Читать книгу The Legacy of Lucy Harte: A poignant, life-affirming novel that will make you laugh and cry - Emma Heatherington, Emma Heatherington - Страница 13

After a fairly quiet but relaxed dinner, we decide to move on to somewhere new and as we walk through the evening sunshine I feel the warm fuzziness of the alcohol kicking in.

Before we left the bar, I gave Flo a discreet ‘thumbs-up’ when she finally had finished her burger followed by what looked like a chocolate sundae. She paid her bill and when Simon left the table to use the bathroom I sent her a text to tell her that he was very nice and very attached so that she could settle in the knowledge that I wasn’t about to jump his bones and then find myself embroiled in yet another messy relationship in which I try to sprint before I can even crawl.

She replied with a lecture on not drinking too much and not to divulge too much information on the first meeting, but I could tell she was much more content about me spending the evening with Simon, as was I. Plus she had just herself indulged in her mighty chocolate sundae so she was, indeed, very happy and content with her full belly, never mind my predicament.

If only Simon Harte knew how much I had allowed my errant husband to tramp all over Lucy’s precious heart and leave me in such a mess. If only he knew…

We walk past city hall and I do my best tourist-guide impression, pointing out different streets and hotels and interesting facts about Belfast. I tell Simon about Jeff and Saffron, about my job and how our break-up affected me, despite my denial at the time. I don’t mention my growing alcohol problem, of course. He doesn’t have to know everything.

‘Sorry but Jeff sounds like a right plonker,’ says Simon as we cross the street and head towards the Europa Hotel. I suggest the Europa because it’s less noisy and not as stuffy as any city centre pub and we can have a proper chat in civilised surroundings without a live band or jukebox ringing in our ears. Plus they have a pianist in the lounge which I think will complement the mood nicely.

‘That’s one word for him. A plonker,’ I joke back. ‘I can think of a whole range of others. But maybe he is happy now. Maybe I didn’t make him as happy as I wanted to. I am trying to believe in fate and that everything happens for a reason. Mind you, at this stage of the game, I have to believe in something.’

We go inside, take a seat in the piano lounge and order our drinks – Simon sticks with his Budweiser and I decide to treat myself to a Cucumber Cooler from the cocktail menu.

The pianist tinkles the ivories in the background at just the right volume and after a brief argument about what he was playing, which Simon wins – it was not a nineteenth- century classic, which I suggested, but a rather toned-down funky version of an Ellie Goulding song – we finally get down to business.

‘Do you want to tell your side of the story, or shall I go first?’ he asks. ‘I’d love to know how a girl in Ireland needed a new heart and I’m sure you want to know what happened on our side of the pond.’

Since mine is much less complicated, I decide to take the reins.

‘Well, rather than bore you to tears with my whole life story, which is completely irrelevant anyhow, I will fast-forward to when I was sixteen and where our story begins, when I was apparently a very healthy, normal teenager.’

‘You were normal?’ he says in mock surprise. So he has a sense of humour…

‘Very funny,’ I say and have a sip of my delicious cocktail. The mood is slowly loosening up with the help of good old alcohol. ‘I do share a birthday with Amy Winehouse. Same year and everything.’

‘Cool,’ he says. ‘That’s pretty impressive. Can you sing?’

‘In the shower I’m a rock star.’

‘Snap,’ he says with a smile, and then it’s time to tell him my story.

I haven’t really spoken to anyone in depth before about how I became the keeper of a borrowed heart – well, it might seem like party piece-style entertainment, but most people shy away from the subject as quickly as their eyes divert from the light scar on my chest – should they spot it – so talking to Simon, who is all ears and who has a genuine interest, is a whole new experience.

‘I was quite the athlete back then,’ I explain. ‘I won most of the prizes on every sports day and the farmhouse was like a shrine to my achievements on the track and field.’

‘Really?’ he says, seriously surprised. ‘I had visions of you as a really sick kid for years, or someone who was born with a heart condition.’

‘Not at all,’ I explain. ‘Had I had any warning signs, what unfolded would have been less of a shock. It all happened very suddenly. Totally out of the blue.’

‘Go on.’

‘I have one brother, John Joe, who is a bit older than me,’ I explain. ‘My parents had gone to the market one Saturday and left us both to take care of things on the farm, just as they had been doing for years.’

The piano man is playing an Elton John favourite and in other circumstances I would stop to listen, but I know if I don’t keep going I will never finish and I want to hear about Lucy as soon as possible and get my side over and done with.

‘John Joe and I, well, we used to be really close before I got sick. Looking back, I think he resented me for not only coming along and ruining his status as an only child, but also for then totally stealing his thunder for taking most of my parents’ attention when I almost died,’ I explain, realising that I am talking very, very fast. ‘I was helping him on the farm and I remember feeling ill, really ill. So, so ill.’

I slow down now and Simon is taking in every word, sipping his beer.

‘I went into the house, despite John Joe’s insistence on labouring me with more chores,’ I tell him. ‘He kept telling me I was faking it and being lazy and saying I looked okay and to just get on with it… I suppose he was just teasing me like any brother in charge would, but…’

‘Take your time, Maggie,’ he says. Everything feels like slow motion. The piano man has gone silent and things are blurry. Simon takes my hand.

‘These… these,’ I whisper, ‘well, they were like really heavy flu symptoms, were becoming more and more severe. I couldn’t breathe. I was sweating. I was so, so hot. I felt like I was shutting down inside. Because I was shutting down. My whole body was shutting down.’

