The Last Love Note(31)

‘What were those three items I asked you to remember?’ Doctor Wilson asks, after a few more basic questions. She puts the file down and looks at Cam carefully.

Confusion.

‘I recall you asking me to remember some things.’

‘Take your time. There were three.’

Table, Cam. Shoe! RICHMOND STREET! How can this be so hard?

He looks at me, tears in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Katie.’

His remorse over failing this test is the single most tragic moment I’ve ever witnessed. My blood runs cold as I feel our relationship slipping away from us already, ushering in a bleak new reality that’s dark and confusing and something I don’t feel remotely equipped to handle.

‘We’ll get to the bottom of this, but you’ll need to be admitted,’ the doctor says. ‘There are lots of tests to come. I’ll hand you over to the nursing staff to make that happen.’



With Cam finally settled on the seventh-floor neurological ward by 8pm, I’m made to leave so he can get some proper rest. And so that I can too, apparently, even though I know for a fact I’m not going to sleep a wink. I’ve been updating Grace and Hugh all afternoon, and I’d had to phone Mum earlier to fill her in and ask her to collect Charlie from childcare mid-afternoon.

‘Neurological ward?’ she’d repeated just now when I called again. ‘But Cam is such a brilliant man, Katherine!’

‘Brilliant men do get sick, Mum,’ I’d answered impatiently. ‘Being clever isn’t an immunity idol.’

‘A what?’

‘Never mind.’

‘But his brain, of all things?’

Thankfully Grace was due back about now and should be at home with Charlie soon, waiting for me. I really need a non-confrontational face.

I walk into the lift and push the button for the ground floor. The doors close and I feel temporarily cocooned. Of course as soon as the doors shut, the tears come. What is going to happen to us? What about this baby?

Moments later, the bell pings and the lift doors open and I have this fleeting wish that my fairy godmother will be standing there, ready to transform the entire situation. But it’s some other crying family, going up. This place is horrible.

I’ve never felt more alone than I do walking into the hospital’s main foyer, which was buzzing earlier in the day but is now dimly lit and eerily quiet. When I see him, I stop in my tracks. He’s sitting on the lounge alone, illuminated by his laptop, tie undone and draped around his neck, shirt sleeves rolled up. Diligent. Patient.

When he sees me, he shuts the lid of the computer and stands up. I walk straight over to him, not even trying to disguise the fact that I’m upset. I want to fall into his arms and bawl, but something stops me. It’s not the fact that he’s my boss – in this moment we are just two humans having a very real, grown-up experience. It’s the invisible wall he keeps around himself, which I noticed the first time we met. It commands respect.

‘Why are you still here?’ I ask.

‘I went back to work in the interim,’ he explains. ‘But you gave me a comprehensive list of all the support you don’t have. Your best friend is at home with Charlie. You crashed your car. I figured you’d need a lift home eventually.’

I don’t know what to say. It’s extraordinarily kind of him. ‘I would have caught an Uber.’

‘I know. But you’ll be up for some hefty medical bills and a lot of uncertainty. It’s one small thing I could do to help. I’d have been working at home in Kingston, ten minutes away, anyway. This is just a change of scene.’

Does he ever stop working? I wait while he packs up his things and we walk outside into the crisp night air where I breathe deeply.

‘This has been the worst day of my life,’ I tell him bluntly. I immediately feel guilty, because today was also the day we saw our baby for the first time, and that was temporarily gorgeous.

We’re walking slowly back to the car park. It’s the speed you’d saunter in the twilight if you had all the time in the world – or were trying to string out the sweet spot between one horrible reality and another, as I am. Being here, with all this medical testing horror, and being at home without Cam. I’m dreading getting through Charlie’s night-waking and calling out, invariably for Daddy, who he seems to favour at the moment. Gosh, now more tears.

Hugh walks beside me and must be well aware of my crying but is doing nothing to cheer me up. It’s the perfect response. So many people can’t handle someone’s discomfort, but this gentle strength is exactly what I need right now. Of course that makes me cry even more . . .

‘Will Grace be able to stay over?’ he asks.

Oh, I hope so.

‘Obviously don’t give a second thought to work,’ he adds.

I hadn’t given it a first thought.

‘The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong,’ I say. Hugh hasn’t intruded, but I need to talk about it. ‘She said they need to do a lot more tests. The CT scan didn’t show anything obvious.’

We’ve reached Hugh’s Audi now, and he clicks the central locking. I swing myself into the leather passenger seat and notice how immaculate it is. No mashed rusk and random sultanas worked into the upholstery. I try to imagine Hugh as a dad, and think he’d struggle a bit with the mess.