More Than Us Read online

  More Than Us

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Also by Dawn Barker

  Copyright

  More Than Us

  Dawn Barker

  Prologue

  Emily

  It hadn’t taken long to feel like an old hand at hospital visits. After only a few days, I knew the best place to park, and how to find the correct lifts that would take me straight to Cameron’s floor. The day he’d been rushed in here with sirens screaming, I’d staggered along the corridors with bloodshot eyes; now I strode along the corridors, into the lift, and up to the fourth floor with ease. I’d learned to avert my eyes once the lift doors closed, smile humbly and look at the floor. The new fathers were easy to spot, flustered, grinning, with their toddlers in hand, holding a shiny balloon or new teddy bear from the gift shop. Others were like me on that first day: shattered, clutching a child’s backpack and a soft and worn old toy. Then there were the pros, the parents who had adapted to their new status as Parents of Sick Children. They carried folders of information, smiled at the familiar nurses and doctors who slid in and out of the lift, and knew they had to be there early in the morning to catch the Consultant’s ward round.

  I watched the red numbers on the lift display change from G to 1 to 2 to 3. There was a ping as the lift slowed. Oncology. I nodded slightly to the woman who took a deep breath and stepped out, blinking back my own tears. This is what I’d been trying to explain to Paul: it could be so much worse. I couldn’t imagine the horror of the parents walking onto Floor 3. They clung to each other for survival; they didn’t let their child’s illness pull them apart.

  Sometimes I envied that bond – not their children’s illness, God no – but the way that they supported each other. Paul thought it was my fault that Cameron was here. It’s not. And if we’re going to start looking for someone to blame, I could remind Paul that he needs to look at himself. Cameron has been ill for years, and him being here has nothing to do with what I’ve done. Nothing. But, if he was on this floor, they’d have a test to tell us what was wrong with him, and I wouldn’t feel so alone. We don’t know what our son has, or indeed if he has anything at all. There’s no blood test for what Cameron has, no X-ray or CT scan. And if the thing that is wrong with Cameron has a name, it doesn’t have a ribbon or a wristband or a fun run for it.

  I breathed in deeply then blew out slowly. I had to stop letting my thoughts get away from me and be mindful of now. Now, Cameron needs me. He’ll be coming home today, then Paul and I will sort everything out, and he will get better.

  The lift ascended again. It pinged at Floor 4 then it stopped. My stomach twisted a little as the doors hissed open. A woman pushing the breakfast trolley waited while I turned myself sideways and squeezed out into the corridor onto the Kookaburra ward. Neurology.

  I walked straight along the corridor towards Cameron’s room, where I assumed the discharge meeting would be. He had a single room. I had smiled wryly when I’d first told Paul. One of the benefits of having a mental illness. No one wants to share with you. He hadn’t smiled back.

  There was no one at the nurses’ station on my left: nothing unusual. I glanced at my watch; I was right on time. I’d hoped to be here earlier, but Tilly had taken ages to get ready for school and wouldn’t finish her breakfast, and then the slipway queue at school had been busy, and then I’d slowed in the sludge of the school traffic. I snapped an imaginary elastic band on my wrist; I was here now. I wasn’t late, I wouldn’t look like the bad parent after Paul had spent the whole night here. Before this, our unspoken tally chalked up during heated arguments was about normal things: who cleaned up after dinner or took the bins out each week. I hated that it had become a tacit competition to prove who cared about Cameron the most.

  When my friend Anna went through a divorce, I saw how she and her ex used their children as the currency in their bargaining. I had sworn I’d never do that if I was ever in her situation, although I had been smug back then in the knowledge that Paul and I were solid. But recently, I had heard myself making comments about Paul to the children. Just a little here, a little there. ‘Your dad is busy at work today… I don’t know why he isn’t here, maybe you could ask him the next time you see him…?’ And, oh, how my face burned as I said the words. I knew it was wrong, but after everything that’d happened, I needed them on my side. Anyway, he would be doing the same, I was sure.

  I walked past the shared ward and turned right off the corridor into Cameron’s room. When he had first arrived a couple of days ago, he spent hours in the emergency department, separated from sick strangers by only a flimsy curtain. For Cameron, that was torture. Not only was he terrified about what was wrong with him, but underneath, the symptoms that have stalked him since he was a child were still there. He wouldn’t eat the food, and he couldn’t sleep for the light and the noise and the smells. I had taken the bottle of hand sanitiser from him before his skin became cracked and red from endlessly rubbing them with the gel.

  I rubbed my own hands with the sanitiser mounted on the wall outside of his room, hoping the alcohol rub would dry up the sweat on my palms. Taking a deep breath, and fixing my smile on my face, I pushed open the door.

  I stopped. His bed was empty. Had they gone for the meeting already?

  But the bed wasn’t just empty: it was stripped back to the mattress. The bedside table was bare, with no signs of his iPad or magazines or water bottle or bag of jelly snakes. My heart beat faster. Had he been taken to another ward? For a moment, I wondered if I was in the wrong ward, that I’d walked out of the lift on the incorrect floor, overconfident that I knew where I was going, and instead had emerged into a carbon copy ward a floor higher or lower. But no: the small whiteboard above the bed still read ‘Cameron Napier’, but otherwise, the room was empty.

