Heart of Bone: A gripping novel of psychological suspense, page 6
Many thanks for your letter. It brought me comfort to know my son’s heart beats on, even if in another body. That was stretching the truth, but Greer considered it wise to temper her words. Can I ask a huge favour? I’d love to meet your son. Would you, and he, please consider the idea? It would mean the world to me to hear my boy’s heart beating in his chest.
By the time you receive this, your son will have only just left hospital. When he feels well enough, I hope he’ll agree to meet up. I’m free any time that would suit him, and am happy to travel to wherever he lives.
Greer read through what she’d written. Beth was right; it was probably too early to propose the idea. She imagined that, on the rare occasions when a donor family and an organ recipient met, it happened after several letters and a slow build-up of trust between the two sides. She didn’t have time for all that. The urge to hear Tom’s heart swamped Greer again. Her longing had become an obsession that wouldn’t let go.
She slid the card into its envelope and addressed the outside to Zofia Kowalski at the South West Organ Donation Services team. If she hurried, she’d just make the five o’clock post collection.
She’d done her best. Now all she could do was wait. Again.
CHAPTER 19
Wait, Greer did, albeit reluctantly. Throughout the next week, no letter arrived, and Zofia didn’t call. Greer checked her hallway multiple times a day, her impatience soaring with every disappointment.
Why hadn’t either of them written back? What if the reply had got lost in the post?
Perhaps mother and son needed a while to consider. What was there to think about, though? If they were so damn grateful, why wouldn’t they want to meet up?
By the end of the week, Greer’s patience was exhausted. She needed a response, for God’s sake. She was on the point of calling Zofia or sending a second card when her phone rang one morning. Zofia’s name was on the screen.
Greer snatched up her mobile, swiping the ‘accept call’ icon. ‘Have you heard from them? Are they okay with meeting up?’
Her mouth was dry with fear. What if the answer was no?
When Zofia replied, her voice was hesitant. ‘What I can tell you is that I’ve received a letter for you from the other party’s mother, along with a phone call from the Organ Donations Services team local to the family. I’m afraid, Mrs Maddox, that I don’t have good news. The recipient of your son’s heart prefers not to meet with you.’
No. No, no, no. She’d write again, stress how this meant everything to her. If she could just make them understand...
‘His mother feels the same way. She asks you to allow her son to live his life in gratitude, but also in anonymity. From what I’m told, they’re very private people, Mrs Maddox.’
‘Can I write again? Make them see how important this is?’
‘I’m afraid not. In her letter, which I’ll forward on, the mother requests no further contact. I’d be happy to meet up, talk everything through with you—’
‘Don’t bother. The letter contains nothing I want to read.’ With that, Greer ended the call. So what if she’d sounded rude?
What an ungrateful pair. Her son had gifted his heart to this man, and neither he nor his mother cared enough to thank her in person. How insulting to Tom’s memory.
The echo of her boy’s baby heartbeat filled Greer’s head, and she wiped a tear from her cheek. She had to hear that sound again. Nothing else mattered.
There had to be a way. She’d do whatever it took.
BETH’S MOBILE BUZZED with an incoming call, Greer’s name on the screen. Well, that was unexpected, but welcome. ‘Hey, Greer. You free for a coffee?’
Greer was sobbing so hard Beth couldn’t make out what she was saying. ‘Hold on. Slow down, please. What’s happened? Why are you so upset?’
Her ears strained to make out Greer’s words. Something about a letter. ‘You’re at home, right? I’m coming over now.’
Greer opened the door before Beth had time to ring the bell. She collapsed into Beth’s arms, tortured sobs escaping her. Beth steered her into the living room, towards an armchair, and dragged another close by for herself. The room was still dirty and untidy, and the stale odour seemed worse.
Best to let the poor love cry it all out. Beth squeezed Greer’s hand and waited.
