Three Amazing Things About You (41 page)

Hallie marvelled at the busyness of the scene. You could stand here at this window on the fifth floor and spend the entire day just gazing down at everything going on. It was a far cry from Carranford, that was for sure. Yet here she was, in the capital, amongst the craziness of it all.

And by herself, too. Up until a year ago, the very idea of going anywhere on her own would have been completely unthinkable. But life, thankfully, was very different now.

It was the last week of May, coming up to a year since the miraculous transplant. When the invitation had arrived from the newspaper to come to London in order to be interviewed and photographed for a feature in their Sunday supplement, she’d been excited, because it
was
exciting to be put up in a fancy hotel and have a bit of a makeover into the bargain.

Luke hadn’t been able to accompany her because he was working, as were her mum and Bea. But that hadn’t mattered; she’d simply made the trip on her own. Like a normal person! Later this evening she would make her way back to Carranford, to the cottage she now shared with Luke. Also like a normal person.

And she’d brought three different outfits with her to be photographed in. That was completely normal too!

An hour later, following a phone call from reception to let her know that everyone was here, Hallie opened the door to greet the photographer, the make-up artist and the journalist who would be interviewing her for the piece. The journalist, a woman in her fifties called Jean, wandered out on to the balcony to speak on her phone.

‘This is amazing.’ Hallie beamed as the make-up artist, whose name was Tasha, opened her case and began setting out a mind-boggling assortment of brushes, bottles, sponges and cosmetics. ‘I’ve never had this done to me before.’

Tasha carried on unpacking the case. ‘Well I hope you like the end result!’ she said cheerily.

‘I don’t usually wear much make-up.’

‘Don’t you worry.’ Tasha’s smile was reassuring. ‘I won’t do a drag-queen job on you. I’m going to make you look just like yourself, but even more fabulous.’

For the next ten minutes she expertly applied base, then primer, followed by different shades of foundation, explaining it all as she went. It was far more complicated than you’d think. Hallie watched in the lit-up mirror as Tasha moved around in front of her, bending and straightening, then standing back to assess each stage of her work. She was in her late twenties, at a guess, her honey-brown hair skilfully highlighted and fastened up in a topknot. Her eyes were very blue, her complexion flawless, and she was wearing a light lemony perfume.

‘I know about your website, by the way,’ she told Hallie. ‘One of my clients used to read it.’

‘Ah, thanks.’ Hallie saw Jean end her phone call on the balcony and come back into the room. ‘It’s taken off a bit in the last year. Well, that’s how the newspaper got interested, of course.’

Jean was surveying them with her head on one side.‘So you two haven’t worked out yet what it is you have in common?’

‘Sorry?’ Eyebrows raised, Tasha lifted her head and looked at her. ‘No, what is it?’

‘Hallie had a heart and lung transplant last year.’

‘What? You did?’ Tasha turned back to Hallie. ‘Really?’

‘Well, yes.’ It was clearly significant, but Hallie was at a loss as to why.

‘My fiancé had a heart transplant too!’ exclaimed Tasha.

‘Wow.’ OK, that explained it. Hallie shook her head. ‘What a coincidence!’

‘Not that much of a coincidence,’ said Jean with a wry smile. ‘The picture editor was going to book someone else to do the make-up for today’s shoot, but I suggested she choose you instead, seeing as you’d kind of been through it with your chap.’

‘Well it’s still pretty amazing.’ Hallie was touched that they’d thought of it. ‘There aren’t that many of us around. How’s he doing?’

‘Fantastic. Well, you know, bit of a rough start, but everything’s great now. He’s back at work, obviously still having regular checks . . . it’s coming up to a year now . . .’

‘Me too,’ said Hallie. ‘Not quite a year. Eleven months.’

Tasha was gazing at Hallie’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Rory had his transplant on the twenty-fifth of June.’

The words shimmered and reverberated in the air between them. Their eyes locked and stayed locked. Hallie gripped the sides of the chair she was sitting on and murmured, ‘Me too.’ Her heart was clattering, her mouth bone-dry, her brain reeling at this revelation.

Jean glanced up from her phone. ‘Well
that’s
what I call a coincidence, two people both getting new hearts on the same day! I mean, what are the chances of that happening, eh?’

The photographer, whose name was Sandra, paused in the process of setting up the lighting system for the shoot and said, ‘Wow, weird! If it’d been kidneys, they could have both come from the same person. But it’s not as if anyone’s got two hearts to give away!’

