Indian Ivy by Emily Chadwick

If someone had told Bryn that he would lose his husband before their kids were old enough to really understand, he would not have believed them.

Sure, Kane’s job as a policeman was dangerous and there was always a chance that he would get hurt, and Bryn worried, but… Kane was one of those invincible men. Strong, solid, tall and dependable. Hot-headed, sure, but always a rock. If Kane had died in some drug-raid shoot-out, Bryn reckoned that he could have come to accept it. There was always that chance. To watch his amazing, resilient husband slowly waste away due to an inoperable brain tumour had never even crossed his mind.

Yet, here he was, curled up on his side on their bed, straining his eyes to catalogue Kane’s every slow, painful breath.

The doctor said it would be any day now, but Kane still clung on, though he was only conscious for a few brief moments a day.

Bryn couldn’t help a smile that came out more like a sob. Stubborn until the very end, that was just like him.

To his chest, Bryn clutched a silk scarf that Kane had given him for their anniversary, just a few months before. Bryn had many of these scarves, knotted around the bedhead and the wardrobe and, well, everywhere, but this one was special. It was dyed many shades of deep green – Indian ivy, Kane had called it with his heart breaking smile. To Bryn, though, it was the colour of hope, the last remaining reminder of a time before the word ‘tumour’ entered their lives.

He still had an irrational, stupid, childish belief that, as long as he had the scarf, Kane wouldn’t die. Couldn’t die.

Squeezing the scarf close to his chest, Bryn glanced at the clock and made a face. Time to pick the children up from school. He leant over and pressed a kiss to Kane’s cheek, hoping that he didn’t imagine the flicker of his husband’s eyelids.

“I’ll be home soon,” he said, knowing Kane could hear him somehow. “Keep holding on until I get back, please.”


He tucked the scarf into his jean pocket, kissed Kane again, and made himself leave the room. On the threshold, he paused and turned to look at the pale, inert form on the bed.

“I love you, Kane.”