strangely elated. Life was looking up. Michael was moving in, which made him feel far better about leaving his mother. Maybe he was finally going to be able to live his life.
He resolved then and there to make the most of every second of university. He made a pact with himself not to rely on his memory any longer. To apply himself the way Molly did. He owed it to himself. His life was finally about to begin.
‘So. Tell me about the symptoms again,’ Sam said, taking Molly’s hands.
Molly tried not to sigh. They were currently sitting in bed going over and over the details. Again. They had done this a number of times now and Molly was feeling exhausted. She understood why Sam was doing this; it was his way of coping. He was a person who got to grips with something by gathering as much information as possible in order to make sense of it. It was all part of his process. Molly knew that Sam would spend considerable time after their discussions ordering books about early-onset Parkinson’s, scouring the internet for data and immersing himself in the subject so deeply he would practically be able to take an exam on it.
‘Primary motor symptoms are tremors, slowness, stiffness, balance problems.’ Molly leant back against the headboard. She was beginning to feel like a broken record. ‘Non-motor: changes in mood – depression being the most likely – sleep disorders, skin changes – whatever that means – problems with low blood pressure and sweating. I mean, you know this stuff, you’ve looked it all up.’
Molly faltered. She didn’t want to move on to the possible bladder and bowel issues or the way her speech might be affected. Not yet. Sam might have already read about those symptoms, but if he had, he hadn’t mentioned them.
‘Well, honestly, I don’t see that there is anything there we can’t cope with,’ Sam said confidently. ‘I know this is very grim for you and a huge shock.’ He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. ‘But I’m here for you. We’ll get through this together. You’re not alone. Always know that.’
Molly started weeping again. She had done an awful lot of weeping over the past few days. Obviously it was a huge thing to deal with, but Molly had surprised herself with the volume of tears she had managed to produce. Yet oddly enough she no longer felt she was in a nightmare. Telling Sam had made everything feel extremely real. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Since she had dropped her bombshell a few days ago, she and Sam had done nothing but talk non-stop about her illness. Molly wondered what on earth they had talked about before, because it seemed that every single conversation revolved around Parkinson’s in some fashion. It was overwhelming to say the least.
‘We will need to get a second opinion, of course,’ Sam said, reaching for his phone. ‘I’ll see if I can rush you through to see someone. I have a few contacts I can probably lean on.’
‘I don’t need any kind of special treatment,’ Molly said, swinging her feet out of bed. She placed them on the floor cautiously. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but since her diagnosis, she seemed acutely aware of all movement and motion. Being able to walk, to pick something up, to clean her teeth. Writing something down, using her phone. Each of these actions gave her relief and, at times, joy. It had only been a few days, but Molly was suddenly so appreciative of the things she had previously taken for granted.
Which was a horrendous cliché, of course. Not appreciating something until you were threatened with the loss of it. But Molly couldn’t help it. Being told she might lose control of certain motor functions, that she might not be able to conduct herself in the way she always had, had been like someone throwing cold water in her face. It was a sharp shock and it had brought everything into focus.
Molly heard her phone alerting her to another text message. She glanced at it quickly. As she thought, it was Ed again. Molly really had to get back to him soon, before he got really worried.
‘I wasn’t thinking of any kind of special treatment,’ Sam was saying mildly, already selecting a number from the address book in his phone. ‘I just think it’s important that we get you seen immediately. I mean, until we do, we don’t actually know if we’re dealing with early-onset Parkinson’s. We could be looking at –’ Sam turned to his iPad, predictably already open at the Michael J. Fox Foundation page ‘– any number of neurological disorders. We don’t know anything for certain yet.’
‘True.’
Molly knew Sam was clutching at straws. She would let him. It was his way. It was what he needed to do. Of course he wanted to think it might be something other than Parkinson’s; it was only natural. She would feel the same in his shoes.
Molly walked to the bathroom, enjoying the sensation of thick carpet beneath the soles of her feet. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ she said over her shoulder.
Sam wasn’t listening. He was already on the phone to his contact, whoever that was. Switching the shower on to get the water heated up and spending a fair time cleaning her teeth, Molly peeled her t-shirt over her head. Ed always used to laugh at her cleaning her teeth before she had a shower, but her argument was that she was such a clean freak, she liked to feel completely fresh and sparkling by the time she left the shower.
Ed. Molly leant her head against the cool tiles in the shower. She must speak to Ed. She had missed his engagement party and she had to explain why.
Molly hoped Ed would forgive her for missing the party. After all, he had managed to make it to her wedding, despite the way things had been between them. Molly felt a pang when she remembered that time. Christ, she had been so in love with Ed. Not at her wedding, but before … What she felt for Sam was completely different. Safe, secure, deep. Molly’s feelings for Ed might have been passionate and romantic, but they were childish by comparison. Passion was overrated. It didn’t last and it wasn’t more important than friendship and companionship.
And that wasn’t to say that she and Sam didn’t have passion, Molly thought to herself, pushing her wet hair back from her face. It was just more measured. Not as uncontrollable and head-spinning. Although – Molly paused with her shower gel in her hand – when had they last had sex? She couldn’t rightly remember. But there had been a lot going on lately. Her worry over her health, her diagnosis – and Sam had been extremely busy. Well, Sam was always busy, but he had seemed even more distracted than usual. Molly felt guilty about that. He must be finding it difficult to juggle everything now that she had ducked out of work to paint more. Molly reasoned that Sam could always hire someone else, but she knew Sam liked keeping staff to a minimum. And that he preferred to work with her.
Molly wondered if she should join Sam at work again. It would be disappointing to have to do it now that she had finally got back into her art, but if she wasn’t able to paint any longer, what did it matter? She felt the now-familiar stiffening in her hand and cursed it. Bloody, bloody disease. She jumped as she heard the door opening and put her hand behind her back.
‘I’ve managed to get you an appointment for tomorrow,’ Sam said, poking his head into the bathroom. ‘With a top guy. We’ll find out if you have this once and for all. Or if it’s something else. And then we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with and how to plan for it.’
‘Right. Great, thanks. Sam,’ Molly called to him before he could walk away. ‘Um. Join me?’ She wasn’t sure if she was after sex as such. Maybe just a cuddle. A wet one. Intimacy. Something to reassure her. Something to convince her she hadn’t suddenly become the sexless being she felt she had.
