Page 54 of The Love of Our Lives

‘Maggie,’ a voice says above me.

Then again, ‘Maggie.’

Bright light, blurry faces above me. That chemical-human smell of hospital again. I’m lying down on a bed.

Where am I?

Who am I?

My eyes snap open now and I look around to see Mum – my mum – hovering above me. Jess, too. Dad. And even as I’m overjoyed to see them in front of me, a great crushing panic comes over me.

Emily.

This isn’t what was supposed to happen.

It’s not supposed to be me waking up.

It should be Emily.

‘I need a mirror,’ I say hoarsely, my old voice shocking and reassuring me in equal measures.

‘Oh, Maggie,’ Mum sobs, her face a mixture of joy and trauma, ‘you’re speaking. What did you say, dear?’ She turns to Dad. ‘What did she say?’ But he looks just as lost and worried as her.

‘I didn’t quite catch it, dear.’

‘She said she needed a mirror,’ Jess says with some confusion, even as she starts rummaging in her handbag. Her face is tear-stained, and I realise in this moment how terrified they all must be. And I already know in my heart what I’m going to see in the reflection.

I just have to see it myself.

‘Here you go,’ Jess says, handing over her scruffy compact.

And as I hold up the little circle smeared with the boy’s fingers I love so dearly, I see her.

Me.

Maggie.

I drop the compact, even as the tears start to run down my face, into my long red hair.

Doctor Peterson arrives in the room at that moment and everyone steps away from me, as the doctor steps forward.

‘Good to see you awake again, Maggie,’ he says, his pale-blue eyes tired but happy at the same time.

‘What happened?’ I say eventually. Because right now, I’m just as lost as anyone, in so many ways. Images of Adam come to me unbidden now too – his kind eyes and lopsided smile. And I wish more than anything that he was here with me right now, holding my hand, telling me it was all going to be OK.

Tears stream from my eyes again.

‘We don’t exactly know what happened,’ Doctor Peterson says now, gently.

‘As you know, everything was absolutely fine at your last check, there was nothing to . . . indicate that this would happen. Ultimately, we think perhaps your body temporarily and very inexplicably, rejected the heart. You were lucky your family was close by.’

It didn’t work.

I try to think about that last moment before I blanked out in Emily’s flat.

But nothing happened? Nothing fell on me or hurt me. I just . . . went away.

But oh god, Emily – the baby in her belly.

‘Maggie,’ Doctor Peterson says now, looks at me. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I . . . I don’t know,’ I say now.

But maybe there’s a chance – she could still be alive too, right? Her and the baby growing inside her.

They can’t just be gone.

Maybe in some way I’ve managed to change something, knock something off-course.

‘When . . .’ I say to Doctor Peterson, through my tears, ‘when did I get my heart transplant?’

He looks at me oddly, but then he says, ‘The twenty-fifth of July. One year ago today.’

But it could still be a coincidence, right? Lots of things probably happened on that day.

I know exactly what will confirm it.

‘My phone,’ I say, panic flooding me now. ‘Where is it?’

‘Maggie,’ Mum says now, resting her hand on my arm, ‘you really have to rest, try not to strain yourself.’

But I don’t care about straining myself – this is too important.

‘Please, Mum,’ I say, looking at her. ‘I can’t explain it right now; I just really need to look at something.’

‘OK,’ she says eventually, reaches into her bag. A second later I have it in my hand, and then I’m stabbing in my pin code, searching the internet for her name. And then I see it – an obituary.

With the name Emily Perin at the top.

I open it.

And through my tears I see a picture of her smiling face flashing up on the screen, or should I say my face – it was only moments ago, after all. Then the article below about an Emily Perin, who died tragically on 25 July one year ago of a brain aneurism.

Brain aneurism.

Which means I couldn’t have stopped it; could never have done anything at all.

And now I’m weeping as I read the rest, about how she was an only child, and leaves behind her devastated parents and partner.

Adam.

Except this time, I’m crying for the real Emily – not just one on paper, but for the girl who I know really lived her life, who, when faced with a life that made her sad, had the tenacity to go change it, not really knowing what would be there on the other side, or who she might meet along the way.

The girl who found her passion in life and in the world around her.

The girl who allowed herself to love again after the worst hurts and be loved back by the most amazing man.

The girl who got pregnant and learned to live in the smaller moments, before realising those were the biggest of all; right up until her final second.

I know it because I saw it; all of it.

Call it a parting gift from her or a glitch in the universe, but I felt it with every fibre of my being, every high, every low, every wonderful moment this world has to offer.

And I know now that that was why I was there.

What the reason was all along.

‘Maggie,’ Jess is saying now, holding my shoulder as I sob; tears of grief, tears of absolute devastation, but at the same time, something I’ve never experienced in this body before.

‘Maggie, are you OK?’ she’s saying through the fog of it all.

And then that feeling surges up through me – a mixture of vastness and newness and most importantly, hope.

And as Jess grips my shoulder, all I can do is smile up at her through my tears, and say a simple, ‘Yes.’