The Mummyfesto (45 page)

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘If it wasn’t that it would embarrass the hell out of you, I would kiss you in the street.’

‘Phew,’ said Will. ‘Lucky escape there then.’

I sat behind the table staring out at the assembled media. We had to hire a big room at the town hall to do things like this these days. There was a time when the very thought of that would have sent us giddy with excitement. It was a very long time ago now though. I glanced across at Jackie who gave me a wink. Neither of us was relishing doing this. Putting ourselves out there again. Having to be in the same room as some of the people who had caused us so much pain. It wasn’t about us, though. It was about something far bigger. Which was why I was about to swallow my pride and smile and be polite to our assembled guests.

‘Thank you for coming at such short notice,’ I began. ‘We have a statement on behalf of the Lollipop Party which
we want to read to you. For reasons which will become apparent, we won’t be taking questions afterwards.

‘The last couple of weeks have been extremely trying for us. Our family members have been thrust into the media spotlight in a way which, rightly or wrongly, we never anticipated.

‘Last week Jackie and I reluctantly decided that we would withdraw from the election campaign in order to protect our families from any further intrusion. Sam asked us to wait a week before officially withdrawing in case we changed our minds.

‘Unfortunately within hours of that decision, Sam’s youngest son, who, as has already been reported, suffers from spinal muscular atrophy, was taken seriously ill. We’re heartbroken to say that he has now been given a matter of days to live.’

I paused as my voice caught. Jackie squeezed my knee under the table. I looked at the faces of the assembled media. Faces that were now softer than they were a few minutes ago.

‘Jackie and I have decided that we will stand in the election as a tribute to Sam’s passion for the Lollipop Party and her desire to make this country a better place to live for children and families.

‘Sam will not, of course, be taking part in any more campaigning. But we and the other Lollipop Party candidates standing across the country will be continuing the campaign. If you believe in what she believes in, we ask you to vote for us.

‘We also ask that the media respect the privacy of Sam and her family at this most difficult time. What she has discovered, and indeed what we have all discovered, is that there are some things in life more important than politics. And that is why we are standing. We are not career politicians. If we get elected our families will still come first. If you would rather vote for someone who thinks the world begins and ends at Westminster then please do so. If, however, you think it’s time that ordinary people who are not in it for the money or the kudos or because of their egos, who, to be honest, would rather not be standing at all right now but are doing so because they believe so passionately in making this country a better place for everyone, then you may wish to consider voting for us.

‘Most importantly, we ask you to think of Sam and her family. They aren’t religious. They don’t want your prayers because no amount of praying is going to change what will happen to Oscar. But what you can do for them is to think about what’s important in your life and make sure it’s the things that really matter. Thank you.’

My hands were still trembling as I finished. I put the piece of paper down and glanced at Jackie. She nodded. We got up and walked out together. Leaving a strangely quiet room of people behind us.

The response was instant and overwhelming. Tweets, Facebook postings, emails and messages on the blog from other mums, all of them sending their thoughts to Sam
and her family. Quite a few of them from people who had lost a child or been through their own traumas and come out the other side. Several from politicians from other parties, putting aside the election rivalry for a moment to demonstrate that they were human beings too.

I had a direct message on Twitter from Gavin at Radio 4 saying simply,

Perhaps in different circumstances I might have replied. Might have sat there trying to think of something suitably appreciative to say. But at that moment, it was enough to know that someone cared. That lots of people cared. That we were not on our own.

My mobile beeped. The message was from David.

I shook my head and looked at the ceiling. It was too late, of course. And it wasn’t going to change anything. But I was glad that the father of my children had shown some degree of humanity.

I continued scrolling down the messages. My phone beeped again. Sam’s name came up. For a second I thought the worst. Until I saw the words on the screen.

There was a knock at our door, Julie, our family support worker, put her head around it, saw that Oscar was sleeping and gestured to Zach.

‘Are you coming, Zach?’ she whispered. ‘Molly and Jack are ready to play.’ Zach nodded, jumped up and followed her out without so much as a backward glance. Molly and Jack were the other members of the sibling group. They had a bond. Not an obvious one, like being into Moshi monsters or something. A far deeper one than that. They each had a brother or sister who was going to die soon. In Zach’s case, it would be any time now. And what I hoped more than anything was that Molly and Jack would be able to understand in a way that no one else could. And that one day, Zach would be able to understand for them.

‘He’ll be OK,’ said Rob. He didn’t mean at the group. I
knew that. We had got used to saying big things in a small way.

‘I hope so.’

‘I know so.’

I looked at him. ‘It’s surprised you, hasn’t it, this place?’ Rob nodded. ‘I was so scared of it for such a long time.’

‘Because of what you associated it with?’

‘Yeah. I didn’t want to have to think about any child dying. Let alone Oscar.’

‘I guess I was the other way. I wanted to immerse myself in it, as if I could build up some kind of immunity.’

‘It didn’t stop it happening though, did it?’

‘No. But it did mean I knew to come straight here when the time came.’

We sat for a while, silently watching over Oscar, until Chris, one of the nurses came in. He stopped, realising instantly that Oscar’s breathing was more laboured than it had been. Noticing that the blue-tinge on his lips was stronger than ever.

