Chapter 6
6
TOM
The only way I’ve managed to continue my career, without it making me feel like the entire human race is doomed, is to believe that the good in the world still outweighs the bad. Since Lou’s diagnosis, that’s been so much harder to do. Despite the hours I’ve put into searching for a possible cure for every stage of pancreatic cancer, I haven’t been able to find a single doctor or trial that suggests she can beat this if it’s reached stage four. I’ve been accused of being a workaholic more than once in the past, but I’ve never put anywhere near as much effort into a work-related project as I have into this. I can’t sleep anyway, so I’ve spent long nights on the computer, praying that the next click will lead to something – anything – that might make this all go away, even if the scan results don’t bring good news. Sometimes I’ve read until I literally can’t see straight any more. The idea that someone as good as Lou could be struck down like this has shaken my belief system in a way that nothing else ever quite has. I know it’s because it’s personal, and that there are horrific injustices and terrible tragedies every single day, but this is Lou, and it doesn’t seem possible that this is happening to us.
I know she doesn’t believe it when I say it, but I fell for her the moment we met. The only stumbling block was that I was already engaged to Abigail at the time. Unbeknown to me, Lou had spent a lot of time in the village where I grew up when she was a child, but I was thirty when our paths crossed for the first time, and she was twenty-eight. It was at an open day at Castlebourne Hall, the only venue in the village that hosted wedding receptions. My then fiancée, Abigail, insisted we go along and even now I feel guilty that I agreed, when I knew my heart wasn’t in it. My parents were already way past retirement by then, having had me more than two decades after they married. They were desperate to see me settled and Mum had said more than once, ‘I just want to see you happy before I go.’ She’d had pneumonia and sepsis the winter before, and I’d been terrified that I was going to lose her. It was in the wake of Mum’s illness that I proposed and I regretted it almost immediately; Abigail didn’t want the same things out of life that I did, and her primary goal seemed to be to try and change me into the person she really wanted me to be, frequently suggesting that I might want to consider a job in PR instead of journalism, because it would give us more security. But despite my doubts, once the proposal was out there and she’d accepted, it was as if we’d got on a train that had already left the station and there was no turning back.
I’d met Abigail at university, and we’d stayed in touch after I left. It was never a grand passion, because our focus was all work, work, work when we got together. She was a lawyer by the time we’d drifted from friendship into a relationship, and I think, looking back, that it only happened because we were just there, in one another’s lives at the right time, or the wrong time, depending on how you want to look at it. Our relationship was part of Abigail’s ten-year plan. She had a vision for everything, from when she’d be earning a certain salary, to the optimum time to have a child, with minimal impact on her career trajectory. She wanted to be married by the time she was thirty-two, and there I was, convenient and someone Abigail could mould into what she wanted, or at least so she’d thought.
It’s quite sad that we both seemed so willing to settle for almost good enough, each of us for very different reasons, but the truth was my only real passion back then was work, and I wasn’t even sure I believed in the kind of love that could eventually become more important than anything else. That was until I met Lou, and a feeling I’d never had before hit me with a force I wouldn’t have believed possible. Here was this woman who was everything I’d never even realised I wanted, but there was a problem, a big one. Lou was at the open day too, which meant she had to be planning a wedding as well. It was ridiculous to be so crestfallen that this complete stranger had promised to marry someone else, especially as my own fiancée was sitting right next to me, clutching my hand. I didn’t know a single thing about Lou, but it still felt like a catastrophic loss that I’d never know what it was like to hold her hand instead, or to share a private joke that only we knew the punchline to. She was as beautiful then as she is now, her golden blonde hair making it feel as if the sun had come out in the room, and the twinkle in her amber eyes when she smiled that made me want to discover all the things that brought her happiness. But it was more than that; there was just something about her that I couldn’t put my finger on. Even after almost fifteen years together, I still can’t define it with any kind of accuracy. I just know she’s my favourite person on earth.
