Her Nine Month Confession

A week...there were obviously scars that his hair did not hide. A good mother...who knew? But at least I’m not a monster, Lily thought soberly.

‘So go be a good mum and I’ll be around when you need me.’ Earning his right to call himself a father.

‘It’s not that... Mum will be there on the ward, you see, and you... The explanations on top of everything else... I’m not trying to...exclude you.’

There was a long pause before he nodded. ‘I have some calls to make. I’ll have Martin...’ he nodded towards the driver behind the glass screen ‘...drive around the block until you’re finished.’

‘But I might be a long time,’ she protested.

He shrugged and handed her a mobile phone. ‘Then you’re a long time, but in case you need...anything.’

She looked at the phone.

‘It has my number in it.’

* * *

Lily watched the man’s lips move. Words came out, she could hear them, recognise them, but the words seemed disjointed, nothing he was saying made sense because this wasn’t happening. She put down the full teacup, the contents cold, and turned her head to look through the glass partition where Emmy was sitting up in bed. She was wearing her favourite pyjamas and giggling as her grandmother pretended to search for the toy she clutched in her chubby little hands—it was one of her favourite games.

The emotion swelled in Lily’s chest, the ache so intense that it drew a rasping sigh from her pale lips. This couldn’t be happening. Emmy was too little, too... It was not fair!

Life isn’t fair, said the unsympathetic voice in her head.

‘Are there any questions you would like to ask me?’

Lily slowly turned her head; she felt weirdly frozen inside. ‘Are you sure? Could there be a mistake? Results can get mixed up.’ The magazines were always full of such stories. Hope flared and died in her eyes as the doctor, firm but sympathetic, put a hand on her shoulder.

‘Your daughter is a very poorly little girl.’

Lily bit her lip, drawing blood but not noticing the metallic coppery taste on her tongue. ‘But I’d have noticed.’ Should have noticed. The guilt was there; it never went away. Her job as a mother was to protect...and she hadn’t.

‘This is not your fault.’

‘Then whose fault is it?’ she hissed, anger flaring then fizzling like cold ashes as he responded.

‘Nobody’s fault. The onset is notoriously insidious—the symptoms are often missed at this stage by professionals. Your GP did well to pick them up when he did, which puts us in a good position.’

Lily seized eagerly onto his words. ‘It does?’

‘At this stage ninety-five per cent of children go into remission following a bone-marrow transplant.’

Hope fluttered inside her skull. ‘So bone marrow is a cure?’

‘I don’t want to raise your hopes.’

Too late, she thought, fighting a mixture of frustration and trepidation as he consulted the tablet he held.

A bunch of figures that spelt out her baby’s future.

The man laid the tablet aside and removed his glasses. ‘Though the number of bone-marrow donors have increased over recent years...’

Anticipating the but, Lily rushed into speech. ‘She can have mine, can’t she?’ She laid her arm on the table and began to roll up her sleeve. ‘Take what you like.’

‘It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid,’ the man said gently. ‘I don’t want to be negative, but the fact is that your daughter has an extremely rare blood group.’

Lily closed her eyes and released a low sigh as she finally realised where he was going. ‘And I don’t.’

‘I have already discussed the subject of compatibility with your mother. She was unsure of the situation, Emily’s father...paternal relatives. It is a relatively minor procedure for the donor though there is some discomfort involved.’

Lily surged to her feet feeling the first fluttering of real hope. ‘Her father, he’ll do it.’

The doctor gave a cautious smile and reminded gently, ‘He’ll need to be tested.’

She tilted her head again. ‘He’ll do it?’ She heard the question in her own voice and from his questioning expression so did the doctor. ‘He’ll want to.’

And if he didn’t?

She pushed the question away, she had to, because the other option... Her thoughts came up against the self-protective wall she had erected and bounced back.