After the End(60)

“Max, wait!”

He looks back and this time he looks at me, only when he does it’s me who can’t bear it. I fell in love with these eyes, and saw that love reflected back in them. I looked into them on our wedding day, when we exchanged promises to love and honour. Till death us do part. I’ve held a hundred silent conversations with these eyes, across countless dinner tables and roomfuls of friends. What a bore! One more drink, then let’s go. I love you. I love you too. Those eyes urged me on when Dylan was almost born and I was so tired and it hurt so much . . . You can do it. One more push. I love you.

I force myself to hold his gaze, but it’s tearing me apart from the inside, my chest squeezed so tight I’m buckling beneath it, because it’s like looking at a stranger. My husband’s eyes are empty. What have I done?

There’s a beat, then he leaves, pushing past the reporter, who has no choice but to step out of his way.

My own brace of journalists hasn’t moved. There’s a note of exasperation in their voices.

“Mrs. Adams?”

“Do you have a statement for us?”

A tiny red light blinks at me, the microphone inches from my face. My vision blurs and I blink hard, swallow. Everything I do is an effort, like I’m remembering how. Speaking seems impossible. All I want to do is get back to the hospital—get back to Dylan. Is that where Max has gone, too?

“Pip?” Dr. Khalili speaks quietly. I didn’t notice her leave the courtroom, but she’s standing by the door, a few yards away from me. “Did you come by train? Would you like a lift back?”

I stare at her. One of the reporters shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The red light continues to blink. It seems impossible I’ll ever speak again, but if I do it won’t be into this microphone. Dr. Khalili waits patiently, her face filled with the compassion that hasn’t once wavered in the months I have known her. And suddenly it hits me that this isn’t about a few words spoken by a judge, but about Dylan. Dr. Khalili will go back to St. Elizabeth’s and update Dylan’s notes, and the next time he crashes, they will let him die.

Dylan is going to die.

A wave of terror engulfs me. I look at Dr. Khalili, the horror of everything that’s happened shrinking down to this one woman, to that one day she took us to the quiet room and brought our lives to an end.

“This is all your fault,” I hiss. Then I walk away as fast as I can without running, Max’s words still ringing in my ears. I can’t be here. I can’t be near this woman who has lost me not only my son but my husband, too.

Maybe I did sign Dylan’s death warrant.

But Leila Khalili wrote it.





twenty-five





Max


The judge puts on his reading glasses and picks up his notes. “This has not been an easy decision. It is with some trepidation, but with complete conviction of Dylan’s best interests, that I rule that Max Adams be allowed to take his son to America for treatment that may prolong his life.”

Instantly, Pip takes her hand from mine. She makes a sound that’s neither a word nor a cry. A single breath. And then she stands and pushes past me, running out of the courtroom. I stand too, and I’m about to go after her, but I don’t know if she wants me to—if she’ll even talk to me. I walked out on her when she needed me most, and I know she’ll need time to understand that everything I did was for our son. For our family.

People are crowding around me, and my legal team are murmuring respectful plaudits, and my chest swells with relief and love and something that feels a lot like pride.

I rule that Max Adams be allowed to take his son to America for treatment that may prolong his life.

I fought for my son, and we won. It isn’t just me who believes Dylan’s life is worth saving. The court agrees. With me, with Dr. Schulz, Dr. Sanders, Laura King. The hospital can’t stop treating Dylan, they have to abide by the court order. They have to allow us to take Dylan to America for proton beam therapy.

Us.

My skin still holds the memory of Pip’s hand in mine, the warmth of her fingers. The reassurance brought by the presence of the one person who knows you better than you know yourself. In those few minutes, before the judge gave his ruling, Pip needed me, and I needed her. For that short time we weren’t pitted against each other, but standing side by side again. Hand in hand.

Laura shakes my hand, her fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary. “They’ll be expecting a statement—are you comfortable giving one, or would you prefer me to read it?”

“No. No, it should be me.”

Us. It should be us.

I’m no longer torn in two, no longer two different men fighting different responses. Pip did what she thought was right—just as I did. The weeks spent by Dylan’s bed wore her down, until she could only see the labor in looking after him, and no longer the love. But I’ll help more. I’ll be there more. Pip was frightened of going against the recommendations of medical staff we’d come to trust. But now she can have confidence in a new team of doctors. A team who believe they can save our son.

“I’ll give a statement. But then I need to find my wife.”

The pavement outside the court is thronged with people. A cheer breaks out as Laura and I step outside, and I see someone waving a flag with Dylan’s photo on it. A woman I’ve never seen before is crying. She sees me looking and smiles through her tears, one hand on her chest. My son has touched a whole nation. A whole world.