‘What do they do with the rest of the eye then?’
‘Well, they’re valuable for research.’
‘Spoken like a true doctor.’
Edward was silent but she couldn’t resist continuing her assault. ‘Can’t you think like a father for once? They’ll get every other bit of her; I just didn’t want them to take her eyes. Couldn’t you have just signed the form as it was?’
Marianne knew she was lashing out at him in her agony but she couldn’t help herself.
‘We didn’t have to tick every box,’ she said. ‘It’s not all or nothing. The form makes it clear that you can choose.’
‘You’re being illogical, Marianne. It makes no sense to be selective.’
‘Why do I have to have sense? At this one moment in my life don’t I have the right not to have any sense? To be senseless – to be foolish, even. To be a grieving mother?’
They continued their half-hearted quarrel – or at least Marianne’s attempt at a quarrel and Edward’s measured responses – but all the time she was hating herself for attacking him. If anyone is to be reproached it should be me. Isabelle was the product of my upbringing. Still, her rebellious spirit has left one legacy, she thought, and I intend to cling on to him with every ounce of my strength.
‘How has he been?’ she asked her mother when they got back from the hospital.
‘No problem. He’s been perfect. And sound asleep now.’
Marianne went to Izzy’s room and looked in the cot where Callum lay. She didn’t want to wake him but she couldn’t help herself; she had to hold him. She picked him up and clutched him tightly, burying her face in his neck. Being such an easy child, he didn’t wake up but merely murmured to himself and clung to her hair with one hand.
‘You look exhausted, ma chérie,’ said her mother, giving Marianne a long hug. ‘I’ve cooked some pasta. Come and sit down and eat. Papa and I have already eaten so it’s all for you and Ed.’
‘Thank you, Maman – and thank you for being here. I don’t know what we would have done without you.’
Marianne and Edward sat down at the table. At first there seemed to be nothing left for them to say, but Marianne wanted to turn their thoughts to something positive and that could only be their plans for Callum’s future.
‘We will adopt him, won’t we?’ she said.
‘I hope we can, but it might depend on Andy.’
‘But he’s not going to live, is he?’
‘I don’t think so, but you never know. His injuries weren’t as severe as Izzy’s.’
The thought that Andy could live but Izzy die filled her with silent fury. That boy who had broken his solemn promise to them and thereby killed their only child. That useless layabout – what right has he to take Callum away from us?
Edward seemed to read her mind. ‘It would be better for Callum to grow up knowing one of his parents.’
‘Why?’
Edward didn’t respond but simply raised his eyebrows at her.
‘You know that Bill is not my real father – God, I hate that expression. No one could be more real. But he’s not my biological father.’
‘I know, and if Andy dies so be it – but if he pulls through?’
‘What’s wrong with us? We’ve spent more time with Callum in his short life even than Izzy – let alone Andy.’
‘You can’t deny the right of a parent.’
‘We are young enough to be his natural parents. What can Andy offer this child? He has no job, no prospects…’
‘It’s not just about material things.’
‘Maybe, but how could he look after Callum? Or are you thinking about his mother? My God, is that what you’re thinking? He’d want to take Callum up to Glasgow for his mother to look after? We can’t let that happen, Edward. Please tell me we won’t let them take Callum away.’
‘Calm down, Marianne. Andy is in a coma and is unlikely to survive. We’ll continue to look after Callum and see what happens.’
Possession is nine tenths of the law, she was thinking, but somehow it didn’t seem right to say it in relation to a child. Still, the longer Andy stays in a coma the better. Better still that he should never wake up.
‘So what is the prognosis for Andy then?’ she asked. ‘What condition will he be in if he does wake up?’
‘Hard to tell. The longer he is in a coma the worse the outlook. He might wake eventually to full consciousness, or he might technically wake up but remain in an unresponsive vegetative state.’
‘What happens to him then – I mean, if he is in what you call a vegetative state?’
‘Well, they just continue to look after him.’
‘For ever?’
‘Pretty much. What else can they do?’
‘Is that so different from Izzy then?’
Edward sighed, and reaching across the table, took Marianne’s hand. ‘Darling, I’ve explained before. It’s completely different. Izzy’s brain stem has died. None of her most basic bodily functions work anymore. If they were to turn off the ventilator, then sooner or later her heart would stop. Andy can breathe on his own. Even though he’s unconscious, his reflexes still function.’
After a pause while Marianne stared at her plate, Edward went on. ‘You are right in one sense, however; if Andy stays in a long-term coma or wakes up in only a vegetative state then it would probably be better for all concerned – and especially for him – that he should die.’
Marianne had heard all this before but she kept on needing to hear it again. Brain death is so hard to come to terms with. She could sit with Izzy and hold her soft warm hand, feel her pulse and hear the beep of her heart monitor. Every now and then there would even be a small twitch of movement. She talked to her all the time even though she had been told a dozen times there was no possibility that she could be heard.
The previous day Marianne had taken Callum to say goodbye to his mother. She recognised that this was her own conceit and Edward had been strongly opposed.
‘Izzy cannot be aware of what you are doing and Callum will either be indifferent or possibly you will succeed in upsetting him,’ he said. ‘Either way, nothing will be gained.’
Marianne had been determined to go ahead, notwithstanding Edward’s objections. Part of the reason – which she would never have admitted to Edward – was a lingering fantasy that somehow the doctors had got it all wrong and the presence of Callum nestling against his mother, or perhaps crying for her attention, would trigger a response in some deep recess of her brain which was still alive. She chose a different argument in her response to Edward.
‘Just because we can’t remember anything that happens at that age doesn’t make it meaningless; it doesn’t mean the child has no emotional response.’
‘Of course he will recognise his mother, but I don’t know what you mean by emotional response. He can’t understand illness or death.’
‘He will be pleased to see her.’
‘I’m not sure he will. He won’t understand what’s going on. He’ll be disappointed that she won’t wake up for him. Don’t forget, she has tape over her eyes and a tube coming out of her mouth.’
‘Well, I’m doing it anyway,’ she said. ‘If he cries and is upset, then somewhere that experience will lodge in his subconscious and that would be a perfectly proper response to the death of his mother.’
In the event, Callum hadn’t cried, although Marianne had rather hoped he would. He climbed over Izzy, tried to take the tube out of her mouth, poked her around the face a bit and then got bored. I don’t suppose he’ll have even the most residual memory of seeing her, she thought, but it was important to me, and perhaps that’s justification enough.
That night, as Marianne lay beside Edward, she sensed a tension between them. They both seemed to know that despite their disagreement there was nothing more to be said. In time, she could feel that he was drifting into sleep, but she remained resolutely awake. She felt she had been awake the whole night, floundering in misery and self-hatred, but she realised she must have slept for a while when she awoke from a dream in which Izzy’s ice-blue eyes were fixed on her. ‘You always said you loved me but now you have come to kill me,’ said the Izzy of her dream. Marianne’s heart was beating violently with the thought that she might be betraying her daughter in her hour of greatest need. She turned to see that Edward was already awake. He smiled at her.