Page 4 of The Love of Our Lives

Later, once everyone else is happily fed, I move to a bench across the lawn to keep an eye on the boys playing.

But I’ve been distracted, scrolling through my phone since I saw Nick, finally allowing myself to look at his page again – at all his travel pictures after we broke up, then ones of meeting Sophie: the two of them trekking in jungles and hanging out on beaches, their glorious wedding in what looks like Bali – and I wish in that moment that I hadn’t banned myself from looking at his account a few years back.

If I’d just been a bit more prepared, then I wouldn’t have been caught out like that. But I did it out of self-preservation.

I had to.

Seeing Nick has also made me think about when I still used to go into the office.

I wouldn’t now, of course – too much risk of infection, too much strain going in and out every day – but I work all the hours I can at home.

And I like working as a tour organiser well enough; at least in one way I’ve already explored the grand hallways of the Rijksmuseum and wandered down the glittering canals of Amsterdam.

I’ve jumped out of planes and swung across canyons in New Zealand; I’ve looked out across Mont Blanc and scaled the Dawn Wall.

The people are nice too, albeit transient in the travel industry – everyone leaves except me.

And the money’s decent, not that I go out much anyway, so there’s nothing to complain about. Not really.

But still, what might it be like to be one of my clients?

To decide to go somewhere and then actually go; to surf a turquoise wave or jump into a crystal-clear lake; to climb a sun-soaked mountain or float up and away in a hot-air balloon.

To do all these things in real life and not just on a screen.

Right now, I wonder what it might be like to be the one in Geneva with Nick.

I think about the letter again too; pat my pocket down for it before remembering I moved it to my bag for safekeeping earlier.

It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming of course – the Donor Family Care Service team told me after all.

It was all anonymous at this stage, and I had no obligation to read it, they said.

The truth is, I’ve read it so many times this morning already, I could probably recite it off by heart.

Dear Recipient , it starts.

I’d considered writing first, of course; started a hundred letters and emails to them to say thank you. They’ve given the most amazing gift a person could possibly give, and gone through their own incredible hurt, just like ours.

It’s just—

I have no idea what to say, no idea what they could possibly want to hear from the person who took their loved one’s heart.

I just feel so guilty about benefiting from someone else’s death, about wanting them to die.

Because that’s effectively what happened, isn’t it?

When I dreamt about getting a new heart, I was dreaming about someone else’s life ending.

But when I spoke to the doctors about it, they told me that I shouldn’t think of it like that; that the person whose heart I have was going to die anyway, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The best I can do, apparently, is make the most of the gift – keep her alive, like Stella’s mum has asked me to do.

And I am, I think, by staying healthy, by looking after this heart in the best way I can.

Graham appears now with another glass of bubbles Jess must have snuck him, and I muster a smile for him. For all his digs, he’s become like a brother to me. I’ve known him for most of my life and he loves Jess like nothing else, which makes him a hero in my books.

‘So,’ he says, ‘survive the day OK?’

‘It was a hummus-covered dream, Graham,’ I say, placing my phone on the bench. ‘Though I do feel a little bad for the boys; this can’t be too exciting for them.’

‘The boys are happy to be wherever you are, just like their mother,’ Graham says. ‘So, they had a great time.’

‘Well, maybe you guys could do something more adventurous before you head off. Maybe you could go to the cottage or something? Mum and Dad didn’t rent it out this month.’

‘And you could come too?’

I pause.

‘You know I’ll only slow you guys down.’ I try to sound light about it.

But when I look up, he’s looking right back at me, an almost annoyed expression on his face. ‘You need to stop worrying about what other people need, Maggie, and just go do. For everyone’s sake.’

I don’t respond immediately, because I’m slightly surprised by the tone, and I’m not even sure what he means – for everyone’s sake?

He can definitely get a bit loose-lipped with a drink, but although he was around when it happened, he just doesn’t understand what it’s like to actually be the one who got it wrong.

To cause that level of devastation for everyone.

And anyway – I haven’t been able to go back to the cottage since it happened.

‘The boys will be shattered later at least,’ I say, in an attempt to move the conversation along.

‘I should bloody well hope so,’ he laughs. ‘They’ve been running around for hours.’

‘Well, you and Jess can sneak back home for some wine later?’ I say. ‘The boys could have a sleepover at Mum and Dad’s.’

I feel a little bad about still being there too; taking over their dining room like I have.

But I couldn’t keep going up and down the stairs in the condition I was in before the transplant, and it’s probably sensible to keep avoiding it now, I guess.

Sometimes I like to imagine what my own place would be like; what my own life might look like – perhaps I’d live in a cabin on a far-off mountainside and teach yoga for a living, or take off around the world in a campervan and start a travel blog, or live in a penthouse in the city and have an exciting job and international travel – I’d go out for dinner every night and work my way through all the cuisines in the alphabet, I’d date anyone I pleased and do anything I want, knowing that no two days would ever be the same.

But that sort of life isn’t something that I can have. What if something went wrong and I got sick? I couldn’t do that to everyone again.

‘That sounds good actually,’ Graham says with a sigh. ‘Maybe it’s no bad thing if we don’t end up moving.’

I stop; look at him.

He must read my expression, because all the blood seems to drain from his face.

‘Oh god . . .’ he says, glancing around. ‘I thought Jess had spoken to you earlier.’

