‘That won’t happen.’
‘January?’ Granny’s voice was quiet, but firm. ‘Supposing they cut into the wrong nerve?’
‘She wouldn’t be able to walk again,’ I said quietly.
Granny had asked me to spell out the name of the procedure again. I could hear her writing it down, no doubt to discuss with Grandad. They would look it up on their computer. She’d promised to call me the following evening, i.e. tonight.
I’m still thinking about this when I hear, ‘The dog’s tail!’ Isla claps her hands. They are on the last piece of the wooden puzzle.
‘The dog’s tail,’ Rosie repeats. ‘And what does a tail do, Isla?’
‘It goes waggy, wag, wag!’
Rosie says they can play on the ball as a treat for finishing the puzzle. Rosie has a bright blue birthing ball and what is so clever is that when Isla leans against it or rolls over it she’s doing her exercises without realising. Nothing is a task with Rosie. That’s why she can step through our front door any time.
Later that evening, when Isla is tucked up in bed, I sit, curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine, waiting for Granny to call. I’m terrified she’ll say it’s too much of a risk, but what’s the alternative? That I watch Isla get worse and worse, to the point where she can no longer walk, not even on her frame, or have any kind of independence? Of course, I’m not sure Isla even qualifies for the surgery. If I’m serious about this procedure I’d need to send all her medical notes to the hospital, along with an up-to-date MRI scan, a spinal and hip X-ray and video footage of Isla walking, kneeling and sitting. Not every child is suitable. There’s the money to consider too. The surgery costs thousands of pounds. This is probably why my doctor has never mentioned it; he’s only suggested Botox treatment that is effective but doesn’t last long before the tightness in her legs returns. The money Lucas and I inherited after our parents’ death has been enough to give us a roof over our heads; I know how fortunate I am. ‘But I haveparents,’ Lizzie had once said to me when I told her I felt guilty that she was struggling to pay her rent. Yet I’m in no position to pay for this. Plus, it’s not only the surgery. It’s the intensive care and rehabilitation, the travel, the ongoing check-ups. I’ve been jotting down ideas as to how to raise the cash. Lizzie and I are going to do a sponsored run; I could sell cakes and biscuits at Isla’s nursery; I could pawn all my gold. I touch my gold locket. I’ll sell it if I have to. But I can’t. I can’t sell it. It’s the only thing that makes me feel close to my parents. My brother is the obvious solution; he earns a fortune in the City. This would dent his income, but by no means bankrupt him, and Isla is his niece. We might not be close, but he’d want to help, wouldn’t he? I’d reinforce the fact that it was a loan. But then again, realistically how would I ever pay him back? I think I’d rather sell my house than ask my brother. This is what I’ll have to do. Sell up and rent further out of London. I’ll live in a tin hut if I have to.
The telephone rings. I give myself time to have another gulp of wine before picking up, my heart beating fast.
‘January,’ Granny says, ‘we’ve talked about it. It is a risk. Whatever the outcome, Isla’s life will never be the same.’
‘I know.’
‘The way we look at it is you either take Isla on a trip to America or you invest in the most expensive fancy wheelchair.’
I laugh and cry in relief as Granny continues. ‘We need to get the money together. You can’t travel on your own. I’m coming with you. We can sell some pictures, flog some furniture and Grandad and I will ration baths to twice a week. Only joking. We’ll do as much as we can, but we can’t raise it all.’
‘I’ll sell the house.’
‘Over my dead body. It’s the one and only bit of security you have, January. Let’s see if she qualifies for the surgery first. If she does, we say a prayer to win the lottery or we ask Lucas. One way or another we’ll raise the money.’
Three months later, while Isla is at nursery, Lucas and I meet in a cafe in the City, close to his office in Cornhill.
I buy the coffees. Lucas asks for a slice of millionaire’s shortbread too. As I wait to be served I glance over at him, sitting at the table with his BlackBerry that he’s surgically attached to. I long to feel a connection that binds us together. Lucas is tall and broad-shouldered with light-brown hair and blue eyes. He works out in the gym each morning before work; he’s on his bike at the weekend. Every inch of him is disciplined and he’s handsome in a sporty, fit kind of way. He dresses conservatively, his hair is cut short, his tie is always straight. He wants no nonsense, no fuss; everything in his life needs to be kept simple and controlled. I place the millionaire’s shortbread in front of him, along with his black coffee. ‘Thanks,’ he murmurs, still tapping on his BlackBerry.
‘What’s this all about, Jan?’ he asks, after he’s fired off a message. He tucks into his biscuit.
I twist the packet of sugar in my fingers, unsure how to begin. ‘It’s about Isla,’ I say, my stomach clenched with nerves. I can see the letter from the hospital, sent to me a week ago. ‘Thank you for sending Isla’s video tape and medical information… We feel she is an excellent candidate…’
I didn’t scream or shout, or wave the letter in the air. My feelings were mixed. Part of me had wanted them to turn us down; then I wouldn’t have a choice, I wouldn’t be able to roll the dice and play with Isla’s life. We could muddle on. We’d established a good routine. Yet when I read, ‘If she has this surgery we expect that her sitting, standing, walking and level of comfort will improve,’ I was in the other camp, the other part of me happy, clinging on to the only piece of hope we’d had since the diagnosis.
‘What about Isla?’ Lucas prompts me.
‘I want to take her to America.’
‘Right. For a holiday?’
‘Not exactly. I’ve researched a treatment that might help her walking.’ I tell him that Lizzie and I had filmed Isla in her swimming costume sitting on a stool, kneeling down and walking on her frame, all the movements the doctor needed to see to determine if she qualified for the treatment. ‘Isla didn’t know what was going on. We played music, anything to try and make her relax, poor thing she was shivering in her costume, you know how freezing cold she gets.’
‘Jan, I can’t be too long.’
‘Well, as I was saying, I’ve researched this treatment in America, and she’s been accepted. But it’s expensive.’
‘Right.’
I give him the figure.
He doesn’t blink.