He crouched down next to us. ‘I think we’re very near,’ he said. ‘You might want to gather the people you want to be around you. Give everyone a last chance to say goodbye. I can’t say how long you’ll have with him, but he will be all yours.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. Rob put his arm around my shoulder. I turned to Marie who was standing in the doorway behind us, trying very hard to stay professional when I suspected from the look on her face that she wanted to burst into tears as much as I did.

‘Can you get Zach back please?’ I asked. ‘And can you call my mum and dad in from the garden. Ask them to come straightaway.’

‘Of course, love,’ she said.

I sat down next to Oscar’s bed. Stroked his clammy forehead. ‘It’s OK,’ I whispered. ‘Mummy’s here. I’m going to be right here with you all the way.’

Rob sat down next to me, his face pale and drawn. His legs were stretched out under the bed. I could see his left knee shaking. I took his hand in mine.

‘He looks tired,’ I said. ‘Oscar never does tired. Maybe it’s his way of letting us know he’s ready.’

There was a knock at the door. Julie came in with Zach. ‘I’ll be right outside if you need me,’ she said.

Zach looked at me, his eyes darker and deeper than I’d ever seen them before. He was too young. Far too young to have to be dealing with this. I lifted him up and sat him on my lap, hugging him to me.

‘It’s time to say goodbye to Oscar, love. He’s tired now. He’s finding it too tricky to breathe.’

Zach nodded solemnly. ‘And Daddy won’t have to do the dragon monster sucking machine on him ever again, will he?’

‘No, love.’

‘Good. I don’t think he liked that. Not really.’

I buried my face in his hair, drinking in the goodness in him. Wiping away both our tears in turn.

‘Where will he go when he dies?’ asked Zach. ‘And please don’t say he’s going to be a new star in the sky because
I know all about astronomy and I know it doesn’t work like that.’

I smiled again through the tears. My big boy being so grown-up. So brave.

‘Marie’s going to take him through to the butterfly suite for us. Remember, the place I showed you yesterday?’

‘The one that felt like the fridge bit in Tesco?’

‘Yes.’ I smiled and stroked his hair.

‘Good. He’ll like it there. They’ve got a Mickey Mouse duvet cover. And there was an Ey eore on the bed.’

I swallowed hard. ‘Do you want to go through with Julie now and get it ready for him, then? You can take his bits and pieces from here if you like.’

Zach picked up Oscar’s pirate hat and home-made telescope from the bedside table. I opened the door. Julie nodded, took his hand and led him through.

I turned to Rob. He looked as if he might either collapse, fall or be sick at any moment. ‘We can do this,’ I said to him. ‘We can get through it together.’

He stared at me. He looked lost. Empty. ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking down at his feet. ‘I’m being totally crap at this.’

‘No, you’re not,’ I replied, taking his hand. ‘You’re just hurting. And everybody hurts differently.’

Rob gazed down at Oscar. ‘I don’t think I can bear to let him go.’

‘Don’t think of it as letting go,’ I said. ‘Think of it as releasing him.’

Zach came back in with Julie. He sat on my lap. He was quieter, rubbing the nail of my thumb over and over again.

There was a knock on the door. Julie opened it. It was Mum. Zach ran straight over to her. She folded him into her arms. Her first-born grandson. Soon to be her only grandson. The word precious, didn’t even come close. She looked up at me, her eyes glistening, and shook her head slowly. I knew exactly what she was thinking. No one should have to see their child suffer. No one at all.

Dad shuffled into the room. I hadn’t even realised he’d been standing in the doorway, teetering on the edge, perhaps unsure about what to say or do. He came over and took my hand, patted it and opened and closed his mouth without saying anything, looking for all the world like an actor who’d forgotten his lines.

The truth, of course, was that there was no script. We were all having to ad lib, to improvise our way through a scene we had never wanted to be in. A play we had always hoped would not make it to this stage.

Oscar’s face turned towards us for a second. I was sure he could hear us. Sure he could feel the overwhelming love in the room. His breathing quickened again.

‘I’ll be outside if you need me,’ whispered Julie. I beckoned to Mum and Dad to come forward. Mum stroked Oscar’s cheek with her trembling finger, the tears streaming down her face, before kissing him on the forehead. Dad bent and kissed him on the lips, as if in a valiant last attempt to breathe life into him. Neither of them was able to speak.

‘Is it my turn now?’ asked Zach.

‘Yes, love,’ I said, ‘take as long as you need.’

‘Night-night Oscar,’ he said, giving him a great big slobbery kiss on the cheek. ‘You were the best pirate captain ever.’

I smiled and cried at the same time. Leant over and hugged my boys to me for one last time.

‘Will I have to go home when he dies?’ asked Zach. ‘Will one of those sad men in black coats come and get Oscar?’

‘No, love,’ I said, stroking his hair. ‘He can stay in the butterfly room until the funeral. We’ll be right there with him in the flat. We can go into his room and see him whenever we like.’

‘Good,’ said Zach. ‘I’d like that.’ And without another word he slipped down off the bed, took Mum’s hand and led her out through the patio doors into the remembrance garden beyond. Dad followed them, leaning heavily on Julie.