My husband, Tony, loves driving and we desperately needed to escape the constricted walls of our own home. Tony drove the B roads with no real destination in mind. At each junction he slowed down and asked, left or right? Mack and Peter choose eagerly from the back seats and on we went. Apart from weekly hospital trips to Edinburgh, we’d not been anywhere for months. We’d been isolated long before COVID-19 was even a thing. The sight of copper-brown hedgerows and stretched-out yellow fields seemed like a luxury. We stopped at a bakery to buy juice and buttered rolls to squash salt and vinegar crisps onto. Tony never appreciated the delicacy and crunch of crisp butties, so he bought himself a steak bake. Makeshift picnic in hand we finally unfurled out of the hot car onto Elie Beach.
*****
We look like any other family enjoying a bright April afternoon. Tony is walking along the shoreline. Peter is splashing in the water, with his trouser legs rolled up above his knees. We’ve no spare clothes or towels I think to myself. Mack and I are sitting on outstretched jackets, staring out across the ocean. Mack’s two black crutches, stick upright in the sand, like some kind of mast waiting for wind socks to be attached.
'I’m not going paddling, Mum,' Mack says
'That’s okay,' I reply
I put both my arms around him and squeeze tight.
'I get really jealous Mum.'
'How do you mean?' I ask
'Seeing Petey jumping in the waves, he’s so happy.'
I say nothing and watch Peter. He is getting soaked as the waves ebb in and out. Sea water splashing up catching the bottom of his black "Dan TDM" hoodie. It’s bright diamond logo reflects the sun and casts extra shimmers upon the glittery sand. Mack is right, Peter does look happy. I haven’t seen him so carefree in a long time. His dimpled smile and small, slim frame innocently jump the breaking waves at the edge of a vast ocean. I glance over towards Tony, he too looks brighter. His tense shoulders a little lower.
'I want to be like that again. Just like any other kid. I hate what’s happened to me,' Mack says breaking the silence.
'I know, I hate it too Mack. We have to keep going though.'
I can feel my eyes welling up. I know he finds it hard. We all do, but Mack especially. He’s been through more than any thirteen year old ever should.
'I know I’m lucky Mum, remission is a good place to be. I feel guilty for wanting more.'
I turn to face him. 'It’s not bad to want your mobility back, it’s what anyone would want. Chemo and radiotherapy got rid of the cancer but now you’re left with side effects that are hard to deal with.'
'My leg is gonna get stronger, Mum, I know it. My foot may stay smaller but it got a much bigger dose of Grays, remember?'
Mack looks at me knowledgeably, he has become wise beyond his years during these last 22 months.
'Gray’s?'
'That’s the unit radiotherapy is measured in. Then, total dose is split into fractions. My foot got an extra weeks blasting. Remember?' Mack asks.
'How do you know all that stuff?' I laugh. 'My head was a blur half the time.'
'I find the science stuff interesting, just wish it wasn’t about me,' Mack says shrugging his shoulders.
'You’re doing well with your physio though, your mobility is improving. You’ll get walking with one crutch soon. It’s all about building strength and confidence she says.'
'I hate physio,' says Mack
'I know, you tell me every time we go. It’s made such a difference though.'
'Still hate it!'
Mack and I are interrupted by shouts from Peter and Tony who are waving at us frantically.
'It’ll be a crab or something. You go Mum or they won’t stop shouting, I’ll stay here.'
'You sure?' I ask
'Yeah Mum, sitting I can do!'
I walk towards the others feeling tearful. After all he’s been through I can tell Mack is lonely and isolated in a way that has nothing to do with COVID-19. Peter is holding something in his hands. He proudly shows me pieces of blue tinged pottery and matt green sea glass. One piece is shaped like Africa. We used to collect sea glass and turn it into pretty pictures of boats or birds. That was before, when both boys could clamber freely over rocks and explore coastlines looking for shimmering treasure. Peter places his finds in Tony’s large jacket pocket. Then we crouch down to look for more. A while later I look back to check on Mack. He isn’t there. An uncomfortable panic rises through my body.
Scanning the area, I spot him on the shoreline further up the beach. Shoes off. Joggies rolled up. Mack is balancing on his crutches and standing with his feet in the water. He glances over, smiles and waves. Tony and I look at each other.
'Mack that’s awesome, I’m coming,' shrieks Peter as he races off to join him.
Tony and I have tears in our eyes, he squeezes my hand. Both our boys jumping the waves. Peter screeches with laughter. The weight through Mack’s arms pushes the crutches deeper into the sand. He lets the water lap up over his feet. I worry the rubber bungs on the end of the crutches will come off. Mack’s smaller, radiotherapy mottled foot is raised sweeping back and forth in the chilly water. The splash of the waves and Peter’s enthusiasm soak Mack.
'It’s freezing Mum,' Mack shouts.
Tony makes joyful whooping sounds. I kick my shoes off and join the boys. We jump and squeal at how cold the April sea is. That grin on Mack’s face has been absent for twenty-two months. Today is a good day. That alone is cause for celebration.
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