Another Way to Fall (12 page)

‘Yes, you can let me in,’ Emma told him. ‘Why is it all closed up anyway?’

Ben looked guiltily at the closed door. ‘It has been all week. Louise decided that it’s not cost-effective, so we won’t be opening until lunchtimes during the week now.’

Emma was about to launch into an argument about why it could and should be bringing in a profit but she closed her mouth tightly before the first words had a chance to escape. This wasn’t Ben’s argument. ‘I think I’d better have words with my sister,’ Emma told him, nodding towards the shadows.

‘So have you made it to Egypt yet?’ Ben was asking as they made their way into the bistro through the side entrance.

‘No, still in New York,’ Emma said, only half listening.

‘If you need more inspiration, I was thinking that a trip up to the top of St John’s Beacon might give you some ideas.’

They were in the hallway, which had stairs leading up to the flat above and a door that led through to the kitchens and restaurant. This was where they would part company. Emma stopped, trying to halt the thoughts racing through her mind so she could concentrate on Ben. ‘What ideas?’

‘It’s not exactly the Empire State Building, but …’ Ben was starting to lose the enthusiasm that had laced his initial suggestion.

‘I don’t know,’ Emma started but she couldn’t ignore the look of dejection in his face. Self-consciously, she tried to smooth a hand over her bedraggled hair. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, summoning a brave smile that had slipped by the time Ben had turned to go upstairs. For the moment, there were other plans being laid on her behalf that she needed to find out about.

Emma stared at the back of her mum’s head as she approached the booth and a sense of unease crept over her. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know what they were up to but if she had any last-minute doubts, the chance to run away was lost as Meg turned around at the sound of her footsteps.

‘Emma? What are you doing here?’ she asked.

There was a now familiar collection of papers spread out across the table and Meg was already gathering them up as Emma answered. ‘I could ask you the same thing.’

Meg took a breath as if she was going to answer but the lie forming on her tongue was swallowed back in one gulp. Instead, she looked over to Louise and Emma detected a slight nod of encouragement. ‘I’ve found a clinic,’ she said, already raising her hand to silence the questions that hadn’t yet formed in her daughter’s mind. Her hand trembled slightly. ‘It’s in Boston. They’re running a clinical trial, which has been showing promising results, and we think you’ll be eligible.’

‘We? It wasn’t mentioned at clinic yesterday. Does Mr Spelling even know?’ Emma’s fear of the unknown had swiftly been replaced by the fear, if not sheer terror, of the known.

‘It’s one of the programmes we were talking about when you were in hospital,’ Meg said, carefully side-stepping the question.

‘And exactly how far along in the process are you? How far have you taken this without consulting me or Mr Spelling?’ Emma demanded, her voice trembling in sync with her mum’s hand.

‘You knew I was looking at alternatives; don’t make this sound like I’ve been going behind your back,’ countered Meg.

Emma bit her tongue and chose not to point out that the only reason she was being told now was that her mum had been doing exactly that. It was a trivial detail; there were more important issues to discuss. ‘Is it going to be worth it?’

‘Yes, it is,’ insisted Meg. She rummaged through the briefcase lying by her side and plucked out a file. There was a flicker of excitement in her eyes as she passed it to Emma.

Emma remained standing, trying her best to ignore the wobble in her knees as nerves took over. She took her time leafing through the correspondence and the data sheets but her mum was there to talk her through the detail. It was evident that it wasn’t only the day job that had kept her busy.

The trial involved chemotherapy and radiotherapy, the same treatment that Mr Spelling could offer, but it also offered surgery. The procedure was still experimental but, to use Emma’s own joke, the doctor’s in Boston had sharper knives. The doctors in Boston were asking for access to all of her medical records; they would liaise with Mr Spelling and then arrange for further tests to be undertaken, after which they would decide if Emma was eligible or not.

It was still possible that the offer could be withdrawn but Emma couldn’t argue with the facts. The outcomes were extremely promising and Meg really had come as close as she could to finding that miracle cure. Emma knew she was supposed to feel relieved but she didn’t. A voice in her head had to remind her that she was dying in an attempt to summon up the courage she needed to grab hold of this last hope. But she had buried that primal fear of death before and she did it now. There was a certain sense of security in remaining under Mr Spelling’s care and accepting her fate.

