An Impossible Dilemma: A Psychological Thriller Novel (5 page)

"Oh my God. This is terrible." Steph stood up and began pacing the floor behind the sofa.

"This is so unfair. She’s a child, with all her life ahead of her. I'm an old man—I’ve lived mine,” Frank said.

"Your life is just as important to us, Frank, so don't you be thinking like that. What’s happening to Emily is one of those tragic illnesses you read about all the time.” I was amazed how together my voice sounded.

"They can’t do anything at all for her?" Frank said shaking his head.

"No. There were some trials, apparently. They took the hormone from a live donor and transplanted it."

"So—what? It didn't work?" Steph stopped pacing and looked at me.

"No, the opposite. It worked, but the donors died. So the trials were stopped and …" I shrugged.

Jonathan got to his feet. "I'm going to look in on Alex and try to clear my head a bit. Are you all right, Vic?"

I nodded. "Yes, I think so. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay—we have to be, don't we? Emily needs us both to be strong, so strong is what we'll be." He placed his hand on my neck and kissed me before leaving.

Stephanie came back around the sofa and began flicking through the leaflets. She passed them to Frank, who glanced at them briefly before placing them on top of the cushion on the floor.

The phone rang. I raced into the hallway, praying it was the hospital calling to tell me they'd made a terrible mistake.

"Hello?"

"C-helo."

"Hello. Can I help you?" I said louder.

"I-a speka do step."

"Sorry?"

"Step. Step-hanee."

"Steph—hold on a minute."

"Steph, phone," I called through to the kitchen.

As she approached me, I whispered, "A foreign man."

Her face screwed up as she took the phone from me.

"Hello, Hector?"

I returned to the lounge. Hector was the toy boy she’d lived with in Spain for the past two years. I didn’t know the underlying cause of what went wrong. One minute she was blissfully happy and the next she’d packed up and moved home to her parents.

She’d been vague when I asked her what happened. But to be fair, I never pushed her. I'd been much too absorbed in my own problems.

Some friend I was.

I sat beside Frank on the sofa and stroked his arm.

He shrugged. "This can’t be happening, lass. Our girl. Our sweet little girl."

"I know. I wish I could take her place, donate what she needs. I'd do so gladly, but I can't. I'm too old even if they’d agree to it." I felt so deflated. It was like a dream, a terrible, terrifying dream.

"Too old? Why, how old is too old?" His dark bushy eyebrows, that had several white hairs sticking straight out, were now knitted tightly together.

"Twenty-five was the cut-off age."

"Rules me out, too." He smiled sadly, and rubbed his unshaven chin causing a rasping sound.

"It won't sink in. I haven't cried yet, a few wobbly moments, but that's all. I just can't believe it."

"I know, lass. I don't need to tell you how cruel life can be. All the good ones go too soon." He patted my leg.

"No—I don't mean that. I mean—I can't believe it because it can’t be true. I've got to fight for her, Frank. Find a way to stop this happening to my baby girl."

Chapter 5

The next few days flew by in a blur. I sat at the computer in the upstairs bedroom we’d converted to our home office from morning until night, trawling the Internet for a light bulb moment.

I'd found out all about the proteus, a tiny gland in the brain that produces the Proteum hormone. I read how they removed the hormone before injecting it directly into the patient who, within hours, showed signs of recovery. However, just as the doctor said, within hours the donor was dead.

I found many scientific explanations. Some I could decipher, having a 'sort of' medical background, but some were completely beyond me.

Then, by chance, I came across another site. Something the doctor hadn't mentioned but I had heard a little bit about in the past. Stem cell research in China. They were still very early on in the trials, but they'd had amazing results.

Jonathan walked into the office behind me. "Hey, Babe, how's it going?" He kissed the back of my neck, his hands having a quick grope of my little boobs.

I laughed and slapped his hands away. “Look at this, Jon, I was about to call you,” I said, excited.

“Emily’s tucked up in bed and she’s waiting for you to kiss her goodnight.”

I nodded and indicated the website on the screen.

"Vic, I don't want you to wear yourself out on something you can't change." He sighed, deeply.

"Please read this before you say any more. I'll go in to Em and then make a cuppa. Do you want one?"

"Go on.” He winked, and swivelled the chair around so he faced the computer.

I left him reading, and popped my head in the room next door. "Hey, my baby, are you awake?"

Emily pulled her Barbie Princess quilt down and peeped over the top.

"There you are. I thought you’d vanished.” I laughed. “Can I have a big kiss off my bestest girl?" I kicked off my fluffy black slippers, lifted the duvet and climbed in beside her.

