Page 51 of The Forever Gift

‘You’re worried about me?’ I say, glancing at the door of Kayla’s bedroom.

‘It’s not every day your child undergoes major surgery, Heather,’ he says. ‘Kayla is going to need time to recover. But so are you.’

‘It was scary.’ I swallow. ‘All those hours she was in surgery. And I was just sitting around. Waiting.’

‘Sitting around waiting, being right here ready to hold Kayla’s hand the minute she woke up was so important,’ he says. ‘When she woke up you were the first person she asked for.’

‘Well, then, why do I feel so useless?’

‘Being the person Kayla wants to see most in the world is more help than you can possibly imagine. When the fight gets too hard for Kayla,you’re going to fight for her and keep her fighting. You have the most important job in the world, Heather. Your job is being her mother.’

I shake my head and concentrate to keep the wobble out of my voice. ‘I didn’t think it would be this hard.’

‘No one ever does,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t mean you’re not doing great.’

‘I stayed up all night last night baking,’ I say, though not really sure why.

He looks back at me but he doesn’t talk.

‘I made, like, eighty cupcakes or something.’ I shake my head.

‘Oh, Heather, I’m sorry. I had no idea the canteen was going to put pressure on you for crazy orders that big. Did you tell them Kayla’s surgery was today? I’ll have a word with them.’

‘No, no.’ I shake my head. ‘It wasn’t them. I just went crazy. I was emptying bags of flour and sieving and whisking and… and…’

‘Heather, you do know if it wasn’t muffins it would be something else, right? I see parents take up knitting. These uber-cool mams with pointy heels and designer handbags with a big ball of colourful wool sticking out the top of them.’

‘Knitting?’ I smile.

‘Yup. Or sewing, if you don’t like wool. Painting, pottery, basket-making.’

‘Basket-making. Seriously?’

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.’ He smiles.

‘Ha, no.’ I relax a fraction. ‘Thank you. I think I’ll stick to muffins.’

‘My point is, don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s just a distraction. And a delicious one at that. I had one of your raspberry-and-white-flaky-things muffins this morning.’

‘Coconut,’ I say.

He looks at me with unsure eyes.

‘The white flaky things. They’re coconut flakes.’

‘Ah. Yes. So they are. Well, they’re good. You’re quite the legend among the staff. We’ve never been able to eat the pastries at work before and now we’re keeping the diabetes department busy.’

I laugh. It’s just for a moment until I remember where I am, why I’m here, even why we’re having this conversation. But the moment was wonderful, the split second it lasted, and I feel lighter after.

‘I hear you even dropped some extras up to the wards for the kids,’ he says.

‘Yeah. I took your suggestion on board,’ I say. ‘I’ve dropped a couple of baskets up. They probably had two or more each—’ I cut myself off mid-sentence, suddenly remembering Molly’s school’s healthy-eating policy. ‘Sorry, that was probably too much.’

‘What? Why?’ he asks.

‘Is there some rule about sugar or something?’ I wince.

‘No. Not at all.’ He scrunches his nose. ‘I was just joking about the diabetes thing. Kids love muffins. So do doctors and nurses. It was a nice thing to do, Heather. I appreciate it.’

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