Hallie was lost for words. Time was kaleidoscoping, simultaneously speeding up and slowing down. Tasha was still watching her in the mirror. And she knew. Of course she knew. The vast majority of the population might never have heard of the domino transplant procedure, but she and Tasha were only too aware of it.

Oh my God
. . .

‘So I wonder if there was some huge traffic accident with loads of people involved?’ Her eyes bright and beady, Jean said, ‘That could make an interesting angle to the piece. Is there any way we could find out?’

Whoa
. . .

‘No.’ Hallie was firm. ‘They don’t tell you who your donor is. It’s all very strict. Any letters are exchanged via the transplant coordinator, and you might never even hear back from your donor’s relatives.’

‘They generally say to leave it for a year before writing to them.’ Tasha joined in.

‘So has your chap written to his donor’s family yet?’ asked Jean; being a journalist, she clearly had a nose for a story.

‘Not yet,’ said Tasha.

Hallie shook her head. ‘Nor me.’

Somehow Tasha managed to pull herself together and resume applying foundation to Hallie’s face. The secret seemed to enclose the two of them in a transparent bubble. Only when Sandra was otherwise occupied and Jean was out on the balcony taking another call did Tasha risk giving Hallie’s shoulder a squeeze and murmuring, ‘This is crazy.’

Hallie said, ‘I know.’

‘We’ll talk when they’ve gone, OK?’

‘OK.’

Then Jean came back in to begin the interview, Tasha carried on with Hallie’s hair and make-up and Sandra began taking test shots. Together they chose the best outfit for the shoot, selecting Hallie’s thin navy top and matching flippy skirt and teaming them with her new fuchsia sandals.

‘I can’t decide between the scarf and the necklaces,’ said Sandra, ‘so we’ll take some shots with each of them, and some without.’

‘I prefer clean lines.’ Jean was blunt. ‘You don’t need accessories. Her face is enough.’

‘I know, but we’d better give the picture editor something to choose from,’ said Sandra, evidently a diplomat.

God, being photographed by a stranger was weird; smiling became unbelievably complicated. Answering Jean’s questions required concentration. Hallie perched beside the window, then sat cross-legged on the king-sized bed and pretended to be typing out replies to people who’d sent their problems in to threethingsaboutyou.com. Finally she submitted to close-ups and sat backwards on a chair with Sandra moving around, getting shots from all angles.

All the time she was willing it to be over . . .
Please, that’s enough now, time for the rest of you to leave
. . .

Finally it was done. Sandra had taken hundreds of photos. The interview was complete. As she was leaving, Jean said, ‘It’s been wonderful to meet you. We’ll be running the feature at the end of June. And listen.’ Taking a business card from her bag, she handed it over. ‘If you ever do get in touch with your donor’s family, we’d love to do a follow-up piece. Just let me know.’

‘Thanks. It was great to meet you too.’ They shook hands and Jean left. Now Sandra was packing away her equipment. As, very slowly, was Tasha.

‘Oh, I forgot, you wanted me to show you how to put on false lashes.’ Holding up a plastic box, Tasha added brightly, ‘I don’t have to rush off. Shall I give you a lesson now?’

‘Fantastic,’ said Hallie. ‘Let’s do it.’

Sandra, with cases of equipment slung over both shoulders, said a cheery goodbye and let herself out of the hotel room.

And then they were alone.

‘Oh my God, three whole hours.’ Tasha clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I can’t believe we managed it. I thought I was going to
explode
.’

‘What’s Rory’s blood group?’ said Hallie, just to double-check.

‘He’s O.’

Hallie nodded. ‘Same.’

‘Come here.’ Tasha wrapped both arms around her and held her tight. She whispered into Hallie’s ear, ‘This is amazing. You gave Rory your heart. He’d have died without you.’ A hot tear spilled out of her eye and trickled down Hallie’s cheek. ‘Thank you
so much
.’

‘It’s not me, though. We both have the family of the other donor to thank. I sent them a card a while back, through my transplant coordinator, but I was waiting for the year to be up to write a proper letter.’ Hallie knew it would be the most difficult letter she’d ever have to compose. ‘And they might never write back . . . there are no guarantees.’

‘But in the meantime, we’ve found you. Oh God, I still can’t believe it!’

‘I’m going to call Jonathan, my coordinator, and see if he can confirm it’s Rory.’

Five minutes later, she ended the call and said with a grin, ‘Well, he can’t.’

