Chapter 9
NINE
ANNA
The news from Gray’s doctors came in a trio of devastating blows, so powerful that they felt almost physical.
Yes, it’s cancer.
It’s advanced and inoperable.
Unfortunately chemotherapy won’t be possible.
Although the news was delivered with tact, sensitivity and compassion, it left me bludgeoned, almost unable to catch my breath.
We left the oncologist’s office together, a sheaf of printed leaflets stuffed into my handbag: advice, information, support, details of people we could contact and people who would contact us. I gripped Gray’s hand, feeling the sweat on my palm slippery against his skin.
‘Are you okay, Anna?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I lied, forcing a smile. ‘It’s a shock. But I’m okay. I’ve got to be okay. It’s not like there’s another option. How are you feeling?’
‘I want to get drunk.’ I looked at him. His face was pale in the thin March sunlight, his eyes almost feverishly bright. ‘Completely arseholed. And then maybe do a couple of lines. And then…’
He didn’t finish, but I knew what he was thinking. Have an absolutely epic shag. Except the person he wanted to do that with wasn’t me.
‘You’re not going to, are you?’ I asked.
‘Course not. I’m going to go into the office and talk to Carl.’
His business partner. I knew that Gray had mentioned he wasn’t well, was having some tests done. But there was no point in scaring the horses, he’d said. No point in preparing people for the worst until we knew what the worst was.
Now we did. I pictured the bright, edgy converted warehouse in Soho, Gray and Carl’s team perching expectantly on their desks with Stanley mugs of coffee, called for an all-staff meeting. Has someone been promoted? they’d be wondering. Will they be making redundancies? Are we moving offices?
Whatever they expected, it wouldn’t be this.
‘We’ll have to get a timeline in place,’ Gray was saying. ‘Assuming I’ve got another month of being able to work. Carl will have to decide whether he wants to recruit another MD, or promote someone – Catriona, maybe – or step into my role himself for the time being. Big decisions.’
In that moment, the question of who was going to be running Flick London in six months’ time felt as trivial as who was going to get through to the fourth round of the FA Cup.
‘Gray…’ I forced air into my lungs, then forced it out again as words. ‘We’re going to have to tell the children.’
‘I know.’
‘Tonight?’
I took another step forward and felt a sudden drag on my arm. Gray had stopped walking, although he still had my hand in his. I stopped too, turning to face him. He hadn’t cried in the appointment with the specialist, although I had. Right the way through, he’d been controlled and calm.
But he was crying now.
‘Do we have to, Anna? Please say we don’t have to.’
‘I can’t say that.’ I stepped towards him and took him in my arms, feeling his tears cold against my cheek. ‘We’ve got to, Gray. It’ll be awful, but we can’t not. There’s no point in waiting. It won’t make it any easier.’
He said something, but his words were muffled against my shoulder. I pulled back and looked up at him. His face was bone white.
‘All I ever wanted was to protect them.’ His voice cracked. ‘That’s my job. How the hell am I meant to tell them I’m dying?’
I pulled him close again, pressing his body tight against mine. I was overwhelmed with tenderness, love and terrible, terrible sadness for him and for my children and for myself. But alongside all of that came a surge of rage so powerful it scared me.
You wanted to protect our children? How about not risking our whole family for the sake of a bit of fun with some random woman?
How about not lying to me about where you were all those nights when I was cooking dinner and helping them with their homework and you were with her?
How about protecting them from their mum and dad not going through a horrible, bitter divorce so you could be with someone else?
If I held him tight enough, close enough, he might not guess that I was thinking those things. If I held him for long enough, he might never be able to leave us.
At last I felt the shuddering of his shoulders stop and he pulled away.
‘All right. Tonight then. I’ll get home by seven.’
‘Okay. Good luck in the office. I’ll see you later.’
‘Bye, Anna. Thanks for – you know. Everything.’
I reached up and touched his cheek, still damp with tears. ‘That’s my job.’
I watched as he turned and walked away. I wondered if he was going to call Laurel or arrange to meet her, so he could tell her too.
I walked on, my feet and my heart leaden. How would we tell Barney and Lulu? Just a few weeks before, when I’d been contemplating the possibility of our marriage ending, the prospect of telling the children that had been bad enough. But it was nothing in comparison to this.
I thought, I could make pancakes. Whenever Barney had had a disappointing end-of-year report or Lulu a falling-out with a friend, we’d make pancakes and talk it out, and by the time the last burned, wonky offering had been consumed, drizzled with lemon juice and caster sugar (Lulu) or maple syrup (Barney), everyone would feel better.
Then I thought, Yes, Anna – way to tarnish all those happy memories forever with one devastating one.
We told them after dinner.
I made soup – the vaguely Asian noodle soup I often made to use up the leftovers of a roast chicken, packed with whatever vegetables were going bendy in the fridge, fiery with ginger and chilli – just an ordinary, forgettable weekday meal.
When we’d finished eating, the kids stacked their bowls in the dishwasher.
Gray wiped the countertop; I decanted the leftovers into Tupperware.
Barney poured himself a glass of milk and Lulu took an apple from the fruit bowl, and they both began to edge towards the stairs, the call of their bedrooms and their phones strong.
I heard Gray take a breath, but he didn’t say anything, so I said it for him.
‘Kids, sit down for a second, please.’