I feel my voice break slightly so I decide to keep going and push on through the pain barrier that comes with reflecting on that dark day. If I stop talking now I will never be able to tell this story again.

‘I had to lie down, so I went to the house and when it got even worse, I called for my brother, but he didn’t come,’ I tell him, and I feel all the hurt and resentment for John Joe rush through my veins again. ‘He says he didn’t hear me but I know he did. He heard me, Simon. He heard me and he didn’t come.’

‘Oh, Maggie, he couldn’t have. He mustn’t have heard you.’

My tears flow now and I look around, not wanting to cause a scene in such a warm and social environment. I can hear the piano again. I am going to be okay.

‘Everyone says that but I think he did. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter… well, it does matter…’

God, this is harder than I thought it would be.

‘Take a deep breath, Maggie,’ says Simon. ‘We have all night. Take your time.’

He puts his hand on top of mine again and I want him to hold me so badly. I want to lean in on his manly chest and cry and cry and never stop.

But I can’t. So I do what he says. I take a deep breath and continue as best I can.

‘They say I passed out and when I woke up, I could literally see that my heart had swollen in my chest,’ I explain. ‘It looked like it was going to burst. I tried to scream but I couldn’t get a breath. And then everything went black again and I woke up in hospital, where I lay attached to a machine for almost two weeks waiting for a transplant – and then a miracle occurred. And that miracle was your sister’s gift. To me.’

‘Wow….’

‘Yip. Wow indeed.’

I stare into my glass. Simon is still holding my hand.

‘So, who found you?’ he asks. ‘Who came to your rescue? Was it John Joe?’

I see protection in Simon’s eyes and it makes me want to never let go of him.

‘My parents found me,’ I tell him. ‘When I got to hospital my heart was failing pretty rapidly. Turns out I had a congenital condition that would have killed me had they not came back when they did. I was inches from death and I needed a heart transplant to save me. Basically, I needed someone to die to keep me alive. And that someone was your sister. I’m so sorry.’

We both sit in silence, absorbing the moment. I have a flurry of emotions running through me right down to my toes. Relief, gratitude, love, grief, sorrow… but, most of all, guilt. Why did Lucy have to die and I got to live? Surely that isn’t fair?

‘And what happened since then? Could it happen to you again? Could Lucy’s heart fail?’

It’s the question I am asked the most and the one that I can never bear to answer.

‘I take immune suppressing drugs every twelve hours and will do so all my life,’ I explain to him. ‘It’s so my body doesn’t try to fight the foreign cells, which would send me into rejection, which would be the worst thing ever.’

He knows what I mean. ‘So, is there a life expectancy? Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that.’

‘It’s okay, Simon,’ I tell him. ‘I know my special heart won’t last forever and that someday I will need a new one to live and I see my consultant often enough to keep an eye on things. If that doesn’t come my way, I’m grateful for all I have and all I got to see and do. Me and Lucy, well we just take one day at a time and so far we are doing just fine.’

Simon has gone to the bathroom and I sit there waiting, hoping my side of the story hasn’t upset him too much. I feel like I have cheated him, like I have cheated Lucy and all their family. Why should I have survived when she didn’t?

When he finally comes back, I see tiny beads of water on his forehead. It’s not sweat because he didn’t have it before he left. He must have splashed his face with cold water in the bathroom.

‘Is this too much?’ I ask him.

‘No, please, no,’ he says with such sincerity. ‘It is why I am here. I have wanted to know this for so long. Tell me about your brother. Tell me the rest.’

‘I feel so guilty, Simon. I feel so bad that I am here talking to you and Lucy isn’t. You must resent me so much.’

‘Maggie, Maggie, Maggie,’ he says, sounding just like he did when he first came into the bar to meet me a few hours ago. ‘Lucy died and that was nothing to do with you. You have given me hope. To find you is like finding a missing jigsaw puzzle piece that I lost all those years ago. She lives on in you and to see you in real life is something I have always dreamed of! Please tell me the rest of your story and then I will tell you mine and I hope that, in some way, all of this can help both of us. Please, go on.’

And so I continue…

‘It took a long, long time to get the full story of what happened that day and then more time to forgive my brother,’ I tell Simon. ‘Years, really. Mum always idolised John Joe and she forgave him slowly once I had the operation and the transplant was a success. For my dad, it took a lot longer, but they managed to work together in some sort of civilised manner and then John Joe moved to America and has been womanising … I mean, working there ever since.’

Simon looks puzzled.

‘That was my idea of a joke,’ I say with a shrug. ‘He seems to go through a lot of woman. Anyhow, I’ve stayed out of his way and he’s stayed out of mine. With that unspoken arrangement in place, we all get along fine. At least we had a happy ending, thanks to your family and the brave decision your parents made.’

We sit in silence again for a few moments, both taking in the incident that I have just relived – something that I have avoided talking about for years and yet which kept me awake at night after night.

‘I’d love to give you a hug,’ says Simon.

‘I’d love you to as well,’ I say. I need a hug really badly.

I lean into him and he holds me and I close my eyes, my chest moving up and down as I focus on breathing in and out, in and out.

‘I can feel your heart beat,’ he whispers and I close my eyes and breathe.

Then I excuse myself and it is my turn to go to the bathroom. I need to compose myself before I hear Simon’s side of the story. Apart from my grievance with my brother, at least my story has a happy ending.

His doesn’t.