Watching her now – brushing Flo’s hair and still managing to comfort Stan, who somehow bit his own thumb while eating his toast – I want to freeze time. This is what perfect looks like to me now, and the chaos of family life beats any high point I’ve had in my career, hands down. My dream once was to get in front of the camera and make the kind of documentaries that have the power to change hearts and minds. But I’d swap everything I’ve achieved in a heartbeat, to keep what I’ve got in this room right now whole and intact, and unchanged by the injustice of Lou’s cancer diagnosis. I’ve never known pain like it, and nothing I try – even attempting to bury myself in work – can begin to alleviate the agony of the prospect of losing Lou. Almost as bad is the utter helplessness I feel. Everything I’ve achieved is meaningless, because I can’t change the one thing that really matters, and it’s hard to find a point to anything any more. I want to grab people by the scruff of the neck when they complain about the mundane, trivial stuff in life and remind them how bloody lucky they are to have their health. If I don’t manage to keep a lid on it, I’m going to end up getting myself into trouble and the last thing Lou needs to worry about is me falling apart, on top of everything else. So I paint on a smile when I think that’s what she needs to see, and hope it isn’t obvious how destroyed her diagnosis has left me feeling.
‘Can you get that, please? It’ll be Holly. You know she’s like clockwork.’ Lou returns my smile as she looks over, the sound of the doorbell a reminder that time always runs out eventually. I can’t freeze it, or stop the days from passing so damn quickly. I haven’t been able to do a single fucking thing to change this situation, and in another ten minutes I’m going to have to drive my wife to the hospital to discover just how bad things are. What Mr Whitelaw says could be the difference between the possibility of a complete cure, or as little as months if it’s as aggressive as pancreatic cancer has the potential to be, and I’m honestly not sure I can face it. As I walk to the door, I think about begging Holly to leave. If she isn’t here to take the kids to school, we can’t go to the hospital, and Mr Whitelaw can’t give us worse news than we’ve had already. I want to keep hoping for the best, but it’s getting harder to do that, and the last thing I want is for Lou to see me losing hope.
‘How is she?’ They are the first words out of Holly’s mouth as I open the door. She keeps her voice low, mindful that Louisa could overhear; we both know how much she hates being the focus of anyone’s sympathy. She can’t stand the thought of anyone pitying her, and I’m convinced that’s why she hasn’t once shown any sign of feeling sorry for herself yet either. All she’s talked about so far is the impact of all of this on the kids. Never mind what she might have to go through, and the strong possibility she might be robbed of decades she should have had. I can’t believe she isn’t sad about that, because I’m heartbroken about what’s being taken from all of us , not just the kids, and I’m bloody angry too. When I phoned Holly, the day after Lou told her about the cancer, Holly said she thought that focusing on the kids was Lou’s way of coping, until the PET scan told us more. We’re almost at that point, and Lou is still being so stoic it scares me at times. I’m terrified that when the reality finally hits, she’ll fall to pieces and there’ll be nothing I can say or do to put her back together again.
I’m so scared of losing her; she’s my best friend, my confidante and the person I long to come home to whenever I’m away. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to know I can never come home to her again. She’s the best mother the children could have asked for, and she makes it so easy for me to be their dad. I know she does all the heavy lifting on that front and the kids would be every bit as lost without her as I would. She’s irreplaceable and I can’t accept the possibility that she’s dying. What scares me almost as much is the idea of the light going out inside her, and of us losing her long before she’s gone. How can someone be expected to continue embracing life and be the person they’ve always been, if they’ve been told they’re dying? Lou is perfect, at least to me, and I wouldn’t change a thing about her. But even if the news is the best we could hope for, I know this is going to change her, and she’ll never be the same again. I don’t want this to be our life. I don’t want any of this, I just want things to go back to the way they were. I can’t tell anyone any of this, though, not even Holly. I have to pretend to be strong.
