Dead Tomorrow

effort to remove it. Dr Granger was making her feel uncomfortable. She didn’t like his coldness, or the over-the-top display of family photos. They seemed to give out a message that read, I am OK and you are not. What I have to say will make no difference to my life. I will go home tonight and have dinner and watch TV and then perhaps tell my wife I want sex with her, and you–well, tough…you will wake up tomorrow in your private hell, and I will wake up as I do every morning, full of the joys of spring and with my happy children.
    Having finished reading, he leaned forward with the faintest thaw in his expression. ‘How are you feeling, Caitlin?’
    She shrugged, then was silent for some moments. Lynn waited for her to speak. Caitlin extracted her hand from her mother’s and began scratching the back of each hand in rotation.
    ‘I itch,’ she said. ‘I itch everywhere. Even my lips itch.’
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘I’m tired.’ She looked sulky suddenly. Her normal look. ‘I want to feel better,’ she said.
    ‘Do you feel a little unsteady?’
    She bit her lip, then nodded.
    ‘I think Dr Hunter has told you the results of the tests.’
    Caitlin nodded again, without making eye contact, then rummaged in her soft, zebra-striped handbag and pulled out her mobile phone.
    The consultant’s eyes widened as Caitlin stabbed some buttons, reading the display. ‘Yes,’ she said distantly, as if to herself. ‘Yup, he told me.’
    ‘Yes,’ Lynn stepped in hastily. ‘He has, he’s–he’s told us the news–you know–what you have told him. Thank you for seeing us so quickly.’
    Somewhere outside, along the street, acar alarm was shrieking.
    The consultant looked at Caitlin again for a moment, watching her send a text and then put the phone back in her bag.
    ‘We have to act quickly,’ he said.
    ‘I don’t really understand exactly what has changed,’ Caitlin said. ‘Can you sort of explain it to me in simple terms? Sort of, like, idiot language?’
    He smiled. ‘I’ll do my best. As you know, for the past six years you’ve been suffering from primary sclerosing cholangitis, Caitlin. Originally you had the milder–if you can call it that–juvenile form, but recently and very swiftly it has turned into the advanced adult form. We’ve tried to keep it under control with a mixture of drugs and surgery for the past six years, in the hope that your liver might cure itself–but that only happens very rarely, and I’m afraid in your case it has not. Your liver has now deteriorated to a point where your life would be in danger if we did not take action.’
    Her voice very small suddenly, Caitlin said, ‘So I’m going to die, right?’
    Lynn grabbed her hand and squeezed hard. ‘No, darling, you are not. Absolutely not. You are going to be fine.’ She looked at the doctor for reassurance.
    The doctor replied impassively, ‘I’ve been in touch with the Royal South London Hospital and arranged for you to be admitted there tonight for assessment for transplantation.’
    ‘I hate that fucking place,’ Caitlin said.
    ‘It is the best unit in the country,’ he replied. ‘There are other hospitals, but this is the one we work with normally from down here.’
    Caitlin rummaged in her bagagain. ‘The thing is, I’m busy tonight. Me and Luke are going to a club. Digital. There’s a band I need to see.’
    There was a brief silence. Then the consultant said, with far more tenderness than Lynn had imagined he was capable of, ‘Caitlin, you are not at all well. It would be very unwise to go out. I need to get you into hospital right away. I want to find you a new liver as quickly as possible.’
    Caitlin looked at him for a moment through her jaundiced yellow eyes. ‘How do you define well?’ she asked.
    The consultant, his face thawing into a smile, said, ‘Would you really like my definition?’
    ‘Yes. How do you define well ?’
    ‘Being alive and not feeling sick might be a good place to start,’ he said. ‘How does that sound to you?’
    Caitlin shrugged. ‘Yup, that’s probably quite good.’ She nodded, absorbing the words, clearly thinking about them.
    ‘If you have a liver transplant, Caitlin,’ he said, ‘the chances are good that you will start to feel well again and get back to normal.’
    ‘And if I don’t? Like–don’t have a transplant?’
    Lynn wanted to butt in and say something, tell her daughter just exactly what would happen. But she knew she had to keep