She puckered up and I kissed her worn out little face.

"I love you, baby,” I said, putting my arms around her. She laid her head on my shoulder as I stroked her hair.

"How much?" She smiled cheekily.

We’d played the same game every night for weeks now.

"Well now, let me see,” I said. “Take a rocket trip around the moon and the stars and then all the way back—that's how much."

She giggled. "Is that all?"

“Is that all! You cheeky little madam.”

She giggled again.

"Okay. Now, are you ready for this?”

“Ready,” she laughed.

“Right, take an express train four times around the world. Hop on the rocketship around the moon and stars and back again. Then take a submarine voyage to the bottom of the sea and ten times around Atlantis—that's how much."

More giggling. "Is that all?"

"All right, greedy guts.” I tickled her tummy, bringing on another bout of giggles. “I think you’ve had more than enough. Now close those pretty eyes and get to sleep." I eased myself out of the bed and tucked the duvet under her chin.

"Goodnight, Mummy."

"Goodnight, my baby." 

I felt blessed to have these moments with my daughter, when she almost seemed her normal self. But they were becoming few and far between.

I slowly walked down the stairs to the kitchen.

Frank was rummaging around in the fridge as I entered and emerged with a slice of ham.

"Gotcha!" I said, stamping my foot and laughed as he almost jumped out of his skin. "Are you still hungry?"

He glanced around before answering. "I miss your cooking, lass. Steph's a star for doing all she does, but her cooking's not a patch on yours."

"I'm sorry, Frank. Maybe tomorrow."

"Oh, pay no attention to a selfish old sod like me. Have you seen the size of this?" He wobbled his paunch. "Not like I'll starve anytime soon, with this. I know you're busy, love. How's the research going?"

"Yeah, good. I found some information on stem Cell research in China." I took two cups out of the cupboard. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

“I’d love one.” He nodded. "What's the research?”

"One sec, let me check on Steph.”

I found Steph sprawled out on the sofa in the snug.

"You look shattered, Missus,” I said. “I'm making a brew, do you want one?”

"No thanks. I think I'll have an early night," she said. “I’m barely able to keep my eyes open.”

Back in the kitchen, Frank was waiting.

"Okay, where was I?” I said as I got another cup from the cupboard. “I found some info on Stem cell treatment in China. It’s apparently proving positive—although controversial as they use the stem cells from umbilical cords of newborn babies—but all that aside. If it works …" I shrugged and sucked my teeth.

"Well done, lass. Let's hope they can do something for our Em," he said.

I placed his cup in front of him on the breakfast bar. "There you go. Do you want a couple of biscuits?"

"Ooh, go on then, I won't say no." His stomach growled as he spoke. “Excuse me!” he said, clearly embarrassed.

I laughed and reached for a packet of custard creams from the top shelf of the pantry, and put the full packet beside his cup. I smiled at him and rubbed his shoulder. “Fill your boots.”

"Thanks, love," he smiled.

I took Steph's drink through to her before going back up to the office.

"There you go, Jon,” I said, placing the mugs on the desk. “I caught your dad raiding the fridge, because he's still hungry—have I been neglecting everyone?"

He reached for my hand and pulled me onto his lap. “We all miss the normality we're used to, but things can't be normal at the moment, can they? It's all we can do to get through each day."

"What do you think of this?" I pointed to the screen.

He shrugged. "Seems too good to be true, but I'd be interested to learn more."

"Me too. Apparently the ex-Lord Mayor of Manchester had it done. I'm going to try and contact her tomorrow."

"Was hers the same as Emily’s?" he said, surprised.

"Not exactly, no. She has Idiopathic Ataxia, meaning they don't know what caused hers." I was smiling. I felt lighter than I had in days. The future suddenly didn't seem so bleak.

I reached for the computer mouse. "Let me show you this." I brought up the before and after video footage from the stem cells China website. "It says they do a combination of umbilical cord stem cell transplants, cord serum and nerve growth factor, combined with acupuncture and rehabilitation therapy.”

We spent the rest of the evening watching videos that showed the amazing recovery of a lot of patients, all with similar illnesses to Emily.

“Do you think we may have found a way through this, Jon?" I asked, clutching at the spot in between my ribcage, as I held my breath.

Jonathan licked his lips slowly, then nodded. “Maybe,” he whispered, he eyes not leaving mine.

After weeks of not allowing myself to feel a thing, huge tears began to fall followed by deep gut-wrenching sobs.

Jon pulled me into his arms and hugged me to his chest.