  I entered the room, letting the door swing closed behind me, then walked into the ensuite bathroom, hoping I’d find him in there packing up his toiletries, but it was empty except for a damp towel crumpled at the bottom of a laundry bin.

  I hurried back out into the corridor. The muffled quiet of the room gave way to the sound of distant coughs and chatter, cries and chirps of machinery. I paused and listened hard, but couldn’t hear Cameron’s voice, or any sounds of him that I’d been hearing every day for almost fifteen years, not his footsteps, his breathing, his presence. He wasn’t here.

  I sensed someone stop behind me. I turned around to see one of the young nurses, Jasmine,
her frown matching the one that I knew was on my face.

  ‘Emily,’ she said. ‘I thought…’ She stopped, her eyes darting towards the door of Cameron’s room.

  I followed her gaze, but the door remained closed. I looked back at her pale face, tilted my head to the side, and waited for her to speak.

  ‘I thought you…’ Her voice trailed off and as it did, my heart beat faster.

  ‘Where’s Cameron?’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

  ‘Paul said…’

  ‘Have you moved him already? Where’s the meeting? I’m here for the meeting.’

  Her eyes widened, then she looked at the floor as dread crept through my bones.

  ‘Jasmine, what’s going on?’

  ‘Come with me,’ she said, turning around and heading back towards the nursing station.

  I followed quickly. ‘Where is he? Is he okay?’ My voice wasn’t steady any more. I had the sudden fear that they had stripped his bed and packed up his possessions because he’d died in the night. That in all the confusion and fuss, someone had forgotten to phone me. Paul had been whisked away to wherever they take people who pass away in hospital and the nurses had been upset but now they were changing the sheets and wiping down the latex mattress to make room for the next patient who was waiting in the emergency department to come into the ward, and the whole process would start again. My legs were hurrying automatically now; surely, she was taking me to a quiet room where she’d break the news. What would I tell Tilly? How would I explain what had happened and that I had been the one who started it all?

  But I knew that didn’t make sense. As much as Paul and I were at each other, he wouldn’t forget to call me if our son had died. And Cameron had been perfectly well – physically – yesterday. They must have moved him to another ward, or a waiting room before he was discharged, that was all.

  Jasmine paused at the nurses’ desk and murmured to another nurse whose name I didn’t know. This woman raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth in a way that could only be interpreted as alarm, then saw me looking at her and closed her mouth again. She nodded then bowed her head and Jasmine turned back to me. ‘We’re just paging Dr Chan to come and have a chat. He’ll be here as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’m just here for the meeting. Wasn’t it at nine-thirty?’

  Jasmine bit her lip then spoke. ‘The meeting was cancelled.’

  ‘Cancelled? But no one told me. Why?’

  Jasmine stepped towards me, gently, her hand raised towards my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Emily, we need to wait for Dr Chan, he’ll be here in a few minutes and explain everything.’

  I stepped back, my hands starting to tremble. ‘Jasmine. Where’s Cameron? Is he okay? Has something—’

  ‘Oh, Emily, Cameron’s fine, I promise. I thought you… Paul said you knew.’

  ‘Knew what?’ My chin began to quiver as I understood what had happened, who had cancelled the meeting, and why. I reached for the back of a chair. Paul. ‘When—’

  Jasmine was almost whispering. ‘First thing this morning. About two hours ago.’

  I had always thought, despite everything, that Paul loved Cameron and wanted the best for him. But now, for the first time, I no longer knew who Paul was, and I no longer knew what he was capable of. He had gone, and he had taken Cameron with him.

  I turned around and I ran.

  One

  Five Years Earlier

  Emily

  I tilted the air conditioner vent away from my face as I drove up towards the house. I was only just starting to cool down after having to park miles away from Tilly’s ballet and walk her in, then trudge all the way back to the car, where Cameron had waited with the engine running, playing some game on my phone. By the time I’d got back to the car, the heat had turned my mood like sour milk, and then Cameron had niggled at me all the way home because he wanted me to stop at the bakery for a particular bun for afternoon tea, and I had refused because Cameron knew that sugar made his behaviour worse. It was still forty degrees in March; the heat of Australian summer days like this made me long for the chill of the Scottish winters that I’d grown up in.

  I indicated to turn into our driveway, noticing the yellowing patch of brittle grass in the corner of our verge. I’d been asking Paul to fix the sprinklers for weeks but with the soccer season still in full swing, he hadn’t had time. I made a mental note to call the gardener and get him to do it when he was here to mow the lawn next week. I slowed down as I turned onto the concrete driveway, waiting for the electric gates to creak open, then frowned as I realised Paul’s car was already there. I looked over at Cameron, sat in the passenger seat next to me.

  ‘What’s your dad doing home at this time?’

