Chapter 5
5
LOUISA
Sometimes when I wake up, I forget about the cancer for a moment or two. It’s like waking from a bad dream that leaves a lingering sense of dread, which is swiftly followed by a wave of relief when I realise it was all in my head. Only now the wave of relief never comes and instead the sense of dread settles in my stomach like a rock I have to carry round all day. I’m getting quite good at painting on a smile and the circle of people who know about my diagnosis remains very small.
The PET scan is done and it’s being analysed so that my fate can be decided. I’ve got an appointment with Mr Whitelaw to discuss the results, plan the chemo and talk about whether or not he’ll operate. I’m trying to hold on to the hope that he will, but when I went in for the scan, I kept looking at the technicians’ faces and I swear to God I could see sympathy in their eyes. I wanted to ask them if my body had lit up like the Blackpool illuminations, with horrible pockets of cancer being detected way beyond the point where it had first started, but I’d already been told I wouldn’t be getting any results today. So instead, my mind went to the place where it has done for as long as I can remember, and I imagined the worst. I guess that’s what happens when you spend years desperately hoping that you won’t come in from primary school to find your father spreadeagled on the sofa, with a three-quarters empty bottle of vodka tipped on to its side, only to discover he’s exactly where you didn’t want him to be. Or when you pray for your mum to come back and make everything okay, but time and again she doesn’t turn up because she’s either trying to get sober, or failing horribly and on a bender of her own. I know only too well that the worst can happen and that more often than not it does, so it’s hardly surprising that my mind goes to those places when the future’s uncertain.
Talking about agreeing a chemo schedule once the results are analysed didn’t help either. I know it’s inevitable, whatever the scan shows, and that I shouldn’t worry about losing my hair in the midst of all of this, but I’d be a liar if I tried to pretend I don’t care about that. I don’t want to look in the mirror and see an unavoidable reminder that I’ve got cancer, and I don’t want my life to change in all the ways it’s going to. Very soon I might not even be up to doing this, something as simple as taking my son for his weekly swimming session, but I’ve got to keep trying to live in the moment and carrying on as normal for as long I can, otherwise I’m as good as dead already.
Pulling my swimming costume up and adjusting the straps, I look over at Stan, who’s splashing in the water that’s collected in the gulleys of the changing room meant for drainage. I won’t be able to get in today because I couldn’t even have a canula fitted without it becoming more complicated than it should have been. The site where the cannula was positioned is red and painful, and when I saw my GP this morning, she suspected it might be infected and she didn’t think swimming was a good idea. Instead I plan to sit on the side and let my legs dangle in the water while I watch Stan, which is the next best thing to getting in with him. Holly is taking the afternoon off work so she can be the designated adult he needs in the pool. I could just have sat this one out, but the voice inside my head that refuses to shut up just lately keeps reminding me that I don’t know how many more of these I’ll get to go to, so I’m not missing out on watching my little boy swim, even if I can only sit on the sidelines.
Stan loves our swimming sessions and it’s precious time on our own while Flo is at school. Will I be able to swim in the midst of chemo? Will I even want to? I’ll probably have to wear a swimming cap to stop what’s left of my hair from floating off and scaring the other children, or horrifying their parents. Shaking my head, I attempt to shake out the thought at the same time. It’s a new habit since my first meeting with Mr Whitelaw, and I suspect it’s not a particularly healthy one. I have a feeling I should be confronting all the emotions that I’ve pushed down since my diagnosis head on. I still haven’t allowed myself to think too much about what might happen if we run out of options on the treatment front. Instead, I’m focusing on two things: the first is the main piece of advice contained in one of the leaflets I was given about living with cancer which is to plan my days the way I always have done, and to set up events to look forward to. I’ve got to do that, if I’m going to prevent the cancer from taking my life long before it might eventually do. My second focus remains the children. All the websites on how to live with a diagnosis like mine tell me to spend time with the people I love, so that’s what I’m doing. But that’s always been my priority anyway.
‘Are you two ready?’ Holly calls out from the cubicle next door, bringing me back to the present, and Stan’s head jolts up in response.
