That Elusive Cure 24

“So are you never going to talk to me again?” Jimmy was stretched out on the sofa eating popcorn.

 

I was pretending to watch the television, thinking over and over how I could have stopped Jimmy from being so stupid. I should have hidden the key better, or taken it with me, or left it with Sal for safe keeping. I knew there was no point in going over it again and again, but it was like my mind was a record that kept repeating the same damn section. 

 

For now I didn’t want to reply to Jimmy, but not saying anything would just prove his point, so I said, “Of course I’ll talk to you.”

 

Cass had gone a few hours earlier, happy to have approval for her pregnancy from us both. I thought about her as Jimmy crunched on the popcorn. It was going to be tough raising a baby, her and Jack were so young. But then isn’t it always hard to raise a baby? Didn’t really matter how old you were.

 

“If you’re talking to me then answer me this. How long are you going to be cross with me?” He munched and crunched and then said, “I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean to break it.”

 

Jimmy didn’t sound sorry and I knew I didn’t sound forgiving so I kept my mouth shut. My insides were in a bit of a swirl. Chemo nausea seemed to be catching up to me without the healing power of the pod. How long before the tumours rebounded? I guess worst come to worst, the machine had given me time, something I’d have considered a precious gift a few weeks ago.

 

Suddenly I had an idea. I flipped open my phone and composed a text to Janie.

 

Any chance you could send me the details of the man who gave you the key to the church?

 

I didn’t have to wait long. My phone beeped.

 

Why do you want his details?

 

I thought about a way of asking her that would convince her to give up his name and number. I smiled as it came to me. I typed fast.

 

I want to say thank you to the man who gave us the machine. I was going to try and work my way through all the people who’ve received treatment with it.

 

She’d either bite or she wouldn’t. But if we could find the first person, maybe he would know where it came from, and maybe even how to fix it. I swore under my breath at Jimmy once more. Why did he feel the need to tinker with everything?

 

Janie took a little longer to reply, but she came up trumps.

 

I was told the guy who started it all is called Rich Newland. I think he owns the church. The guy who gave me the key was a man called Dave. I’ll text you his number in a minute.

 

For a brief moment I actually smiled. Of course, I could go through the property records in the council and find this guy Rich that way. At the same time I should keep working backwards through the cured people. Belts and braces as it were.

 

My phone beeped again and there was a land line number there. Janie was wonderful. I texted her my thanks, leaving far too many kissing ‘x’s.

 

“Something’s cheered you up.” Jimmy was no longer watching the television. He’d turned my way, staring at me as I typed on my phone.

 

I tried to calm the giant grin on my face. “I may have a lead on the guy who put the machine in the church. Maybe he knows where it came from, and maybe he has an inkling about fixing the damn thing.”

 

Jimmy sat up. “Really? That would be fantastic!”

 

It was then that I noticed the lines of regret etched in Jimmy’s face. If I had to guess, I’d say he’d aged five years in a day. I sighed. Now wasn’t the time for a couple’s war. “Jimmy will you promise me you won’t fiddle in the machine any more, and that you will not break any more of it?”

 

“Does this mean you love me again?”

 

“Promise me, Jimmy.”

 

“I promise not to break or tinker with the machine anymore, other than when I fix it, which I will.”

 

I nodded. That was the best I could hope to get from him.

 

“Oh, you had post this morning. Did you see it?”

 

“No?” I stood up and started towards the hall. “Is it on the shelves?”

 

Jimmy grunted an affirmative. There it was, a brown envelope, the type only the hospital seemed to use. I ripped it open.

 

“It’s for my scan,” I said as I walked back into the living room. “It’s on Tuesday, early.”

 

“Which kind has the doc ordered?”

 

“It’s for an MRI at Arrowe Park. Seven-fifty in the morning.”

 

“Why are they always so early? They never give you a reasonable time slot, like four in the afternoon.” Jimmy started crunching on his popcorn again, back to half watching the TV.

 

I thought about how lucky I was to be getting so many scans with such a short wait. When I thought about the stories I’d heard from people in other parts of the country waiting for weeks for a scan, I knew how lucky I was. Early or late in the morning, I didn’t care. This was going to be the proof of the machine. I’d get to see if it really was working and how far towards cured that last session had taken me.

 

Butterflies erupted in my tummy. What would the doctors do when they saw my lung was clear? Maybe the other one would be clear now as well. I couldn’t help but smile to myself. At the same time I felt my emotions well up and threaten to bring tears. If my lungs were clear I knew that opened me up to all sorts of other treatments that had be denied to me for so long. Even if the machine never worked again, it may have put my health on a brand new path, one I thought closed forever to me.

 

I put the letter down and joined Jimmy on the sofa. I snuggled up against him, feeling safe as he wrapped an arm around me. I didn’t really watch the television, but closed my eyes and dreamed of what the doc’s reaction to my scan might be.