Me sitting here in this bleak little room, no more than a stranger to the man I had vowed to spend my life with. How could he even begin to understand, to accept what was happening to me, when I no longer recognised the person staring back at me from the mirror? Who had I become in the hours that had followed that hideous scan?
I wanted to go back to this time yesterday morning. I wanted to cancel my hospital appointment and stay at home with Lucas and Oscar instead. Sing to my son. Feed him to sleep. Then make love with Lucas on the rug in the living room, whispering conspiratorially, giggling like teenagers as we tried not to disturb the slumbering baby. I wanted my headaches to disappear, the dizziness to become some distant memory. I wanted to stay.
Lucas's thumb ran lightly across the back of my knuckles and I jerked away, folding my hands in my lap. My fingernails dug into my palm as I shook the tidal wave of emotions off. “Where's Oscar?” I croaked, realising he'd come alone. “Lucas, where is he?”
“It's okay, don't panic. He's at home. Isabel's with him.”
I nodded, though I didn't feel comfortable knowing Oscar was alone with Issy. Would she know how to care for him? Had Lucas shown her what to do? “Is he... how is he?”
Lucas shook his head. “He's heartbroken Rox. He's not used to being without his mummy. You know I'm only second rate, you're the favourite. He's been screaming half the night and he won't take a bottle.”
“What? He has to, he needs the milk. Fuck, Lucas! Has Issy tried feeding him instead of you?”
“She's trying now. But it's not the same, he needs you Roxy. He needs his mother.”
I sank back, leaning against the pillows, my chest tightening painfully. “He's going to have to learn to live without me. You both are.” My voice didn't betray the pain in my heart at the thought of my son crying for me. My palms began to sweat, twitching as I pushed aside the overwhelming instinct to go to him.
Lucas's shoulders slumped. He looked at me, his eyes soft and glistening. He moved closer, though he didn't take my hand again. For a long time he said nothing. Then finally he spoke, his voice hoarse. “Maybe. Maybe we will have to learn to let you go. But not yet.” His deep brown eyes burned into mine and I met them defiantly, refusing to let him see how close I was to crumbling. “Roxy, you're acting like you've already died. You're not being fair – on any of us, least of all yourself.”
“It's going to happen Lucas.”
“But you don't know when! It could be months, years even. What are you gonna do, just waste the time you have left waiting to die, living in some kind of limbo when you could be savouring the last precious moments with us? With the child you wanted so much?”
His words hit me like a ton of bricks. My fist went to my mouth as if I could push the hurt away, my knuckles scraping roughly against my lips. Was I being selfish? I'd thought I was doing what was best for them, walking away, making a clean break before Oscar got too attached. But that was bullshit, wasn't it? He was seven months old and I was his world. There was no question that he was completely and utterly attached to me. Did it make it any easier if I walked away now? Or was it just easier for me? To walk out of my life, cut my ties because the alternative was something I didn't have the courage for? How could I stay, hold my son, feed him, fall asleep between him and Lucas knowing I couldn't keep them no matter how much I wanted to? How could I force Lucas to live with the knowledge that one day he was going to come home and find me dead? How could I bear it?
“It's not fair,” I whispered, my hand trailing down the bed, linking my fingers through his, squeezing tightly. “It's just not.”
“No.” He lifted my hand, kissing my knuckles. “But it's not fair that you cut us off like this either. We want you back Rox. We want you right until the end, whenever that may be.”
“How? How can it possibly work? You can't leave me alone with Oscar, I could drop dead at any moment, and if you're at work – he'd be alone with me, all alone!” I cried, my voice rising in panic at the thought of it.
“I won't leave you. We have enough savings to manage for a while, I'm going to take some time off and then when you're feeling more settled, I might go back part time and get a helper in to stay with you. I'll ask my parents maybe. You won't be alone darling.”
“If I come back, I won't have the strength to leave again. It was hard enough the first time.”