My tears made two large spots on his pale blue cotton shirt. “I’m sorry,” I said, when I eventually calmed down. I looked up into his eyes. His lovely grey eyes—so like Emily’s.

I kissed him.

Light kisses at first that turned into deep, urgent ones. I realised how shut off from my emotions I’d become since all of this started. And how, in the process, I’d shut out this wonderful man who meant the world to me.

I pulled away, grabbed his hand and almost ran down the hallway to our bedroom.

As we made it in the door, I pushed him against the wall and pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his black Levis. I bent and pulled off my jeans, in desperate need of the comfort that only he could give me.

Jonathan took my hands. “Hey, hey. What’s the rush?” he whispered. He looked into my eyes before kissing me deeply, making my heart dance. Then he led me to the unmade bed and lay me down tenderly.

Removing his clothes, he climbed onto the bed beside me and pulled my t-shirt off over my head, placing light kisses all over my neck and shoulders as he travelled down my body.

Taking my nipple into his mouth, he grazed it with his teeth causing a loud groan. His hands kneaded at my breasts as his mouth went from one to the other.

I urged him down further—running my hands through his short, dark brown hair.

He hooked his thumbs under the flimsy elastic of my not-so-sexy purple cotton panties. He took his time as he pulled them down my legs and off each foot—teasing me until I was ready to scream.

Then he kissed his way back up my body, pausing at my most intimate spot, tantalising me with his lips and tongue. He was driving me into a wild, wanton woman.

I couldn't bear it a moment longer. I pulled him towards me, and our eyes met once again. Sex was no longer the main issue. A deeper, more meaningful connection was our goal.

He lay on top of me—our eyes fused—our breathing in sync.

As he entered me, my breath caught in my throat and escaped in a cry. Tears streamed down my face as we rocked together—deeply fused into each other—easing each other's pain, allaying each other's fears. The desire beyond physical—our contact beyond flesh.

Our minds merged and locked as we did the ageless carnal dance.

***

I awoke to an empty bed, surprised I hadn’t heard Jonathan get up. But I’d slept better than I had in weeks.

Going downstairs, the sound of Emily's giggles lightened my step as I entered the kitchen. She sat at the table playing 'snap' with Frank. Steph stood at the stove, cooking bacon and eggs.

“You seem bright-eyed, my baby.” I bent to kiss Emily’s cheek before patting Frank on the shoulder. "Where's Jon?" I asked, glancing around the room.

"Already gone,” Frank said.

"Aw, he didn't say goodbye, the bugger. He knows I hate it when he does that." I poured myself a glass of orange juice before sitting down opposite Emily.

"They were in a hurry. I made him and Alex some sandwiches to take. They said some walls are down on the other side of the farm or something. And they've got to dig out an awful pit,” Steph said.

I'd just taken a swig of juice and almost spurted it out over the table. I began to cough and laugh, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.

It was lovely to see Frank also laughing. His pot belly bounced with every deep, chocolate coated chuckle and his laughter made me laugh even harder. Emily also joined in.

Stephanie stared at us as though we'd gone mad.

"What? What did I say?" she said, looking at each of us in turn.

Her confused expression made me laugh even harder.

"An offal pit you mean—not an awful pit—although your name is probably more fitting," I managed to say eventually.

"Oh, I wondered what they meant,” she said and laughed with us.

I ate a full English breakfast, the first meal I'd enjoyed since this nightmare began.

Afterwards, I left them all playing cards while I went into the office. Business at the clinic had been slowly picking up again, but the appointments were mainly the ones already booked in. So we diverted the calls to the house.

I searched the Internet and found a couple of contacts regarding stem cell research. I dialled the main number, but there was no answer, so I sent an email instead.

Then I got onto some household chores I'd been putting off for ages. I stripped the bedclothes and opened the bedroom window. Taking a breath of fresh air, I admired the way the sunshine made the landscape appear more lush and green.

When the phone rang, I raced down the stairs to answer it, praying for a response to my email.

"Hello."

"I speka wid step."

"What? Oh, hold on, please," I said, sighing deeply. “Steph—phone,” I yelled.

After loading the washing machine, I began sorting through the massive pile of ironing that had been stuffed into the laundry cupboard. The phone rang, and I charged down the hallway once again.

"Hello?"

"Mrs Lyons—am—can—ad." The signal was poor and I couldn’t recognise the voice or understand what he was trying to say.

"I'm sorry, who is this? I didn't hear a word you said."

"Accident. I've called an ambulance, but he's bad."

"What's happened? Who is this?"

"This is Alex. It’s Jonathan. He's hurt. Badly."

The phone went dead in my ear.