Chapter two
During their short engagement and the early weeks of their marriage, Susanna had allowed herself to hope Luke loved her. He was so passionate and exciting.
She'd told herself no one got married for the sake of a baby, anymore. She'd tried to imagine the night they'd created Eleanor was the result of a mutual and overwhelming desire. Something magical.
But you could only go on lying to yourself for so long.
He'd never once said he loved her. Not on their wedding day. Or during Eleanor's premature birth. Not even when they'd first heard the words Necrotising Enterocolitis.
He'd married her because she was pregnant with his baby. Because he was too good a man to leave her to cope with the consequences alone. Deep down she'd always known that, from the very beginning when he'd slipped the wedding band on her finger.
But she'd hoped and dreamed of the day when he'd realize he'd loved her all along. Only that hadn't happened. Instead, they'd been locked into the nightmare of Eleanor's illness, a huge wedge between them.
Susanna lifted the lid of the teapot and stirred the *******s, acutely aware of Luke watching her. "I think I'll pack a bag and stay at the hospital for the next few nights."
Luke's fingers moved on the worktop.
"You're supposed to be getting some rest."
She shrugged. "I find it easier if I can see her."
"Susanna, she's getting the best possible care. She's — "
"In the best place. I know."
It was what everyone said, but she didn't believe that. The best place would be home with her, well and happy. At thirteen months, she should be getting into everything, starting to walk, making sounds they could both pretend were words…
Susanna focused all her attention on what she was doing. She poured the milk into two cobalt blue mugs and carefully added the tea.
"You'll be ill yourself if you don't pace yourself."
Susanna wanted to scream at him that he didn't understand. That her world had shrunk to the hospital where Eleanor spent her days tied to a ventilator, whereas he still spent his in the outside world pursuing a lucrative career as an investment banker. It was only on evenings and weekends that he touched the agony that was her day-to-day existence.
She said nothing. Instead, her fingers closed around her warm mug and she sipped the hot tea.
"You could get more involved in the campaign to try and find a donor," Luke suggested, reaching out for his own drink. "Do something practical. The local paper is going to run a story on Eleanor and the hope is it'll be picked up by the nationals. They want to print a few pictures —"
"No." The word shot from her mouth.
Luke looked across at her. "What do you mean?"
"I don't want Eleanor's face plastered all over the paper. I don't want people seeing all the tubes and…" She covered her face with a hand and tried to fight back the tears.
Luke watched helplessly. He understood what Susanna was really saying — that she didn't want Eleanor to be ill. But she was…and the best chance, the only chance, Eleanor had was for a liver donor to be found.
"It's an excellent opportunity," he said carefully. "I contacted them last week and I had a phone call yesterday from one of the reporters. I meant to tell you…but you came back from the hospital so late. The idea is to appeal directly to bereaved families. The wider the net, the better our chance of finding a compatible match."
She looked up, her eyes rimmed red. "But why do they need photos?"
"To make it feel personal. It's a difficult decision for anyone to make, and they have to make it at an impossible time."
Luke had struggled with that thought himself. For Eleanor to live, someone else would have had to have died. Another man's child.
But he was desperate. His love for his daughter meant that he'd do anything. Ask anything. He'd happily donate his own liver if it would mean Eleanor could live.
What he couldn't cope with was standing helplessly by, watching her fade away. He hated the feeling of powerlessness, of events being so far outside his control. It was better to focus on the positive, on what could be done, rather than spend hour upon hour, like Susanna did, watching each assisted breath.
It was easier, too, not seeing Susanna cry. He hated that. Her face was red and blotchy from tears and lack of sleep. She looked like someone who was merely existing…which he supposed she was. And there was not a damn thing he could do about it.
"They want to do a real 'tug on the heartstrings' piece. Perhaps, have you looking down at Eleanor?"
Susanna's mouth moved in a soundless "no."
He reached forward to take hold of her hand, but she pulled it away. She tried to make it look as though she needed it to hold her mug. It didn't fool him.
Susanna couldn't cope with him touching her. Not for comfort. Not for anything. Her attention was focused entirely on their daughter. Everyone else had been pushed away and shut out. The only thing that mattered to Susanna was Eleanor. And Eleanor was dying.
"They think a headline like Mother's Vigil might reach the parents of potential donors," he continued tonelessly. "Touch their emotions and make them want to bring something good out of their own tragedy."
"I — I can't
."Susanna's voice was a whisper but he heard it. "We can talk about it later. I haven't said we'll do it." He drained the last of his tea. "I'm going to try and get some sleep. You?"
She shook her head — as he'd known she would. "I'll read down here for a bit." Luke knew she wouldn't. She would curl up in the brown leather armchair and cry. Racking sobs that tore into him and made him hurt with an intensity he hadn't imagined existed.
And there was nothing he could do. Not for Eleanor. Not for Susanna. He set his mug down on the worktop. "I'll leave the landing light on."
"Thanks."
It was easier to pretend. He watched her turn and carefully place her empty mug in the dishwasher, then his own, and knew she didn't want him to see her face.
She'd shut him out.
She always shut him out. Her grief was so overwhelming…so all encompassing. She made him feel guilty when he came home and he hadn't thought about Eleanor for several hours.
There were moments in his working day when he could forget the lead weight settled in his heart. It wasn't like that for Susanna. Whole swathes of her time were spent at the hospital and when she was prized away her mind was still there.
Some days, God help him, it took everything he had not to stay in the car and keep driving. He felt trapped. Angry.
For the first time in his life there was nothing he could do that would change things. He could work on raising the profile of organ donation, but it felt like he was chipping away at a mountain.
It changed very little.
He paused at the doorway, wanting to say something that would help her.
"Eleanor's a determined little thing —"
"She's dying."
He felt like she'd slapped him. "I know."
Susanna turned away, her blond hair dull and lifeless. The soft highlights that had streaked her hair when they'd gotten married had grown out and her layers were overlong.
It was months of not caring. So different from the bright, vivacious woman he'd married.
Not that he'd had much choice. Five months pregnant with his child, he'd felt it was the only thing he could do.
Twenty-six years old, midway through a law degree, Susanna had told him the news. She was pregnant and she was keeping the baby.
His baby.
Her brown eyes had been completely fearless, but he'd known she couldn't have been feeling like that. Both her parents had died, an only child…
There'd been no choice. He'd taken a deep breath and asked her to marry him. And then she'd smiled. It had started in her eyes and spread out from there. Her face had lit up as though a light had switched on inside her…and he'd felt great.
It wasn't what he'd planned. He hadn't felt ready for marriage or children. But making a final commitment was always going to be difficult and, he'd told himself, it might even be better this way.
He hadn't understood what he was doing.
"Go to bed, Luke. I'll be fine." She wrapped her arms about her body. "You need to get some sleep if you're going to work tomorrow."
"What about you?"
Her face twisted. "I'll survive."
03-08-07, 10:01 PM
Loving Eleanor by Natasha Oakley
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