‘Let’s go swimming!’ His excitement is palpable and those are the words we always shout out as we’re about to head into the pool, so I respond the way I know he’s expecting me to.
‘Yeah, let’s go swimming!’ As I step out of the cubicle, the smell of chlorine hits me and a wave of nausea makes my stomach roll. Maybe I should have sat this one out, but feeling so nauseous brings home how difficult it might be to come along once the chemo starts. For now, I’m determined to make the most of still looking like the mummy Stan has always known, and focusing on finding something to enjoy in every day, just like the websites tell me to, even if that feels impossible.
After the session finishes, Serena, one of the other mothers from Tots and Tigerfish – the swimming group Stan and I have been coming to since he was six months old – suggests going to a cafe. The children all go to Little Acorns nursery which means I know the mothers reasonably well and, like any group, there are some I like better than others. Two I’m a bit closer to, because they have children in the same year as Flo at our village primary school. There’s also one mother I knew long before the school runs even began, Billie, but she’s my least favourite of the whole group and, as I queue up for coffee, I tell Holly to nab us a seat at the opposite end of the cluster of tables from her. At first, my sister protests, telling me I should be the one sitting down while she queues up, but I shoot her a look that tells her this isn’t up for discussion. Shrugging, she knows when she’s beaten, and she puts Stan in a highchair. It’s a struggle to fit him in it and we won’t be able to for much longer, but if we don’t contain him in, he’ll be doing circuits of the coffee shop in minutes, zooming around and pretending to be a plane, or a dog, or something else noisy and fast that presents a serious risk of knocking other people’s drinks on the floor.
Holly has taken a colouring book out of her bag, and Stan is already furiously scribbling over one of the illustrations with a crayon. My sister is often better at entertaining the children than I am, and never resorts to letting them watch cartoons on her phone, the way I’ve been known to do, particularly when Stan is in one of his bouncing off the walls moods, and we’re in a public place. He never minds if there’s no volume on the phone, and I figure it’s better for him to watch a few cartoons than to disturb everyone else around us. But with Auntie Holly in charge, he’s being entertained and creative all at the same time. She puts me to shame, but never deliberately, and she has no idea just how great she is.
My strength has always been in making sure there is a schedule of activities for the children, or that I’ve brought all the supplies needed for a planned craft session. I panic when it comes to making stuff up on the spot, because it reminds me of the chaos of family life with my parents, where no plans or schedules were ever stuck to. It’s funny that I was the risk taker when it came to choosing a career, and that Holly was the sensible one, but the stakes were far lower, and a Plan B for my career felt easy to come by. When the children came along, I wanted them to have a structure they could rely on, to give them the security I’d never had, and I think I lost some of my ability to be spontaneous as a result.
Holly’s such a contrast to Billie, who makes sure everyone knows what a wonderful mother she is, or at least thinks she is. I have my own opinion on that, which I keep to myself, but I’ve seen the expressions on the faces of some of the other mothers, which tells me I’m not the only one. She’s holding court now, and Serena is queuing up to get both of their orders. Billie isn’t the sort to queue, and she has this air of entitlement that somehow persuades other people to do stuff for her. It’s fascinating to watch, but there’s never been any chance of me falling under Billie’s spell. She’s fake and everything I don’t want to be as a parent. Given the choice, I’d avoid her completely, but in a village the size of ours it’s almost impossible. What makes it completely impossible is that she’s married to Tom’s best friend. Despite that, Billie is the last person I’d want to confide in about my diagnosis. She’d fawn all over me, but she’s an emotional vampire and she’d make it all about her. There’d be posts online about her ‘special friend with cancer’, and how hard it’s been on her to support me while I go through treatment. She’s the sort to set up a GoFundMe page I know nothing about, anything that makes her the centre of attention, and she’s got form for it. When Serena lost her unborn baby last year, anyone would have thought it was Billie’s bereavement the amount she posted about it online. But when we set up a schedule in the WhatsApp group to organise a rota to pick up Serena’s little boy from nursery while she was still in hospital, and look after him until his dad got home, Billie was suddenly far too busy to help out. She’s completely self-absorbed.
