Page 118 of The Forever Gift

‘Your writing is lovely,’ I say, proud. ‘And you are a good girl. But I really think three gifts is more than enough on any Santa list, okay?’

‘But… but… but…’

‘Molly,’ I say.

‘But I gots to put on even more things.’ Molly looks at me with wide, desperate eyes. ‘I’m not finished.’

‘Well’ – I walk back to the sink, slipping my hand back into my gloves – ‘you’re just going to have to choose the things that matter most, Molly, and ask for those. Put the most important thing at the top.’

I watch Molly expecting some objection or perhaps some sulking, but she smiles and nods. ‘Okay,’ she says, tearing the list she worked so hard on out of her notepad and turning over a fresh page to start again.

‘I know the thing that matters the mostest ever. I’ll ask for that.’

‘Good girl,’ I say, wondering where I’m going to get a very specific pink-and-purple unicorn with multicoloured hair. I pick up her finished letter, which she has carefully folded. ‘Okay, Molly. Put your coat on please, it’s time for piano lessons. We can post this on the way, if you like.’

‘But I don’t want to go to peenano.’ Molly drops her pencil and folds her arms. ‘I want to stay at home and watchTeen Titans Go!’

‘Molly, please,’ I say, too exhausted for a tantrum. ‘This is your last lesson before Christmas. You’ll have a lovely long break then, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Molly says, closing over her notepad. ‘Can we go see Kayla after peenano?’

I nod, smiling. ‘Okay. But just for a little while. Remember Kayla is very tired.’

‘Yay!’ Molly says and scampers off to get her coat.

FIFTY-THREE

HEATHER

My phone is riddled with messages and emails. RTÉ and all the papers want to talk to me. I actually had someone from the Taoiseach’s office contact me asking if I could call them back. I haven’t had a chance. I don’t even know what I’d say if I did. I can’t deny that my heart skips a beat knowing my daughter’s plight has reached the government. But, as much as I’d like to, I don’t have time to entertain politicians. Every time I think Kayla is getting a hold on this thing, she slips a little. And every time I think she’s slipping, she fights back. My head is spinning and the sudden attention from everyone at the hospital, nurses, doctors, the other parents, combined with a media frenzy has me completely frazzled.

‘Mam,’ Kayla says, waking from what seems like endless sleeping. ‘Can we go home?’

‘What?’ I ask, rousing from the semi-sleep I fall in and out of all the time.

‘Please?’ Kayla breathes out.

I sit up straight. Instantly fully awake. I wonder if she’s dreaming. She mumbles in her sleep a lot lately. I spend hours watching her sleep. Sometimes her lips twitch and curl into a smile and I hope she’sdreaming about something wonderful. I usually ask her what she’s been dreaming about when she wakes but most of the time she’s too exhausted to tell me, or she can’t remember.

‘Home,’ Kayla sighs. ‘I want to go home.’

‘Kayla. Sweetie. The last time you left the hospital…’

I wait for Kayla to argue back the way she always does when I shoot down her suggestions with logic but all I hear is deep breathing.

‘Kayla?’

Nothing. She’s asleep again.

I curl into a ball on the bedside chair. It’s the same ball I’ve slept in for the last countless days.

Gavin drops in and out. I know he’s trying to juggle work and home life and hospital time. But his visits are becoming more and more frequent and he’s staying for longer each time. Sometimes Kayla is awake and is delighted to see him. Sometimes she’s asleep but he’s still delighted to see her. Charlotte often drops by with Molly too, though Charlotte and I don’t really speak. It’s painfully awkward since I know she went behind my back with all the Help Fund Me stuff. And it’s also very uncomfortable since neither of us have ever acknowledged that it’s been Kayla’s pride and joy recently, the one thing that’s given her light despite any of our grown-up reservations.

Molly on the other hand is a treat. She waltzes into the room with her hand on her hip, confident and ready to chat. She fills me in on her mean piano teacher who makes her practise and practise, and tells me about how she loves swimming and diving right down to the bottom to get the shiny beanie dolphin that her instructor throws in. I’ve come to enjoy Molly as a wonderful breath of innocent fresh air. Charlotte’s visits are becoming more frequent. They started out once a week, then twice weekly. Now she’s here almost every day whenMolly finishes school and I wonder when they find time for piano and swimming, but I don’t ask.

‘It’s nearly Christmas,’ Molly says, flinging back the door of Kayla’s room and charging in full of energy and excitement.

Kayla stirs from sleep at the mention of her favourite time of year, but she doesn’t wake enough to open her eyes or to speak.

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