At last Greer seemed done. She wiped her eyes and gave Beth a sad smile. ‘All I wanted was to listen to Tom’s heart. But the guy’s mother says he doesn’t want to meet up. How they’re grateful, but they value their privacy. If they’re so damn grateful, why refuse when it means the world to me?’
‘Greer—’
‘You agree they’re being selfish, right? I’m going to write again, make them see sense.’
Beth understood why the donor family had refused to meet her. Greer was expecting too much, too soon. How pale she was, how wild her eyes. Okay, so Greer’s grief was finding an outlet, which was good. But how could she convince her neighbour to mourn her son, but also let him go? Beth wasn’t a mental health professional, but Greer’s obsession with Tom’s heart didn’t bode well for her future state of mind.
Still, she had to try. ‘Promise me you won’t write back. Please, Greer.’
CHAPTER 20
That night, Greer tossed and turned for hours, unable to sleep. Okay, so she understood that she’d pushed too far, too soon. But surely it was best for all three of them to meet while everything was still recent—Tom’s death, the transplant of his heart, the recipient’s hospital discharge? A get-together would help the guy come to terms with having a new heart and ease Greer’s grief. So why the refusal?
The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Damn that stubborn pair of fools.
Zofia had shut down firmly the idea of future attempts on Greer’s part to arrange a meeting, so that option was off-limits. How else might she persuade the mother or her son—preferably both—to meet her? The donor transplant team had emphasised that personal details were not to be included in any correspondence. There had to be a way, though.
The hours slid past, and still sleep eluded Greer. It was only when the dawn light filtered through her blinds that a solution came to her.
ONCE UP AND DRESSED, Greer switched on her laptop and opened up Facebook. In the search box, she typed some keywords and checked the results. The top one had the label ‘Heart Transplant Support UK’ and was a private group with over two thousand members. Greer clicked the link and read the information.
This is a support group for UK residents who have received heart transplants or are on the waiting list, as well as their families and friends. We ask that members of donor families refrain from joining because of the conflict of interest. There is also recipient confidentiality to consider. No medical journalists either. To join, click or tap the link below.
Conflict of interest be damned. Greer put in a membership request, only to be met with questions designed to weed out unsuitable applicants. She typed out blatantly dishonest responses, then clicked on ‘join group’.
Greer lied her way through more screening questions for two other groups, then sat back to wait. She’d done all she could for now.
Her stomach emitted a loud growl. Damn, she’d skipped breakfast again. She needed the bathroom as well; intent on her search, she’d ignored her full bladder. Food, the toilet—they’d have to wait. Greer typed ‘heart transplant donor recipient meeting’ into YouTube and worked through the results.
Wow, this was intense. A father, his face wet with tears, hugging the woman in whose body his dead daughter lived on. A mother, her ear against a young man’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. She’d lost her only son a year ago in a car crash. Greer wiped her eyes as the young man thanked the woman. How she ached to be that mother, to hear the soft beat of Tom’s heart again.
By lunchtime, all three Facebook groups had approved Greer for membership. A deep breath in, then she trawled through the posts. Many were heart-breaking. Tears pricked Greer’s eyes as she read.
I’ve been waiting for a new heart for three years. Mine is very weak now. I can’t hold on much longer.
Three months post-surgery, and I’m still in hospital. One complication after another. Will this hell never end?
My son’s been rushed to intensive care, suffering organ rejection. Pray for him, please.
What these poor people must endure. Constant worry, fear and pain, all to pursue the bittersweetness of living. One particular post sent Greer’s heart on a roller-coaster of emotions.
I’m doing well after my transplant. But it pains me to know someone had to die so that I could live.
Greer clenched her fists. Did the recipient of Tom’s heart care that her darling boy no longer lived? Or was his chief concern his own well-being?
So selfish. His mother, too. She hated both of them.
Time for a break. Greer made herself a quick sandwich and a mug of coffee, relieved her bladder, then returned to her laptop. Enough browsing. She needed to do some digging. Tom had died two months ago, so she searched for posts in that time frame.
