Page 110 of The Art of Loving You

‘Libby. Stop. It.’

‘I won’t have the surgery and you can’t make me.’

The silence was heavy and uncomfortable until Jack broke it. ‘Maybe I can’t make you sign the consent form but I won’t stay here and watch you die. I’m leaving, Libby, and this time I won’t be back.’ He strode out of the door and after a fraction of a second’s pause I hurtled after him.

‘Jack!’ But the hallway was empty. He was gone.

I raged and I screamed and I cried. I begged Jack to come back.

He didn’t.

His resolve and morality, the strengths I once admired, were keeping him away. I knew that. But I also knew he’d come back to save me if he had to. He wouldn’t stay away if he thought I was in danger.

Would he?

I climbed the stairs, two a time. Swiped the box of sleeping tablets from the bathroom cabinet and headed back downstairs into the kitchen.

‘Jack.’ I filled a glass with water and then shook the pills. ‘Jack. You’d better come back.’

Still, nothing.

He was staying away to save me, but I didn’t want to be saved. I settled myself on the sofa in the snug. I’d been goading Jack, forcing his hand, but the more I mulled it over, the more it made sense. Could I be made to have the surgery against my will?My irrational behaviour and erratic train of thought was already being blamed on my tumour. If it was deemed I wasn’t capable of making a decision, could the surgery consent form be signed on my behalf? I didn’t want to take the risk. I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to take the chance.

‘Jack?’ I gave him one last chance before saying loudly, ‘Fine. If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you.’

Thoughts were rocketing around my mind so hard they stung. Was I doing the right thing? I just didn’t know but what I did know was that I didn’t have much time. The nurse must have noticed I was missing by now. Mum was listed as my next of kin. If I was going to act I needed to do it quickly.

A miaow cut through the silence. Socks jumped onto my lap. I buried my face in his neck, my tears dampening his fur. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered. I wavered. My heart felt as though it was breaking as I pushed him off my lap.

‘See you soon, Jack,’ I whispered into the empty space that surrounded me as I emptied the pills onto the table before me.

It was then the landline began to ring.

The fourth phone call.

‘Libby, it’s Mr Baxter, from the hospital.’

I had known that it would be the hospital, so why did I answer? On some level did I want to be talked out of what I was about to do? Tension pulsed behind my eyes. My forehead tight. I felt like the mass might explode, splattering the walls with my redundant hopes and dreams, my flesh and bone, my sadness and regret.

‘I know you’re scared, Libby.’ And until Mr Baxter said that I hadn’t even realised I was. But under the numbness, the shock, the disbelief, my body trembled and dread spidered its way up and down my spine.‘But now that you’ve had one seizure you’re at risk of having another and that’s why we want to move with urgency. If you come back in—’

‘I’m not coming back in.’

‘You’re lucky a space has opened on the list today—’

‘Lucky?’

A sigh. ‘Libby—’

‘I don’t want the operation.’ But I could hear the doubt in my voice.

‘I understand—’

‘You don’t.’ That much I knew was true.

‘So explain it to me.’

The line crackled while I fumbled around for the right words, any words. ‘Have you … have you ever lost anyone you loved?’

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