‘Three weeks in Bermuda. I can’t wait!’ Billie’s voice carries to where I’m standing, and I deliberately take a long time deciding what I want to order. It’s clear she’s dominating the conversation, and I’m in no hurry to go over to the tables, even if Holly and I are at the opposite end to her. She’ll want to make sure we all hear whatever it is she has to say and, if I try to ignore her, she’ll focus on me all the more. She’s thick-skinned enough not to pick up on something as subtle as body language. What amazes me, is the fact that some women in our group seem to hang off her every word. When I turn, I catch Holly rolling her eyes, long before she notices that I’m glancing in her direction, and I immediately love my sister just a little bit more.
‘We’re staying at a hotel in a private cove, with its own harbour. Jonathan wants to treat me for our tenth anniversary. Nothing but the best for his princess, he said, and who am I to argue?’ Billie gives an affected laugh, which sounds about as melodic as fingernails down a chalkboard, and I can’t stop myself from responding, as I walk towards the tables.
‘Are you taking the children?’ I know the answer, even before Billie wrinkles her nose.
‘God no, it’s not a holiday for children. They wanted to go camping.’ Her disgust deepens at the very idea. ‘Matilda, our au pair, and her boyfriend Scottie are going to take them. She works for us two days a week usually, when she’s not at the language school, but she’s happy to do some extra days to cover the holiday. So it works out perfectly.’
‘That’s kind of her and how nice that you’re all getting to do what you want.’ Serena hands Billie the mocha she queued for as she speaks, and I have to take a sip of my far-too-hot coffee to stop myself from responding with greater honesty than would probably be acceptable. Billie is warming to the theme that’s she doing everyone else some kind of favour by leaving her children behind in the care of an au pair they barely know.
‘Matilda has been dying to see more of the UK while she’s here and of course she’s only been with us a month, so she’s still terribly keen to impress.’
‘And how long have you known Scottie?’ I keep my tone light, but I exchange a glance with Sophie. Her son is in Flo’s class, so I know her a bit better than most of the others and I think we’re on the same wavelength. She doesn’t let me down, pulling a face, as we all wait for Billie to respond.
‘We’ve only met him once, but he seems very enthusiastic about camping with the children.’
‘Is he DBS checked?’ I nearly choke on my coffee, as Holly pipes up. She’s not just baiting Billie, she’s genuinely concerned.
‘I’m sure there’s no need for that. Matilda wouldn’t get involved with just anyone; she worries about the children far too much for that.’
‘At least someone does.’ I mean to keep the words inside my head, but somehow I say them out loud, and Billie raises her perfectly laminated eyebrows.
‘Not everyone prefers the company of their children to their spouse. Some of us put our marriages first, but then maybe that’s why Tom works away so much these days. According to Jonathan, he never used to be like that.’ The grating laughter is back and then she blows me a kiss. ‘I’m only joking, Louisa. I’m sure your marriage is a happy one. I guess you and I are just very different.’
It’s intended as another jibe, I’m almost sure of it, but she couldn’t have paid me a greater compliment if she’d tried, and I blow her a kiss in return. It’s only as I look at Holly again, helping Stan choose the right felt-tip for the next picture in his colouring book, that I realise the other implication of her statement about not everyone preferring the company of their children to their spouse. I know it’s normal and healthy for parents to need time together away from the kids, and whenever Tom and I have done that I’ve valued the chance to just be a couple again, but I’ve always been desperate to get back to Stan and Flo too. I’ve never thought to ask Tom if he felt the same, because I just assumed he did, but maybe he was taking my lead on that.
I’m not na?ve enough to think Tom will stay alone forever if I die and I wouldn’t want him to. But what if the woman he ends up with feels the same way as Billie, and the children are pushed further and further down their list of priorities? What are the chances of a stepmother feeling that unbreakable bond to Stan and Flo, one which means they always come first? Step parenting is not something I’ve experienced from either side, but memories of the girlfriends my dad had when he and Mum were apart are coming back to haunt me. Suddenly the only image of a stepmother I can conjure up is the one from fairy tales: the wicked stepmother determined to force a wedge between her new husband and his children. I know I’m being irrational, but panic is coursing through my veins and my desire for a Plan B that I can somehow control, even when I’m no longer here, is stronger than ever.