They were a match. Genetically identical. Sam sat quite still as Professor Sung told her the marvellous news.
He handed her an information leaflet. ‘HLA stands for human leukocyte antigen,’ he said. ‘It’s a marker the immune system uses to recognise which cells belong to your body, and which ones don’t. A good HLA match between donor and recipient is vital to the success of a stem-cell transplant.’ Sam waited expectantly, encouraged by the broad smile spreading across his face. ‘A transplant between identical twins, such as you and Charlie, guarantees complete HLA compatibility.’
Sam was hesitant. ‘So this means?’
‘There’s an excellent chance of a complete cure. Really excellent.’
‘Does Charlie know?’
‘I told Charlie and Mary this morning.’ The mere mention of Charlie’s name provoked in Sam an unsettling craving. The pull of her sister was strong, and Sam rose to leave. He gestured for her to sit back down. ‘I want to be sure you understand the process. For the next few days, starting from today, you’ll receive injections to stimulate stem-cell production; to encourage their movement from your bone marrow out into your bloodstream. Meanwhile Charlie will receive high doses of chemotherapy to destroy her diseased cells and make way for your new ones. If all goes well, we’ll harvest your stem cells one day next week in the morning, and transfer them to Charlie that same afternoon. Do you have any questions?’
Only a million, but Sam shook her head. The details didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was Charlie getting well. The universe had narrowed its focus to that one pinpoint of light, that one desire. Professor Sung gave Sam an appointment card. ‘You’re booked in at the Apheresis Unit at eleven-thirty for your first G-CSF injection today. Will your mother be coming here?’
‘I asked you not to call Mary that,’ said Sam.
‘I don’t mean Mary. I mean your adoptive mother.’
For a moment the term made no sense. ‘I don’t need her permission,’ said Sam. ‘I’m over eighteen.’
Professor Sung smiled. ‘Only just, Samantha.’ Of course. He knew how old Charlie was, so he knew her age too. How strange. ‘The injections have some side effects, and I want somebody with you, to make sure you get home in one piece.’
‘I’ll be fine …’ she began.
‘No, no,’ he said, holding up his hand. ‘I’m the doctor, and I say you need a support person. Either I ring your mother, or Mary can look after you. Take your pick.’
Mary. She was a complete stranger. What use could she be? But things between Faith and Sam had gone from bad to worse lately. It was high time she stood on her own two feet. ‘Fine,’ she said, with a little eye roll that masked her apprehension. ‘Mary then. Can I see Charlie now?’
Professor Sung nodded. ‘Just remember, the chemotherapy will take it out of her. Don’t stay too long.’
Colleen ushered Sam into the room, then closed the door. Charlie was connected again to the ubiquitous battery of machines. A murky-looking fluid flowed through the central line, like poison aimed straight at her heart. Charlie lay very still, eyes closed, listening to an iPod with headphones, flicking at it with her fingers. Sam watched her sister unawares, like a spy – curious and guilty all at once. Charlie looked older, smaller, shrunken. Sam could blow her away with one breath. She needed weighing down. A black headscarf patterned with scarlet salamanders and snakes coiled about her head.
Sam moved to the foot of the bed, into her sister’s field of vision, and touched her leg. ‘Hello, Charlie.’ Charlie took out the earphones and grinned. The transforming effect of her smile was remarkable, like she’d switched on her life force. It shone brightly from her hollow eyes. Sam answered Charlie’s smile with her own. ‘We’re a goer,’ she said, and gave her sister the thumbs up.
Charlie nodded, her face flushed palest pink with pleasure, and shifted position in the bed. It cost her a noticeable effort.
Sam experienced a stab of sadness, mingled with frustration. It was so unfair. She wanted to take off her mask, go for a walk with her sister, run with her, ride with her. They deserved at least that. Her parents had stolen their past, their right to a shared childhood, and now this cancer threatened to steal their hope for a common future. Aggravation must have shown on her face.
Charlie’s smile fell flat, and she looked away. ‘It’s okay if you don’t want to do the transplant. You can change your mind.’ Her sister’s voice was alarmingly weak, but Sam recognised the spiny prickle in the tone. It was too often in her own.
Sam pulled up a chair close to Charlie. ‘Just try to stop me.’
Her sister’s smile returned and she reached out her hand, bony and pale. An angry rash, like rope burn, extended from wrist to forearm. It disappeared beneath the sleeve of her unflattering flannel nightgown. Her sister deserved better. How far up did the ugly rash go? Did it cover Charlie’s thin chest, her breasts? Did it hurt? Sam tried to think of something to say, a message of tenderness, but before she could find the words, Charlie gave her hand the faintest squeeze. The back of Sam’s neck tingled.
‘Thank the Goddess, you’re a match.’ It was Mary’s voice. She rushed to embrace Sam, clearly reaching for some sort of connection with her long-lost daughter. She wouldn’t find one. Sam felt nothing for this woman, this woman who’d given her life, then given her away. Mary turned her attention to Charlie and moved over to the bed without a word. She caressed Charlie’s cheek, unwound the serpent headscarf, and pulled out a new one from a plastic bag in the bedside drawer. Sam flinched at the sight of Charlie’s naked scalp. With ritual concentration and loving precision, Mary twisted the fresh scarf to shield her daughter’s skull. It had a paisley tadpole design, rich teal in colour – almost aquamarine – with long ties and elastic at the nape. It was gorgeous, and a perfect fit.
An unexpected jolt of jealousy left Sam breathless. Was she jealous of Mary, for her unspoken bond with Charlie, born of a life-time’s familiarity? A painful stab of insight suggested it might be the other way around. That she might be jealous of Charlie, for having had her real mother for her whole life. No, that was absurd. Faith was Sam’s real mother; despite all her flaws, she loved Sam, and Sam loved her. Sam mumbled goodbye and hurried from the room. Charlie’s swift, disappointed glance stayed with her for a long, long time.