‘I’m sorry, Cam, but—’
‘Fuck you, Anika. Don’t wind her up into your threads of bullshit here.’
‘I have to take care of myself … I have to do it myself …’ Her vision is starting to swim.
Cam shakes his head. ‘Anika, what the fuck are you talking about? If you just stop for a second you’d see how much we’re all giving to you, how much we’ve given you. Me, your mates. Your mum, yourbrother? Thing is,youhave to give, too. I told you – you need a balance to—’
‘Cam, stop telling me what I need! I know what I need!’
‘Anika …’
‘I know what I need!’ Her voice sounds like an echo, deafening, confusing …
‘Anika!’ Cam sounds far away. She can just about hear him and she can make out his eyes, still wide with shock, but then his face goes fuzzy. ‘Anika … ?’ The tone of Cam’s voice changes, sounding urgent, concern scoring her name with the love she thought he was denying her. And something else.
Fear?
Anika’s ears begin to hiss and she presses both palms over them to quiet the noise. Her hand flails out to grip the doorframe again but she stumbles forward.
The last thing she sees before she crumples down to the floor and into a pit of darkness is Cam’s desperate, beautiful face.
Chapter Forty-Six
Two Weeks Later
‘OK, Anika, take a deep breath.’
Anika obeys, smiling at the nurse. The woman inserts a needle into the central-line port that has been installed just under the skin in Anika’s chest. The stickiness of the plastic dressing holding the needle in place gathers her skin itchily, but she can take a bit of discomfort. It’s nothing compared to the original surgery recovery a couple of months back.
And she had a good little run between then and now, for a while at least.
Going into the hospital is starting to feel familiar even though she’s only on the second week of her treatment. Something about the routine appeals to a sense of comfort in Anika. The nurse checks her blood results one more time on the computer at the entrance to the private chemo ward, and then brings a large, clear infusion-bag of medication over to her cubicle. She hangs it up and soon Anika hears the electronic beeps as the nurse cheerfully programmes the machine. It begins to whirr, pumping poison into her body that is designed to save Anika’s life.
‘This one will run for … ninety minutes. OK? Someone will be by soon with your coffees.’ The nurse checks the machine one more time before pulling back the curtain around Anika’s cubicle, exiting and then drawing the curtain over again. Anika holds up her hand towards her mother, who is sat in the cornerreading one of the magazines she’s subscribed to since Anika was a kid, delivered to a new name now. Well, not that new, actually.Thisname might just stick, Anika realises. She was so wrong about Philip – about her mother’s choices in general. About a lot of things. She wiggles her fingers to highlight her ruby ring. ‘Look. Dad’s ring is still red. Maybe I’m lucky after all, eh?’
Nella chuckles tightly, but nods. ‘Yes, my dear. I think you are.’ She reaches over to squeeze the hand Anika gestured with. ‘Your father is with you, eh?’
Anika isn’t sure how to respond, given that her mother rarely references Nelson at all, let alone in such a wistful or positive context. She puts it down to the fragility of seeing her daughter taking IV drugs. Anika smiles to herself, glancing down into the open collar of her shirt. Maybe he is with her. Maybe he did the hard part of this cancer game to show her the path.
The chemotherapy should, with any luck, zap the small pockets of disease that have popped up in a couple of spots in her liver. That had been the source of her anaemia. The original blockage had indeed been benign, but it had masked what had been happening inside her body. Dr Elachy said the initial scans they did weren’t precise enough to see the small notches of disease, but he was surprised that Anika had felt so well these last few months. Even now, that makes sense to Anika – that she had been able to hold things off for so long through sheer force of her will.
Perhaps that’s arrogant, though. Cam’s suggestion of her being selfish still taunts her every day. Her concentration on survival feels selfish now, even if it was warranted. At least she’s armed with the knowledge of life’s fragility, about what it means to her and who she is.For good or bad.There’s a lot she needs to resolve. That last argument with Cam still plagues her. It makes her heart sink like a stone at the mere memory and it’s aconstant struggle to avoid thinking about it.
Anika is relieved to be distracted by the smiling Moroccan porter in a black waistcoat who trundles a trolley towards her bay. It’s filled with trays of hot drinks and pastries, and once again she expresses silent gratitude for being fortunate enough to have private healthcare with her new job, and a mother who would never have allowed anything but the best she could get for her daughter, regardless.
‘It was coffee for you, madam?’
Anika nods, and the man glances enquiringly at Nella, who shakes her head to decline. The porter moves on to the next bay and Anika begins to tear the custard-filled pastry that accompanied her drink into pieces to pop into her mouth. The nausea from the drugs only comes later, she noticed from the last round of chemo, so she’s going to get her fill for now.
‘Sure you don’t want something, Mum?’ Anika asks.
Nella smiles. ‘I must keep my figure looking nice. One day we will see what you will do for your husband, eh?’
Anika returns her mother’s smile along with an eye-roll, but then her mouth presses into a flat line of regret thinking about Cam again. ‘I don’t think Philip would care whatever shape you were, to be honest.’
Her mother’s expression is more contemplative now. ‘Yes,’ she says softly. She looks up as she hears Anika draw in air.
‘Listen … I’m sorry about what I said at the dinner, Mum. All the stuff about how things were when I was growing up—’