‘Graham, what are you talking about?’ I say, utterly confused. ‘Why wouldn’t you be going?’

And why wouldn’t Jess have spoken to me about it?

He opens his mouth again to speak, when I suddenly realise I can’t see Jess anymore.

And I have a strange feeling.

‘Hang on,’ I say, getting up and walking back across the lawn. Weaving between children running and adults smiling, I scan our blanket set-up. Mum and Dad are off somewhere, but Jess is there. She’s staring at something white in her hand.

The letter.

‘What the hell is this, Maggie?’ she says, looking up as I approach.

‘What are you doing?’ I say, heart pounding. ‘Why are you going through my stuff?’

‘I wasn’t going through your stuff, Maggie. It was laying out on the picnic blanket for anyone to see.’

Shit, it must have fallen out.

‘But why didn’t you tell us you’d got this? After everything we’ve been through together.’

Frustration courses through me. ‘Because I only got it a week ago and I’m still processing it.’

Her eyes widen. ‘But did you even read what it says?’

‘Of course I did, Jess.’

‘Do you agree with it?’ She holds it up to my face.

‘Yes,’ I repeat, but more hesitantly this time.

Jess throws her hands up. ‘Then I don’t understand why you’re not doing it all.’

‘All what?’

‘Everything, Maggie. You’ve got a new heart. You’re healthy now. So why aren’t you making the most of it?’

‘You know why,’ I say annoyed now. ‘You know I can’t do any of the stuff I really want to.’

Jess just stares at me, like I’ve said something crazy.

‘But why not?’ she says. ‘You did when Cat was around, and—’

‘And look what happened,’ I finish.

A silence passes between us in the warm air, and I know we have the same images in our minds.

The hospital, everyone weeping.

A darkness like no other.

‘Maggie,’ she says, softer now, ‘Cat died, and it was awful, for everyone, but that doesn’t mean you stop doing anything.’

I’m about to repeat the fact that this new heart is only 70 per cent well, that I will always have to take far less risks than other people, or I could die, pulling down everyone else with me, when she starts up again.

‘This heart was supposed to give you a second shot at it all, Maggie. Hell, it was supposed to give you a first shot,’ she says, ‘and you’re doing nothing with it.’

It feels like I’m being punched in the stomach.

‘Nothing?’ I snap. ‘I’m out today, aren’t I?’

‘Barely! This was a picnic for a few hours, before you go back to Mum and Dad’s for some grilled chicken.’

Something hot rises in my belly now.

‘What exactly do you want me to be doing? Necking alcohol and climbing mountains? Do you even understand what the doctors say? I’ll have to be careful for the rest of my life if I don’t want something to go wrong.’

‘I’m not asking you to climb mountains, Maggie, far from it. But what about art school? What about fun and friends? What about love? Because I heard about Nick, by the way – I know you saw him earlier.’

I close my eyes briefly, the image stinging again. ‘Don’t talk to me about love, Jess. You will never understand what it was like for me after Cat.’

Immediately, I regret my words.

‘So, what you’re saying is her sister wouldn’t understand?’ Jess says, her voice strangely quiet. ‘Because you guys were always closest, right?’

‘Jess,’ I say quickly, ‘I’m sorry; that’s not what I meant at all.’

‘Then what the hell did you mean?’

I don’t know what to say – how can you explain losing your other half the way I had?

Eventually Jess throws her hands up in the air when I don’t reply. ‘Jesus Christ, Maggie, how can I help you if you don’t tell me anything?’

‘Oh, you’re one to talk,’ I say without thinking. ‘How come you never told me you were reconsidering Amsterdam?’

Jess stops; her face falls.

‘Look, I’m sorry about that. I told Graham not to say anything,’ she starts. ‘It’s just . . . it’s just—’

‘Just what?’

She says nothing, and I have to close my eyes as a heat starts to build behind them.

‘Jess,’ I say, opening them again, ‘you don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m doing everything in my power to keep this heart healthy, so everyone can go live their lives and I’ll live mine.’

‘But that’s the point, Maggie,’ Jess cries now, ‘you’re not living.’

My breath catches, like I’ve been winded. But she doesn’t stop.

‘To be honest,’ she says, a fire in her eyes now, ‘I’m not even sure you deserved to get the heart.’

The words are like a slap in the face, and my whole body stiffens with the shock of it.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ I say, and before she can utter another word, I turn on my heel and head across the lawn.

As I go down the pathway again, I think I can hear Mum calling my name from somewhere, but the words muffle, then evaporate into the sky.

Blood rushes in my ears.

Heading along the gravelled walkway under the trees, the area is quieter here. I stride as quickly as I’ll let myself, finding that my feet know where I’m going before I even do.

I keep going until I hit a crossways, the sycamore and the ash trees beckoning gently in the summer breeze above me. But then I stop.

I go no further.

And in this moment, I know I never will.

Because I was right – I can never have the life I truly want. I gave it a shot before, and my sister died.

Then a wonderful woman called Stella died too, so I could live. There’s no way I’m risking this heart now.

Turning back on the path, I feel a pull at my chest, sudden and sharp. And in seconds it’s tearing across the whole of me, and I’m slumping to the ground.

My head hits the sand with a silent thud.

Pain soars.

I grapple to say something, call out to anyone who might hear, but nothing comes. I stare up at that endless blue sky, one solitary yellow balloon rising up through it, and I cannot breathe.