‘You’re still smiling, though.’

‘I’ve known Jonathan long enough to know when he’s holding back. He knows,’ said Hallie, ‘but he isn’t allowed to confirm it. He said we need to get Rory to ask
his
transplant coordinator.’ She shook her head with amusement. ‘Poor Jonathan, he’s always so calm and in control. But this time he was definitely shocked.’

‘So what happens now?’ said Tasha.

‘I think Rory needs to make that call, don’t you? Do it like Jonathan says, just to keep everyone happy. And after that, what time does he finish work?’ said Hallie. ‘I think I’d like to meet the man who has my heart.’

‘Oh will you look at her little face? Hello, lovely girl! Are you going to give me a smile?’

It was one of those could-go-either-way moments. Flo held her breath and willed it to go the right way. Luckily it did. Her daughter, now twelve weeks old, was less fazed than most babies by geriatric faces looming in front of her in a manner that could, admittedly, give a bit of a fright to some adults. Alexandra broke into a huge beaming smile and waved her little hands at ninety-eight-year-old Esme Carpenter, currently the oldest resident of Nairn House.

‘Ah, look at that, she’s a bonny one! Flo, you’ve got yourself a little angel there. I love it when you bring her in to see us. Makes my day, it does. What a gorgeous wee girl she is.’

While she was still on maternity leave, Flo had taken to visiting once or twice a week with Alexandra in tow. It was nice to keep up with the goings-on at Nairn House, and seeing everyone’s delight at being able to interact with Alexandra was a joy. Today, she was sitting out on the terrace with several of the residents. To her left was Esme. To her right was Margot, busy taking photos with her iPad.

‘Pretty girl,’ boomed Thomas, who was sitting opposite them. ‘Far too thin, though. Needs to eat a few pies. Not like you,’ he retorted as Bridget trundled past with the tea trolley. ‘You’ve had more than your share.’

Thomas was the newest resident, a retired naval captain with a loud voice and a robustly unreconstructed opinion on everything.

‘Any more of that and I’ll be cutting off your beard while you sleep,’ said Bridget, unperturbed. ‘Anyway, who’s the pretty girl? Are you talking about Flo?’

‘No, of course not. I meant this one!’ Thomas jabbed a finger at the magazine he’d been reading.

Peering over at the page, Bridget said, ‘Oh she
is
pretty. Not too thin at all.’

‘Hmmph. I don’t hold with this transplant malarkey,’ Thomas snorted. ‘It’s all wrong, if you ask me, meddling with nature. Doctors thinking they’re God, playing around with people’s lives just because they can.’

Flo exchanged a glance with Margot, who shook her head and said in a clear voice, ‘Thomas, does it
ever
occur to you to think before you open your mouth to speak?’

‘What? Oh, don’t you start on at me again, woman. You’re as bad as my second wife.’ With a huff of annoyance, Thomas levered himself out of his chair and grabbed his walking stick.

‘I’m luckier than her,’ Margot observed. ‘At least I didn’t have to be married to you.’

Grumbling under his breath, Thomas made his way back inside. Bridget rested a hand on Flo’s shoulder. ‘Just ignore him. Give us another week or two and we’ll have the old sod whipped into shape.’

‘It’s fine.’ Flo nodded at the magazine Thomas had left lying open on the wrought-iron garden table. ‘Could you pass it over so I can take a look?’

‘And is it my turn with Alexandra?’ Putting down her iPad, Margot took the baby from her as Bridget handed the magazine over to Flo.

The feature was headed:
Three Amazing Things About Hallie
.

Several seconds later, Flo exclaimed, ‘Oh my goodness, it’s Dear Rose.’

‘What is?’ Margot glanced over at the double-page spread.

‘This girl. Her name’s Hallie. She’s the one who set up that website. She was always anonymous, remember? Nobody knew who she was.’

‘Of course I remember,’ said Margot. ‘We used to read the problems every week. Then my iPad needed resetting and I lost all the bookmarks to my favourite websites.’

‘She had cystic fibrosis.’ Still reading, skimming through the words, Flo felt her breathing quicken. ‘She had a heart and lung transplant almost a year ago. It saved her life.’

‘Well isn’t that just wonderful? To think the whole time she was helping other people, she was going through all that.’ Ever the multitasker, Margot was holding Alexandra securely with one arm and scrolling through pages on the iPad with her free hand. Within seconds she’d found the same article online and was reading it herself.