They both looked at me and then at each other, Barney’s eyes blue like mine and Lulu’s brown like her father’s. I could see the silent sibling telepathy passing between them.
What did we do?
Dunno – nothing?
Is this going to be bad?
Looks that way.
The bafflement in their faces was replaced by alarm.
‘We need to talk, as a family,’ Gray said heavily. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not going to be easy.’
Barney sat down and took a gulp of his milk, the moustache it left on his top lip making him look like a small boy.
Lulu polished her apple on the sleeve of her jumper, then edged on to the stool next to her brother.
Augustus came in through his cat flap, meowed plaintively then jumped up on to the counter.
He wasn’t normally allowed up there, but I didn’t shove him off. This was a family conference, after all.
‘You’re getting divorced, aren’t you?’ Lulu’s voice broke the silence, high and clear. ‘We’ve heard you fighting, you know. We’re not stupid.’
Shit. How could I have planted a seed of fear in my children’s hearts that had been growing there secretly, making them afraid of something that wasn’t going to happen when something worse was?
‘No, darling,’ I replied, reaching out to touch her arm. ‘We’re not getting divorced. It’s something else.’
‘Has Granny died?’ Barney asked anxiously. ‘Then I’ll be the only one in school with no grandmothers.’
Gray shook his head. ‘Please, let me explain.’
He told them about his diagnosis and what it meant. I sat and listened too, my hands clasped in front of me, trying not to cry – trying not to scream and run out of the room. Trying not to betray the anger that was surging inside me again at the cruelty and injustice of it all.
‘So, wait, Dad.’ Lulu’s eyes were wide and brimming with tears. ‘You’re saying, you’re going to, like, die?’
‘The doctors don’t think there’s any way to treat it,’ Gray said gently, pulling his chair up closer to her. ‘They’ll do everything they can. But…’
‘What they can do is – well, it’s not a lot,’ I continued for him, my heart twisting with pain for Lulu and Barney. ‘It’s all about keeping your dad here, keeping him with us, for as long as they possibly can. That’s what we’ve asked them to do.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Barney put his glass of milk down on the counter. His trembling hand made it rattle against the marble worktop. ‘Cancer’s something old people get. And it’s old people who die. You told me that when I was about four.’
I had, of course. I remembered it clearly – my frightened, crying boy who’d just twigged about the reality of life and death. I’d have told him anything to comfort him, but I thought what I’d said had a pretty decent chance of being true.
‘Did your mum have it?’ asked Lulu. ‘Granny Graham, who we never met? Is that what she died of? Does that mean we’ll get it?’
‘Of course it doesn’t mean you’ll get it,’ I said. ‘It’s not a hereditary thing.’
‘And Granny… my mother, didn’t have cancer,’ Gray said gently, but I saw a flicker of something like panic cross his face. ‘You know that. She died in a road traffic accident when I was at university.’
I saw Lulu’s eyes, wide and terrified in her ashen face, before I scooped her into my arms, feeling her tears begin to flow down my neck. Barney was crying too, held tightly by his father.
‘Will Dad still be here for my birthday?’ Lulu asked, when eventually she was able to speak again.
‘We don’t know, sweetheart,’ Gray said. ‘I can’t promise. But if it’s humanly possible, I will. Every single second I’ve had with you has been precious, and however many I’ve got left are even more important. I can promise that.’
‘Dad.’ Barney put his thumb in his mouth – a habit he’d broken years before – then realised and bit his nail instead. ‘Will it hurt loads?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Gray stroked his son’s hair. ‘I’m going to take all the drugs going. The doctors won’t let it hurt.’
At last, when we’d answered all the questions we could, Gray said, ‘Come on, you two. Time to hit the sack.’
He stood up, Barney still on his lap, and hoisted him higher to carry him up the stairs.
As he reached the landing, I saw his legs buckle and he almost fell before righting himself and struggling on.
Barney had shot up recently, and it was a long time since Gray had carried him – but still, his weakness appalled me.
It’s happening, I thought. It’s happening already.
But I couldn’t let the children see my terror. I sat on the edge of Lulu’s bed after she’d cleaned her teeth, stroking her hair like I used to when she was small. From the next-door bedroom, I could hear Gray’s voice speaking softly to Barney.
‘I’ll stay for as long as you want,’ I told my daughter.
But she said, ‘I think I want to be on my own, Mum.’
So I kissed her and left her and went downstairs, my mind already veering to the email I was going to have to compose to their school, the meeting I’d have to arrange to talk through it all with them and discuss how best to support the children.
I poured a glass of wine, took two deep gulps without closing the fridge door, then filled my glass again and sat down.
It was done. We’d done our best – but had we got it right?
Our children would never forget this night, and nor would I.
I replayed everything we had said, everything they had asked.
One moment stuck in my mind.
Barney had asked about his grandmother. Not my mum, who the kids saw a few times a year, who faithfully sent birthday cards and gifts, whose flapjack recipe they considered the best thing in the world, ever.
Gray’s mother, who we never spoke of.
She died in a road traffic accident when I was at university.
It was another truth I’d always known about him, always accepted, internalised like I had his missing kidney.
But tonight, when he’d said it, there had been something different in his face and voice. Something unfamiliar.
It was how I’d imagined he’d look when I confronted him about the earrings, except I never got the chance because he’d confessed to me first.
It was guilt.