  He didn’t look up from the screen of my phone, but shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  I raised my eyebrows, sighed then drove forwards, parking next to Paul’s car. I had barely stopped when Cameron opened the door and was out.

  ‘Cameron. Take your bag! I’m not –’

  The passenger door slammed shut. I shook my head, then got out and wrestled my own bag out of the back of the car as well as Cameron’s schoolbag and sports kit, then slammed the rear door closed. The sun seared my shoulders as I hurried across the few metres between the shade of the carport and the front porch, where Cameron was knocking on the door.

  ‘Excuse me, Cameron!’ I found my keys, pushed past him then unlocked the door.

  I stepped into the cool of the hallway, Cameron following me, then dropped the bags and quickly closed the door behind me. I kicked off my sandals. ‘Paul? Paul!’ I shouted.

  ‘In here.’ I could barely hear him.

  I sighed. ‘Where?’ I yelled.

  ‘In the bedroom.’ He had spoken louder, but his voice was flat.

  Cameron trudged towards the back of the house. ‘Cammie, unpack your bag and get yourself a snack, I’ll be there in a minute.’

  I turned right and pushed open our bedroom door, which was ajar. Paul was lying on the bed, on top of the blankets, his head propped up on the pillows. His kit bag was on the floor next to him. I took a breath in; his eyes were red and when he looked up, his lip started to quiver. Paul never cried. I closed the bedroom door behind me then stood still, my heart pounding.

  I spoke softly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It’s over.’

  I bit my lip, then moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. I waited.

  ‘They said it’s too risky to play again. I’m out.’

  ‘But the physio—’

  ‘I’m out, Emily. No more physio. No more pills – all the painkillers and anti-inflammatories and injections that they’ve given me have done nothing except get me onto the pitch to do more damage to my knee. The doctor said it’s completely stuffed, as worn out as someone of seventy, and there’s no way to fix it. I’m only thirty-four.’ He shook his head, looking away from me then croaked, ‘It’s over.’

  I felt my own eyes prickle and blinked frantically. I couldn’t cry; that wasn’t fair to Paul. ‘Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.’

  He sniffed loudly. ‘I’ll get paid for the rest of the season, then that’s it. What’s that, a month? I’ll lose the sponsorships, the car…’

  The school fees? The house? I wanted to ask, but couldn’t. I swallowed hard and forced myself to speak brightly. ‘Don’t worry about all that. It doesn’t matter. We’ll be okay. We’ve got savings.’

  ‘What else am I going to do? Football is all I know. I’m not good at anything else.’

  I grabbed his hand. ‘That’s rubbish, Paul. You can do anything. You’re amazing. You’re smart, you work so hard, everyone loves and respects you. We always knew it could never go on forever.’

  He didn’t move his gaze away from his knees. ‘I know I’m getting on now, but I thought I’d get a couple more years.’

  So did I.

  Paul still hadn’t looked at me and I knew he was fighting back tears. I knew his reaction was not so much
about losing his job, but losing his pride. The shame of a grand final loss, rather than the celebration of reaching it.

  But it wasn’t really a surprise. Twelve years playing in Australia, and years before that in Scotland: that was a long time for a soccer player. I knew he’d been nervous about the meeting with the doctor by the way he’d shrugged it off as if it was nothing. But we both knew it wasn’t a routine check-up. We both knew that he couldn’t carry on like this. Some mornings, he could barely get out of bed from the stiffness in his knee. After a hot shower, some painkillers and a heat pack, it loosened up and his limp became barely perceptible. Somehow, he had made it through the games with a shot of steroids and even more painkillers but even then, we both knew that the next day, it would be worse, and the day after that.

  I put my hand on his leg, just above the knee that I had strapped for him so many times, and saw him glance at it. I moved my hand away again, not too quickly, and leaned forwards and put it on his shoulder instead. ‘It’ll just take some time to get used to the idea. What about asking Jock? Agents must deal with this all the time, he’ll have some great ideas for work, I’m sure.’

  His back muscles stiffened beneath my arm. ‘Is that what you’re worried about? The money?’

  ‘No!’ I said, feeling my cheeks burn. ‘No. Not at all.’

  He nodded and sighed. ‘Sorry. I’ll get a media gig, commentating maybe.’

  ‘Oh sweetheart, of course you will. You’d be great on the TV.’

  ‘Or coaching, training, something like that.’

  I nodded, the soft mattress undulating from the movement in my body. ‘Definitely. See, there are lots of things you can do. Think of everything you’ve learned, all the connections you’ve made. It’s just a different stage of life, that’s all. No one has the same job their whole life.’

  He rubbed his nose and sat up a bit, glancing at me. ‘It’ll be good, won’t it, to spend more time with the kids?’

  ‘Definitely. No more trips away, early morning training sessions…’ It would be great to have him around more: it was the thing that we had fought about most. I squeezed him and felt his strong arms grip me tight. I took a big breath and stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s go tell Cameron. It’s just the next stage of our life. We’ll pick up Tilly from ballet then go out for dinner.’