‘You know Lou, she’s carrying on as if I’m about to give her a lift to a check-up at the dentist.’ I kiss Holly on both cheeks, glad that she’s here, despite the circumstances. I discovered the first day we met that she and Lou came as a pair. When the organiser of the wedding fair had asked each person to tell the rest of the group a bit about why they were there, my heart had felt as though it was soaring when Holly had said she was there with her sister, Lou, because her fiancé hadn’t been able to make it after something had come up at the last minute.
Maybe we should have known that Jacob would never prioritise Holly, but it was another couple of years before we found out just what a waste of space he would turn out to be. I barely gave Holly’s fiancé a thought back then, all I could think about was how happy I was that Lou wasn’t the one getting married. And by the time we left Castlebourne Hall, I’d fallen in love. What I didn’t realise was that Abigail had fallen in love that day too, with the venue. When she tried to pin me down to choose a date to get married, things came to a head. She’d been so angry she threw her engagement ring at me, and said if I couldn’t choose a date then we might as well split up seeing as I clearly wasn’t on board with the plans we’d made for everything we wanted to achieve in the next few years. I didn’t say that all the plans had been hers, because it was like I’d been handed my pass to freedom. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Abigail, but I’d never loved her in the way I should have done. Meeting Lou was like a wake-up call to stop sleepwalking through life; I felt guilty, but I couldn’t let something that felt so life changing just pass me by.
Once Abigail had made the decision for us to split, I didn’t hesitate to get in touch with Lou, finding her on Facebook and explaining what had happened. I knew there was a chance she might not want to see me again given that I had a fiancée when I met her, but it wouldn’t have changed the relief I felt about Abigail calling off the engagement. Ending it the way we did meant she believed she’d had the choice about whether we stayed together or not, and that she’d chosen to finish with me, which tempered my guilt a bit. It was the least I could for her in the circumstances, and I’ve never told anyone how happy I was that she called time on our relationship, not even Lou. Once or twice she’s questioned how I felt about things ending with Abigail, and every time I tell her that I’ve never loved anyone like I love her. It’s true; no one I’ve ever met can compare to Lou. She’s my everything and it’s a cliché, but I mean it when I say I’d die for her. I wish we could swap places, because I’d rather be facing my own mortality than hers.
‘Are you nervous?’ Holly’s question jolts me back to the present and her chin wobbles as I nod in response. She’s as terrified as I am about what today might bring, and she reaches out to squeeze my hand. ‘I’d better go through and take over getting the kids ready for school.’
Letting go of my hand, she brushes past me in the corridor and a chorus of cheers go up to greet her arrival. I can already hear Flo and Stan competing for her attention; they adore their auntie, and I understand why. I’ve never for a moment resented that my wife and her sister came as package deal. With anyone else it would have been easy to feel irked that she’s always around, but not Holly. She’s so different from Lou, in almost every way. She’s got dark curls, and blue-grey eyes, and she’s always been sensible, wanting to lay the foundations for her future. Holly qualified as an accountant and saved hard to ensure she and Jacob would have everything in place by the time they started their family. It was a contrast to Lou, who’d started her career on a wing and a prayer writing travel pieces to bring in the next pay cheque and seeing how far that windfall could carry her until she sold her next piece. It was the only time in her whole life that she didn’t plan things with military precision, because it was also the only time in her life when she didn’t have responsibility for someone else.
Lou never returned to the family home after university and both she and Holly had distanced themselves from the day-to-day drama of their parents’ lives. She’d told me once that her job as freelance travel writer had given her a freedom she’d never dreamt possible. Deep down, though, she’d still had a Plan B, and every year she’d complete an application to go back to university and do a PGCE so that she could become a teacher if that next journalism job didn’t materialise. She’d never had to take up her place and it was the freest she’d ever been, but as soon as the children came along she reverted to needing plans in place for every possible scenario. There were back-up plans for everything, from who she could call upon to pick the children up from school or nursery if she ever found herself running late, to the life insurance policies she insisted we take out on the same day she discovered she was pregnant with Flo.