‘And who’s paying for all this?’

It was the first question that Meg didn’t have an immediate answer to and alarm bells began to ring as she watched her mum’s fingers fidgeting nervously with the corner of a rogue piece of paper. ‘We’ll manage,’ she replied.

‘Who’s paying for all of this?’ Emma repeated, more slowly this time and she looked towards Louise for an answer.

‘We should only need to cover some of the incidental costs, like accommodation for Mum while you’re over there and loss of income because neither of you will be working. There are grants available but even with that, there will be a shortfall.’

‘And?’

‘And we’ll manage,’ Meg said.

Emma’s heart thudded solemnly as she felt a very large penny drop into place. ‘That’s why you’ve been working so hard,’ she said to her mum. ‘That’s why you’re practically exhausting yourself.’

‘We’re all doing our bit,’ explained Meg with a dismissive shrug. ‘Louise is going to refinance the bistro so I can release some of my investment.’

‘Really?’ Emma asked. ‘Who on earth is going to want to invest in a business that’s grinding to a halt?’

‘I’ll find a way.’

The restaurant wasn’t only filling with tension but with light too. Emma felt her heart thudding and her skin began to tingle with beads of sweat. ‘But it could destroy your business, the business you’ve been working so hard for. Hell, we’ve all been working so hard for. I can’t let you do this,’ she said. Her hand was trembling as she slammed the file back down on the table.

Louise shook her head. ‘It’s not your choice.’

Emma turned away from them and, as she did so, bright sunlight radiated all around her, obliterating not only the shadows but the entire restaurant. She was standing in a vast boardroom, complete with highly polished walnut tables and leather upholstered chairs but it wasn’t the furniture that drew her attention. In front of her, more light exploded through the window and a ghostly grey world was replaced by blue sky and, far below, a bright green canopy of trees flowing around a maze of paths and a sparkling lake. Emma knew there was a choice to be made as she prepared to turn around towards the files that would be spread out like a rainbow across the boardroom table. Before she had a chance to turn, the grey shadows slipped around her like tentacles and, with a gasp, returned Emma to the Traveller’s Rest.

Emma put her hand to her mouth and felt her breath warm her fingers, which were as cold as ice. She slowed her breathing as silence crowded around her.

‘Emma, please just say something,’ her mum prompted, concern building in her voice.

Emma took a deep gulp of air. ‘It’s my choice,’ she said, turning around to face her family. ‘I’m still in control of my own destiny.’

‘OK, having the treatment is your decision but the funding isn’t,’ insisted Louise. ‘I can do what the hell I like with my business and if you decide to refuse the money then at least we can say we tried. That’s my choice and Mum’s too.’

Emma cast her eyes over the table, expecting to see a rainbow of folders but there was only one.

‘But I can’t see any bank or investor agreeing to a loan given the state that your accounts must be in at the moment.’

There was that silence again and Emma took a breath of heavy air in preparation for whatever was coming next.

‘I’m going to contact Dad,’ Louise said.

Emma had thought she had calmed her heart rate but it hammered with a new ferocity, which transferred to her voice when she spoke. ‘Are you serious?’ she snarled.

‘He can help and, besides, he needs to know.’

‘What? Needs to know what?’ stammered Emma. ‘That I’m ill again? What do you really think he’ll do? He didn’t exactly rush to my aid last time, did he?’ She was starting to pant, almost to the point of hyperventilating.

‘Maybe he didn’t understand how sick you were. We don’t know.’

‘That’s the point, Louise. He didn’t even try to find out. He was told I had a brain tumour and all he did was send a get well card. I was fighting for my life, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t have even known if I’d survived, not unless he was scouring the obituaries.’

Louise looked unconvinced, stubbornly clinging to the idea that their father could save the day. Emma turned to her mum. ‘And you’re alright with this?’

