Chapter Ten

“Mum, can I speak to you for a second?” I call out.

This whole thing is getting ridiculous. She stops in the hallway, waiting a good few seconds before turning around and entering the room. She can’t even look at me.

This is fucking embarrassing.

“Yes?” she says, clearing her throat.

“Can we please move on from what you walked in on the other day?” I plead, my face heating up. “It’s been over a week,” I add. Eight days, actually.

“I’d be more than happy to never speak of it again,” she replies. She’s focusing way too hard on the empty glass that sits on my table.

I sigh, because I don’t know how to get past this. “Look, Josh set me up with someone to help relieve my stress. That’s all it was.”

“I really don’t need the details, Ryder. You’re twenty-four. What you do with your time is completely up to you. I’d really rather we not go into details.”

“Good,” I say, “But that means you’re going to have to look me in the eye eventually.”

Her gaze slowly travels upwards until our eyes meet. She smiles, and I can see she’s trying.

“One more thing.” I close my eyes. I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “I was thinking that maybe I could stay with you guys for a few weeks after we get back home. Just until I’m back on my feet,” I add hastily.

As I expected, Mum’s face lights up. She steps forward and throws her arms around me. “Oh, Ryder, I’d love that,” she gushes.

I roll my eyes and pat her on the back, pretending it isn’t a big deal. But seeing how happy I’ve made her makes me feel happy. I knew how much it meant to Mum that she was able to look after me. I’d found a way to do something nice for someone else without spending any money. All it had cost me was my freedom.

And possibly my sanity. 

**

The following day I’m ready to fly home.

The pain is still intense—so much so that I can’t sit properly and I’m pretty high on some powerful painkillers, but at least I can walk. We fly first class—because it gives me the most privacy and the space to lie on my side. Mum had wanted to travel economy with Hails and Dad, but I’d insisted on paying for all of them to fly with me.

 

“Are you sure you should be walking?” Mum frets, pacing around me like she is herding sheep.

I roll my eyes and put my hand up. “I’m fine. The doctors said walking is good for the muscles.”

“We’ll set you up in the spare room downstairs. I don’t want to have to worry about you climbing up and down those stairs all day. Imagine if you fell,” she gasps, her hands flying to her mouth.

“Mum. Quit worrying. I’m fine.”

All I can think in my head is that staying here is going to drive me fucking insane.

This is all Scarlett’s fault.

I’d let her get into my head about making other people happy, but I think I preferred making sure I was happy. I go to my bedroom and close the door. My suitcases are already unpacked and my clothes are neatly folded and placed in the wardrobe. I roll my eyes and climb onto the bed. Pulling out my phone, I text Scarlett.

Me: I hope you’re happy. This is going to drive me nuts.

Her: What is? What’s going on?

Me: My good deed? Staying with my parents because I knew how happy it would make my Mum.

Her: You’re home? Congrats! And good on you. I’ll call you later. I had to take Jake to the hospital.

My heart begins to race. I haven’t even spoken to Jake yet and I’m worried for him. I’m worried because I know he is her whole world.

Me: Is everything okay?

Her: Not sure. His medication isn’t working as effectively as they would like it to.

I set down my phone and pull out my laptop as a memory flickers in my head. A few weeks earlier I’d seen something on the news about ground-breaking research into cystic fibrosis. It takes me a few minutes to locate the story.

A professor in the UK, widely known as one of the leading CF specialists in the world, was running a series of trials into a new drug that he believed would help to reduce the production of mucous in the lungs of CF sufferers.

I grab a piece of paper and scrawl the doctor’s name and number down. I wonder if Dad knows him? Lifting myself up off the bed, I walk out into the living room where my parents are sitting.

“Dad,” I begin, “I don’t suppose you know of a Professor Howes? He’s a leading specialist in Cystic Fibrosis.”

Dad looks both surprised and happy by my question. It’s not often I ask him about work.

“I don’t know him personally, but one of my colleagues is a good friend of his. They went to med school together. Why?” he asks curiously.

“A friend of mine has a son with CF who is not responding to his current medication. I remembered hearing about his study into a new medication, and I was hoping to get him into it.”

Dad laughs. “You can’t just get someone into a trial, Ryder. These things take years of preparation.”

“I know, which is why I was asking if you knew the man,” I say. This is why I don’t go to Dad that often for advice: I’m always left feeling like an idiot. “Don’t worry about it,” I mutter.

“Wait,” Dad calls.

I stop and turn around.

“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t get your hopes up. Do you have the kid’s file?”

“No, but I can get the name of his specialist in the States.”