She almost missed it. A brief message from a woman called Heart Mum Isla. Delighted to report that my son has his new heart! Thanks to everyone for their help and support.
Heart Mum Isla had joined the group four years ago and spoke movingly about her son being diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. He’d suffered a heart attack aged just twenty-eight while playing tennis. Exercise was a trigger, apparently.
Huh. Wasn’t there an incident on the news a while ago: a Premier League footballer, collapsing and dying during a match? Maybe he’d suffered from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.
Twenty-eight. So young. Greer had been forty-eight when her doctor diagnosed her aortic valve calcification, and she’d countered with how she wasn’t old enough for a dodgy ticker. She’d been told AVC that young was rare, but not unknown, especially given her family history. Heart disease wasn’t the preserve of the elderly, it seemed. Greer read how hypertrophic cardiomyopathy led to the heart walls thickening, obstructing the flow of blood, with symptoms often starting in the late teens or early twenties. Isla’s son had been unlucky; the disease rarely led to sudden cardiac arrest.
‘I just want my son back. The way he used to be.’ One of Isla’s earlier posts. Well, Greer could relate to that. What she wouldn’t give for Tom to be alive, healthy and well.
Was she on the right track, though? Suppose an unknown third party had received her boy’s heart, not Heart Mum Isla’s son? She clicked on Isla’s profile. Her avatar photo showed a woman of Greer’s age, standing beside a man who appeared to be in his early thirties. With them was a young woman, possibly mid-twenties. All three looked stiff, their gazes fixed on the ground.
Greer stared at the man in the photo. Isla’s son, she presumed. Handsome, if you didn’t mind a nose a little too big, lips that were loose and fleshy. Dark hair cut short, a few tufts swept off his forehead by the wind. Impossible to determine his eye colour. His features were coarser than Tom’s and he was stockier, but his face shape was similar, as was the hair colour. He towered over Isla, but with no point of reference, Greer couldn’t accurately gauge his height. A fit-looking guy; hadn’t Isla mentioned her son used to play tennis?
That broad chest of his. Incredible to imagine Tom’s heart pumping blood through it.
Isla’s posts weren’t public, so the amount of information Greer gleaned was minimal. Time to send the woman a friend request.
CHAPTER 21
Greer fretted throughout the rest of the day, checking Facebook constantly. Shortly before ten pm, her patience received its reward. A notification that Heart Mum Isla had accepted Greer’s friend request.
Okay, time to dig deeper. Find out if her son had Tom’s heart.
Isla didn’t use Facebook much, but some crossover existed between her personal profile and that of the support group. After a minute of scrolling, Greer found what she was looking for. A post dated just before Christmas, accompanied by a photo of Isla and the same man. Just one line, but it said everything: Grateful beyond words that my son has been given the precious gift of life.
Greer clicked on Isla’s profile. Ah, there was the information she needed. Nathan Taylor was the name of Isla’s son, and the time frame fitted. Greer now possessed the identities of both the recipient of Tom’s heart and his mother, assuming they shared a surname.
The young woman was Isla’s daughter, Jessica. Not that Greer cared; her focus was entirely on Jessica’s brother. What sort of man was he, this Nathan Taylor in whose chest Tom still survived? Was he a worthy recipient of that precious gift?
Greer’s fingers hovered over her laptop, scared of what she’d find once she clicked on Nathan’s hyperlinked name. How stupid of her. She’d come this far, so why not persevere?
Hmm, that was disappointing. Nathan had locked down tight on his security settings; Greer couldn’t view his posts or glean any further information about him. He didn’t even have a photo of himself as his avatar, just the default Facebook option of a generic head. If she was to find out more about the recipient of Tom’s heart, she’d need to dig deeper into Isla Taylor.
Isla’s profile listed her as living in Birmingham. That was convenient—less than a hundred miles up the M5 from Bristol. Buried in one of Isla’s posts was a reference to Nathan also living in Birmingham. Food for thought.