‘If it helps with the finances,’ she said with a shrug. ‘And if you don’t want to see your dad, that’s fine. I don’t exactly relish the thought of having John back in our lives either but Louise will contact him and if she can twist the knife and bleed him dry then she has my blessing.’

‘No,’ Emma said, and with one word she had dismissed the plan to go to Boston in its entirety. ‘It’s not worth it. I’ll take my chances in this country. You don’t need his money.’

Meg’s fist thumped down on the table with such force that it made both her daughters jump. ‘I won’t let you give up, Emma!’ Meg cried. ‘If you don’t want John involved then fine, we’ll find another way, but I swear I won’t let you give up. I’m prepared to sell everything, lose everything, it’s only money.’ Meg stopped only long enough to swallow back a sob. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Emma, and I’ll never forgive myself if I haven’t tried everything I possibly can.’

Louise was silently crying, her hand covering her mouth even as she spoke. ‘Mum’s right. We’ll find another way and if I lose the business, it’s not the end of the world. Losing you is the end of the world.’

Emma felt all the fight leave her body as countless options ran through her mind, from running away and seeing out her last days on her own, to coming up with some amazing fundraising scheme to secure the funds without her father’s help. But there really was no escape. She picked up the file, pulling it from beneath her mum’s clenched fist. There really was only one choice.

Chapter 6

My choice of assignment wasn’t simply a question of choosing something that would take me to the most exotic locations, although that was still appealing. I had to choose something that would prove to the higher echelons at Clover and Alsop that Kate’s faith in me was well placed. It wasn’t only my neck on the line and I knew I was going to have to push myself to the limits.

It was no surprise, then, that I was too frightened to be excited as I boarded my flight. I wouldn’t relax until the job was done and there was a lot of work to do. My new assignment was for the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. A new exhibit was being planned and it was my job to deliver the publicity campaign that would draw in the crowds. The artefacts were going to be loaned from the Egyptian government and I had convinced my client that before they were sent from Cairo, it would be a good idea to produce some marketing material with the items in situ.

My nerves would not be calmed as the plane took off and I headed for the clouds once more. I had chosen the assignment because, as a child, my dad had dragged me around pretty much every museum in the UK. He and my mum had worked in the same solicitor’s office although, for my dad, the office seemed to hold more appeal than his own home. When he did spend time with the family we always tried to make the most of it and would often think up little excursions. His hobby was antiques and he spent lots of his free time researching in museums and the remainder visiting flea markets and car-boot sales. He said it was his Scottish blood that gave him the thirst for a bargain.

Louise being four years younger would complain loudly every time we entered yet another musty and cramped junk shop but I shadowed my father’s every step, desperately wanting to understand his obsession for the dusty relics of the past. I had feined interest at first because it was the easiest way to secure his attention. I didn’t have Louise’s cute blonde locks and rosy cheeks, which gave her the confidence to demand attention whenever she wanted. I was darker, a little too serious for my own good and I felt I had to work at it to be liked. But whatever my motives, my imagination and curiosity had eventually taken over and I began to share my father’s passion where simply holding an ancient piece of pottery in my hands could give me a tantalising glimpse of the past. I had picked up the assignment from the pile Kate had offered me without hesitation. I really had no choice.

The plane lurched and my stomach with it and my thoughts of my dad turned towards another memory. I was no longer a child but a young woman on a flight home from a family holiday in Spain before setting off for university. Looking back, it had probably been a last-ditch attempt by my parents to save their marriage but it had failed miserably, the holiday that was, although the same could eventually be said of the marriage.

We had two weeks of sea, sand and snarls and the flight home was torture. I had been seated next to Louise and we were half the plane’s length away from my parents. She would have been fourteen at the time and there was only so much of her hormone-fuelled surliness that I could take. Midflight, I had slipped into a vacant seat behind my parents. They hadn’t realized I had joined them, so weren’t aware that I could hear their whispered arguments, which led to a painful dissection of their marriage, stripping it bare until there was nothing left to resurrect. I had wanted to return to my seat next to Louise but the plane hit turbulence and I was trapped, forced to bear witness to what could later be marked as the beginning of the end of their marriage. I had hated flying ever since.