“The States? Jesus, Ryder. How do you think they are going to get over here even if I can get them in the trial?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Don’t worry about that. I can cover all those costs,” I say defensively. I reach into my pocket for my phone and text Scarlett.

Me: What’s the name of Jake’s specialist?

Her: Andrew Lilliard. Why?

I pass on the information to Dad and I don’t reply because I don’t want to get her hopes up if Dad can’t come through with this for me.

**

“Why did you want to know Jake’s specialist?”

It’s later Monday evening, and I’m talking to Scarlett. That’s the first thing she asks me.

“I was just curious. My father is a medical scientist. I just wondered if he knew of him, that’s all.”

“He’s the best in the States,” she says. “I didn’t know your dad was a scientist.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you,” I grin.

“Fair enough,” she giggles. “Glad to be home?”

“I would be if I was actually home. My mother ironed my underwear,” I grumble. Less than twenty-four hours and she was already driving me mental with all her fussing. It was worse than when we were in Paris.

Scarlett laughs. “I think it’s sweet how much she cares for you. It’s a mother’s instinct to help her kids when they’re sick. I know I’d do anything to fix Jake,” she adds quietly.

“How is he?” I ask gently.

“He’s okay,” she sighs. “For now. The medication isn’t working as well, but they are trying another one. The doctor wants me to be prepared that he might need a lung transplant in a few years.” She laughs. “How am I supposed to prepare for that?”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Believe it or not, talking to you helps. I like our chats.”

“Me too.” I hear Dad calling out for me and I cut the conversation short. My heart races as I waddle out to the kitchen. God, I hope he has some good news.

“How soon can you get them over here?”

My eyes widen. Is he serious? Of course he is, because Dad doesn’t joke about anything.

“You did it?” I gasp.

“If they can be here by Monday, then there is a chance he can be included. The actual trial won’t start for a few weeks, but he needs to be tested to make sure he’s compatible. He’ll need to be here all next week.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I say. Fuck, I’m about to cry. I never cry. I walk over and throw my arms around him, and he hugs me back awkwardly.

Holy shit. Doing things for other people does feel good.

 

I organize everything from flights to accommodation. It strikes me that they probably don’t have passports, so I organize an appointment for them too. Luckily being a medical emergency, they can be issued the same day.

“Are you ready?” I ask Josh.

“All set. Just say when.”

I hang up and Skype Scarlett. She answers with her trademark smile.

“Hi,” I grin.

“You look awfully happy,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

“Why not? It’s a beautiful evening. I hear it’s nice over there too.”

“Are you kidding?” she snorts. “It’s been raining all day.”

I text Josh, and then I hear her doorbell ring. She looks surprised.

“Take me with you,” I tell her.

“What are you up to?” she laughs. But she obliges, carrying her laptop over to the door. “What if I had a desktop computer?” she giggles.

“Then you’d have your arms full.”

My view is of the front door as she opens it. I smile as I see Josh standing there. He hands her the box and says it’s from Ryder. She closes the door and carries me and the box back into the living room.

“I told you not to buy me things,” she groans.

“Shut up and open it,” I laugh.

Grumbling, she lifts the lid off the box.

“What the hell…” Her face scrunches up in confusion, and then disbelief. “What the fuck, Ryder? What the hell is this? We can’t just up and leave on a freaking holiday. I have work, and you know Jake isn’t well.”

“Scarlett,” I say. I wait for her to stop ranting. “Listen to me. My father managed to get Jake a meeting with a top professor who is doing a study for a new drug for Cystic Fibrosis patients. There should be a brochure at the bottom of the box?”

She lifts the brochure out and gasps.

“Professor Howes? Ryder, he’s the best of the best.” She looks at me with sad eyes. “I can’t let you pay for all this, Ryder. I just can’t . . .” She shakes her head, wiping away tears from her red, swollen eyes. Her hands tremble as she clutches the plane tickets and stares at them.

“Do it for you, Scarlett. Do it for Jake. For once in your life be truly selfish and take this for what it is: a chance to help your son. You owe me nothing, okay? We don’t even have to meet if you don’t want to—”

“You idiot,” she giggles. “Of course I want to meet you!” She shakes her head again, as if she is struggling to comprehend everything. “Saturday?” she squeals, reading one of the tickets. “We don’t even have passports.”

“You’re booked in for an appointment tomorrow at two p.m.”

She laughs and runs a hand through her hair. She blinks, her green eyes sparkling through her thick eyelashes. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispers.

“Then don’t. Just say you’ll do come.”

“Okay. Okay we’ll do it.”