Greer walked into her kitchen to make herself a coffee. Time to ponder her next step.
Maybe she should unfriend Isla and forget she’d ever stalked her and her son online. Where did that leave her, though? In the same miserable place as before—lonely, grief-stricken, suicidal.
Greer stared at a bottle of Merlot, veiled by a thin veneer of dust, in her wine rack. How easy would it be to drain it dry whilst popping pill after pill until oblivion came calling?
The kettle steamed and boiled until the automatic switch popped off, rousing Greer from her thoughts. She spooned coffee into a mug, her mind running on Tom’s heart. The steady lub-dub of its beat, the rich red blood flowing through its chambers, the scars where the surgeons had stitched it into Nathan Taylor’s body.
Greer’s knees buckled; she would have fallen if she hadn’t gripped the kitchen table. What on earth had she been thinking? She’d been stupid to contemplate forgetting about Isla and Nathan.
Greer wanted her son back, more than anything in the world. She needed to listen to Tom’s heart one last time, and then she could die. Not before.
Wait, though. What about her own heart? Might it soften, the calcified deposits gradually melting to leave a healthy organ, if she were to hear Tom’s heartbeat again?
A ridiculous thought. Yet seductive, intriguing. Tom’s heart might hold the power to heal her own. Only if she could listen to it whenever she wanted, though. A reason for Greer to carry on living.
That meant tracking down Nathan Taylor. But how?
Greer glanced at the kitchen clock. The time was half-past eleven, and exhaustion was claiming her. Tomorrow. She’d sort everything out then.
CHAPTER 22
After breakfast the next day, Greer set to work. First, she typed ‘how to find someone’s address’ into Google. The results were surprisingly helpful; why hadn’t she considered checking the electoral register before? And websites existed that could do the legwork for her. This might be easier than she’d previously thought.
Greer chose the top result, typed in ‘Nathan Taylor’, and selected Birmingham as the city. Within seconds, dozens of results populated her screen; she had no way of knowing which was her target. To view them in more detail, she’d need to create an account and purchase online credits. Greer huffed her annoyance, but did so, taking advantage of the option to filter by Nathan’s age. Still no luck; eight results remained. Any of them could be Nathan. She needed a different approach.
Isla Taylor might provide the answer. She searched the electoral register for Isla Taylor, Birmingham. And hit gold. Just one result.
Thank God for the woman’s unusual first name. Greer grabbed her phone and added Isla’s address to her contacts. Before long, Nathan’s mother would lead her to her son.
Should she tell Beth what she intended? Greer doubted her neighbour would be too supportive; Beth obviously believed her to be obsessed with Tom’s heart. Well, screw her. She’d never known the pain of losing a child, and if they stood any chance of being friends, Beth needed to get on board with this. Greer couldn’t let Nathan Taylor slip away, not when she was so close to finding him. So tempting to hammer up the M5 to Birmingham that very day.
Caution was needed. She mustn’t go rushing in. Far better to act with a cool head.
Maybe the emphasis Isla Taylor had placed on motherhood in her letter was the key. What if Greer appealed to the woman, mother to mother? Forced her to see how important it was that she met Nathan? Once Isla understood the depth of Greer’s love for Tom, how could she still refuse?
CHAPTER 23
Beth read through her draft message to Greer. Would be great to catch up. There’s a new tapas bar opened in Redfield. Want to try it? It would be good to get Greer out of her house into a more social environment. She sucked in a breath and tapped the ‘send’ icon.
To her relief, Greer replied straightaway. I’d like that. Am free tonight. Have some news to share.
Interesting. Hopefully not about that damn letter Greer had received. Beth tapped out a response. Happy to drive. I’ll come round at 7.
AT TEN TO SEVEN, IMPATIENT to tuck into tapas, Beth started up the path towards Greer’s house. Her neighbour must have seen her do so, because before Beth had time to ring the bell, she opened the door.