I sometimes wonder if Holly feels bitter that things fell into place so easily for Lou when we finally got together. We moved in together quickly, married five years later, and then had two babies in quick succession as soon as we decided to start trying, while Holly’s life slowly fell to pieces. But if it’s ever bothered her, she’s never let it show. Instead, she’s worked hard in her career and volunteered at every opportunity she got, to express gratitude for having survived cancer, despite what the fallout from her illness cost her. She fundraises and advocates for others who aren’t as lucky as she believes she was, but it seems like a bitter irony that despite all her selflessness and gratitude, cancer might be about to take something she loves from her all over again, in the worst possible way. Through every bit of trauma she’s endured, Holly has still been the most wonderful auntie and sister anyone could ask for, and she’s been the best sister-in-law I could ever have wanted too. Right now, I’ve got no idea how I’d cope if I didn’t have her to talk to; she’s the only person in the world who understands what I’m feeling at the prospect of losing Lou. And all those things are part of what make Holly my second favourite adult in existence. It also means that I feel slightly less alone than I would otherwise. I won’t have to walk through the storm we’re all facing on my own, even if the very worst happens and we lose Lou. I wouldn’t say that makes things better, because nothing can, but Holly is the main reason I’m just about holding it together.
‘Daddy!’ Suddenly there’s a tug on my shirt and I look down to see Flo staring up at me, with the same amber eyes as her mother. ‘Mummy says it’s your turn to put Stan’s shoes on, so Auntie Holly can take him to baby school.’
Baby school is what my daughter insists on calling nursery, mainly because she knows it winds her little brother up so much. At the grand old age of four, there’s nothing Stan hates more than being referred to as a baby, except perhaps having his shoes put on. Given the choice, he’d rather be barefoot, or wear wellies, and every other form of footwear is akin to a torture device as far as he’s concerned, even Crocs.
‘Hmm, I seem to recall I had the joy of putting Stan’s shoes on yesterday. So I think it might be Mummy’s turn.’ I say the words as I walk back into the kitchen, and Lou gives an exaggerated shrug, the mischievous look in her eyes so much like the one she was wearing on that first day I met her.
‘I’ve been doing some research and, apparently, I’ve got what they call a protected characteristic which dictates that reasonable adjustments have to be made. I’m pretty sure that means never having to wrestle Stan into his shoes again.’
‘That’s not fair.’ I grin, despite my protest, grateful that in the midst of all of this we can still find some humour.
‘What’s a pro-tect-tick carry-o-tistic?’ Flo wrinkles her perfect little nose as I spot Stan out of the corner of my eye, trying to hide his trainers in the dishwasher.
‘It’s just Mummy reminding me of all the stuff she does to look after us, so the least I can do is put Stan’s new shoes on. The ones that will make him run as fast as a cheetah.’ I retrieve the trainers from the dishwasher as I speak, shooting Stan a smile in the hope that the mention of running as fast as a cheetah will convince him to let me put the trainers on with less of a fight. He’s got a thing about cheetahs, ever since Lou read him a story about one, and he knows there’s nothing on land that’s faster. But he’s crossing his arms over his chest in a look of defiance that tells me exactly how this is about to go.
‘Mummy’s the best.’ Flo puts arm around her mother’s waist, and I nod in response, because I don’t trust myself to speak for a moment. How can I ever face my children and tell them that their mummy has gone? I have to hang on to the belief that we won’t lose her, because if we do it will be like a hand grenade going off and the beautiful life we’ve built together will be disseminated, our children’s lives changing beyond all recognition. I’m terrified that I won’t be enough for them, and that I’ll let Lou down in the worst possible way by failing our children. As I swallow hard, preparing myself to respond to my daughter, I catch Holly’s eye and I know she understands, her glassy eyes betraying just how hard she’s finding it watching Flo cuddle up to her mum, when we both know that very soon she might not be able to.
‘She is and we couldn’t do without her.’ Walking towards Lou, I press my lips against hers, before turning to scoop up my son, who’s already wriggling to break free, desperately hoping that someone, somewhere, recognises my prayer.