‘I was coming to that – I’m so sorry, Victoria. I should have waited to hand you that leaflet,’ the doctor stuttered.
‘I read about it online this morning and didn’t allow it to register, to be honest,’ Vic said. ‘I’ve never had a burning urge to have a child. In fact, I’ve been in a real dilemma as to what I should do with regards to starting a family. But when you’re told it’s not any kind of option, that’s a whole different thought process, isn’t it?’ Vic’s voice wobbled.
‘Treatments are progressing all the time,’ Dr Anna replied, with a softness to her voice.
‘I need to be realistic here.’ Vic was suddenly matter-of-fact. ‘And spinning it on its head, my decision about having children has been made for me. Maybe that’s a positive out of this whole awful mess. And I’m not stupid, Anna. It’s going to be difficult enough dealing with me having this bloody virus, let alone throwing trying to have a family into the mix.’
‘Keep the conversation going, though, Victoria, because you may say that now, but all kinds of feelings are likely to engulf you. And I’d be lying if I said all of this is going to be plain sailing, but I will do my damned best to make sure it’s as easy as I can make it from my end. And if you decide you do want a child in the future, then we will talk about that again.’
Victoria took a huge breath. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
‘So, I will see you again early February.’ Dr Anna shut Vic’s file. ‘You will get a letter confirming everything, but as I said, any worries, please call this number here, or if you arereallyconcerned about anything at all, then just turn up and we will do our best to find somebody to see you.’ Dr Anna handed Vic a card. ‘Do you have any plans for Christmas?’
‘I don’t feel like celebrating anything, but I’m going to my mum’s in Windsor. You?’
‘Oh, just a quiet one for me.’ Dr Anna stood up and squeezed Vic’s shoulder. ‘Be kind to yourself, Victoria, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.’
The overground Tube rattled its way back to near Orla’s flat. Just days before, Vic had not even heard of the term CD4, let alone known that cells of that name were surging around her body, protecting her from all kinds of infection.
Also, how ironic thatart, the subject she had practised and loved all her life, was also the abbreviation for antiretroviral treatment – the drugs that would eventually keep her alive.
Exhausted from her jumping train of thought, Vic shut hereyes. A vision of handsome, wild-haired Nate sprang to mind. She was surprised at her own self-control in not picking up the phone to him and screaming out that she had HIV and it was all his fault, but as she had thought before, once the secret was out, it was out, and it was huge, and it was hurtful, and it was terrifying. And the longer she kept it in, the easier she felt it would be.
Her brief rest was interrupted by a text from Mandy.
Vic! Where are you? How are you? We need to talk honeymoon, it’s been an age. Christmas is madness, but let’s set a date for new year. Love you x
Vic hadn’t even thought about how she would tell her friends. She expected Orla to not even break her stride, but dear, sweet, innocent Mandy… She had no idea how she would react. And what if they didn’t support her? What if they couldn’t cope with it all?
To try and turn her thoughts away from the darkness, she reached for the small art pad in her bag and began to turn the pages. Her etching of rowers on the Thames at Putney made her stop and think back to that beautiful summer’s day in July, when she’d got up early and sat on a bench in complete peace, aside birds singing in a tree above her, and had sketched the relaxing river scene.
She wished she could bottle the feeling that using her creativity gave her, and take a sip of it every time she was feeling low. Maybe that was it: she should engineer doing what she loved for herself, every day. Because she was under no illusion that from now on, there were going to be good days and bad days, and sad days when the elixir of art may be her saving grace.
But now, just for a few days, and with Christmas afoot, she would pretend that everything was fine and dandy. That she didn’t have a life-changing health condition, and that she didn’thave an insurmountable mountain to climb, and that whatever happened, everything was going to be all right.
TWELVE
WINDSOR
Christmas Eve
Vic arrived at her mum’s with a small wheelie case just as Joti was about to pull off her drive. Rolling down her window, the neighbour called out, her voice cold, ‘Glad I’ve caught you, Vicki.’
Vic prepared herself for confrontation.
‘I’d really appreciate you keeping an eye on that dog of your mum’s whilst you’re here. He did it again the other day. In exactly the same place. It’s not on.’
Vic felt her hackles rise. But the last thing she wanted to do was to get into any kind of doorstep fracas, especially not over dog shit. She hurried to open the front door before she said something she might regret.
As if Joti had picked up on Victoria’s thoughts, she added, ‘And you should know that I saw your mum walking the dog up and down the road here in her dressing gown and bare feet the other night.’
To Joti’s surprise,Vic stopped in her tracks and broke down in tears.
The neighbour’s stony expression cracked, and her face was suddenly full of concern. ‘Oh no. Sorry. I really didn’t mean to upset you.’
Vic wiped her face with her jacket sleeve. ‘It’s fine. I’m just not feeling myself today.’
‘Do you want to talk?’ Joti looked up at her with honest, kind eyes, and Vic felt bad once again for how their last conversation had gone.
