in every word, sipping his beer.
‘I went into the house, despite John Joe’s insistence on labouring me with more chores,’ I tell him. ‘He kept telling me I was faking it and being lazy and saying I looked okay and to just get on with it… I suppose he was just teasing me like any brother in charge would, but…’
‘Take your time, Maggie,’ he says. Everything feels like slow motion. The piano man has gone silent and things are blurry. Simon takes my hand.
‘These… these,’ I whisper, ‘well, they were like really heavy flu symptoms, were becoming more and more severe. I couldn’t breathe. I was sweating. I was so, so hot. I felt like I was shutting down inside. Because I was shutting down. My whole body was shutting down.’
I feel my voice break slightly so I decide to keep going and push on through the pain barrier that comes with reflecting on that dark day. If I stop talking now I will never be able to tell this story again.
‘I had to lie down, so I went to the house and when it got even worse, I called for my brother, but he didn’t come,’ I tell him, and I feel all the hurt and resentment for John Joe rush through my veins again. ‘He says he didn’t hear me but I know he did. He heard me, Simon. He heard me and he didn’t come.’
‘Oh, Maggie, he couldn’t have. He mustn’t have heard you.’
My tears flow now and I look around, not wanting to cause a scene in such a warm and social environment. I can hear the piano again. I am going to be okay.
‘Everyone says that but I think he did. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter… well, it does matter…’
God, this is harder than I thought it would be.
‘Take a deep breath, Maggie,’ says Simon. ‘We have all night. Take your time.’
He puts his hand on top of mine again and I want him to hold me so badly. I want to lean in on his manly chest and cry and cry and never stop.
But I can’t. So I do what he says. I take a deep breath and continue as best I can.
‘They say I passed out and when I woke up, I could literally see that my heart had swollen in my chest,’ I explain. ‘It looked like it was going to burst. I tried to scream but I couldn’t get a breath. And then everything went black again and I woke up in hospital, where I lay attached to a machine for almost two weeks waiting for a transplant – and then a miracle occurred. And that miracle was your sister’s gift. To me.’
‘Wow….’
‘Yip. Wow indeed.’
I stare into my glass. Simon is still holding my hand.
‘So, who found you?’ he asks. ‘Who came to your rescue? Was it John Joe?’
I see protection in Simon’s eyes and it makes me want to never let go of him.
‘My parents found me,’ I tell him. ‘When I got to hospital my heart was failing pretty rapidly. Turns out I had a congenital condition that would have killed me had they not came back when they did. I was inches from death and I needed a heart transplant to save me. Basically, I needed someone to die to keep me alive. And that someone was your sister. I’m so sorry.’
We both sit in silence, absorbing the moment. I have a flurry of emotions running through me right down to my toes. Relief, gratitude, love, grief, sorrow… but, most of all, guilt. Why did Lucy have to die and I got to live? Surely that isn’t fair?
‘And what happened since then? Could it happen to you again? Could Lucy’s heart fail?’
It’s the question I am asked the most and the one that I can never bear to answer.
‘I take immune suppressing drugs every twelve hours and will do so all my life,’ I explain to him. ‘It’s so my body doesn’t try to fight the foreign cells, which would send me into rejection, which would be the worst thing ever.’
He knows what I mean. ‘So, is there a life expectancy? Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that.’
‘It’s okay, Simon,’ I tell him. ‘I know my special heart won’t last forever and that someday I will need a new one to live and I see my consultant often enough to keep an eye on things. If that doesn’t come my way, I’m grateful for all I have and all I got to see and do. Me and Lucy, well we just take one day at a time and so far we are doing just fine.’
Simon has gone to the bathroom and I sit there waiting, hoping my side of the story hasn’t upset him too much. I feel like I have cheated him, like I have cheated Lucy and all their family. Why should I have survived when she didn’t?
When he finally comes back, I see tiny beads of water on his forehead. It’s not sweat because he didn’t have it before he left. He must have splashed his face with cold water in the bathroom.
‘Is this too much?’ I ask him.
‘No, please, no,’ he says with such sincerity. ‘It is why I am here. I have wanted to know this for so long. Tell me about your brother. Tell me the rest.’
‘I feel so guilty, Simon. I feel so bad that I am here talking to you and Lucy isn’t. You must resent me so much.’
‘Maggie, Maggie, Maggie,’ he says, sounding just like he did when he first came into the bar to meet me a few hours ago. ‘Lucy died and that was nothing to do with you. You have given me hope. To find you is like finding a missing jigsaw puzzle piece that I lost all those years ago. She lives on in you and to see you in real life is something I have always dreamed of! Please tell me the rest of your story and then I will tell you mine and I hope that, in some way, all of this can help both of us. Please, go on.’
And so I continue…
‘It took a long, long time to get the full story of what happened that day and then more time to forgive my brother,’ I tell Simon. ‘Years, really. Mum always idolised John Joe and she forgave him slowly once I had the operation and the transplant was a success. For my dad, it took a lot longer, but they managed to work together in some sort of civilised manner and then John Joe moved to America and has been womanising … I mean, working there ever since.’
Simon looks puzzled.
‘That was my idea of a joke,’ I say with a shrug. ‘He seems to go through a lot of woman. Anyhow, I’ve stayed out of his way and he’s stayed out of mine. With that unspoken arrangement in place, we all get along fine. At least we had a happy ending, thanks to your family and the brave decision your parents made.’
We sit in silence again for a few moments, both taking in the incident that I have just relived – something that I have avoided talking about for years and yet which kept me awake at night after night.
‘I’d love to give you a hug,’ says Simon.
‘I’d love you to as well,’ I say. I need a hug really badly.
I lean into him and he holds me and I close my eyes, my chest moving up and down as I focus on breathing in and out, in and out.
‘I can feel your heart beat,’ he whispers and I close my eyes and breathe.
Then
