Chapter 18
18
He left just before 6.00a.m. to meet his helicopter back to Manchester at the local recreation ground. The pilot had been paid well over the going rate to ensure his privacy, so there was minimal danger of their liaison being discovered. How long that situation would last depended on the intelligence and perceptiveness of the paparazzi. During the course of the short flight, he also had to concoct a reasonable explanation for his night’s absence. Something that would pass muster with Taylor and Roger.
He had kissed George goodbye in the kitchen and held onto her for so long, she thought he might not manage to let her go at all. What concerned her most of all was that she hadn’t wanted to let go either.
Now it was almost 9.00a.m., she had showered and dressed and was busy rewashing all the pots and pans they had knocked onto the kitchen floor in their desperation to relieve each other of their clothes.
‘Morning! Mother’s having a bad hair day. Curling tongs blew up,’ Marisa greeted as she and Helen entered through the back door.
‘Thank you, Marisa. Can’t keep anything quiet around here, can I? I mean, as if George is interested in my hair anyway! Most of the time, it’s covered in a catering cap,’ Helen reminded as she took off her coat.
‘Your hair looks fine,’ George insisted .
‘No it doesn’t. It’s like all frizzy and flyaway, more so than usual…’ Marisa began, pointing out sections of her mother’s hair she disapproved of.
‘Marisa, why don’t you make some coffee,’ George suggested.
‘Can I put the radio on? Don’t want any more of that hard-rock nonsense on today,’ Marisa spoke.
‘Put on whatever you want,’ George said.
She smiled at Helen and handed her an envelope.
‘Here you go. There’s that bonus for you and Marisa for all the work you did on the Hexagon after-show parties,’ George said.
‘Oh George, are you sure? You paid us overtime and we weren’t expecting…’
‘Take the money, treat yourselves, buy some more driving lessons. I’m going to look at vans tomorrow. It’s about time Finger Food had something a little less cramped,’ George said, remembering her night not sleeping in the back of the van.
‘Er, am I being like totally thick here? Where’s the bread?’ Marisa asked, looking around the kitchen.
‘Oh shit! Shit! The bread! Damn it!’ George exclaimed in horror.
‘What’s happened?’ Helen asked as George dashed to the telephone.
‘I was supposed to find a new supplier, but what with Taylor Ferraro ringing up, I completely forgot about it,’ George said, picking up a telephone directory.
‘A new supplier? What happened to Simon? He’s quite hot, he is,’ Marisa spoke.
‘He doesn’t want the job any more,’ George replied.
‘Why not?’ Marisa questioned.
‘Have you made that coffee yet, Marisa?’ Helen asked, trying to distract her attention .
‘Just doing it. Think you need to get some dye on your hair too, Mother; there’s a few grey ones at the back,’ Marisa informed.
‘D’you think they’ll notice?’ George asked as she scrutinised the members of the Twitchers Association who had sat down to eat.
It was the afternoon and because she had forgotten Simon’s resignation as bread supplier, she had been forced to buy supermarket bread to make the event’s sandwiches.
‘They’ve just sat through an hour and a half of slides on wetland species; I could eat mouldy bread right now. Supermarket’s finest would seem positively luxurious,’ Helen responded.
‘I hate this. I hate serving up stuff I’m not a 100 per cent confident with,’ George replied, looking at a large man who had filled his plate with sandwiches, but was yet to eat any of them.
‘It can’t be helped. The important thing is we got all the bread and you got a reasonable deal with the other bakery to start supplying us from tomorrow,’ Helen reminded.
‘Yeah, I know. I feel bad about Simon, though.’
‘What happened?’
‘He wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ George explained.
‘Oh,’ Helen responded.
‘It’s probably for the best,’ George said as the large man bit into his first sandwich.
Her phone beeped. She got it out of her pocket and looked at the text.
Had a great time playing poker last night Taylor thinks i have gambling addiction Q x
George smiled to herself. He was so bad.
‘Everything OK?’ Helen asked.
‘Yeah, fine,’ George said, hiding her phone back in her pocket.
‘You know George, if there is ever anything you need to talk about, you know you can talk to me, don’t you? I mean about anything that might be bothering you, you know, no matter what it is,’ Helen told her.
‘Yeah, I know, thanks. But everything’s fine at the moment, apart from the dodgy bread,’ George replied.
‘Nice sandwiches love, particularly the prawn,’ the Twitchers Association president informed as he appeared behind George and Helen.
‘Oh, thank you,’ George replied.
‘Tea anyone?’ Marisa enquired as she appeared from the kitchen with cups and saucers.
‘Hey, Adam,’ George greeted that evening when she had sat down in front of Masterchef with a bowl of nachos.
‘Hey, you OK?’
‘Fine, how are you? All recovered from the accident?’
‘Yeah, I was fine really, only in hospital as a precaution and I’ve got a nice new Volkswagen Golf now. Not brand new, you know, but new to me. Mum and Dad paid.’
‘That’s good.’
‘So how are things with you and Mum?’ he asked randomly.
She almost choked on the nacho that was in her mouth. Where had that come from?
‘What d’you mean? We’re fine. You know what she’s like. She loves to boss me about and you know, I think I’m getting too old for that now. ’
‘Dad says you don’t phone them much any more,’ Adam continued.
‘I’m busy, aren’t I? I barely have a minute to breathe most days and you know, she’s busy too and Dad – he’s – well, he’s busy watching his golf and I don’t know – growing tomato plants,’ George spoke.
‘You know about Mum and the hospital though, yeah?’
His question jolted her and she had to put the bowl of nachos on the coffee table. Her mother was notorious for never being ill. She couldn’t even remember her ever having more than a cold and even then it was done and dusted in no more than a few days.
‘George? Are you still there?’
‘Yeah I’m still here. No, I don’t know about that. What is it? Arthritis of the jaw or something?’ George asked, using humour to quell her concern.
‘George, she’s got cancer. She’s having her breast removed next week.’
She couldn’t hide the sharp intake of breath that filled her lungs now and she knew it would make Adam realise she had no idea about any of it.
‘I can’t believe she hasn’t told you! What’s happening to this family? Does no one even talk to each other these days? Man!’ Adam exclaimed.
George couldn’t speak; there was a huge boulder sat in her throat that was threatening to force tears into her eyes and she couldn’t let it. She wouldn’t let it.
‘I knew she hadn’t told you because I figured you would’ve called me to talk, or you would have said something when I came down. But I just thought we were doing the whole Fraser “putting on a brave face” thing we all do,’ Adam continued.
‘How long has she known?’ George asked, forcing herself to speak .
‘She told me a week or so ago. They were looking at options, she had a biopsy and decided to have a mastectomy,’ Adam continued.
‘So it’s serious,’ George said stupidly.
She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t take all this in, in five minutes. Adam had been given time to digest things and now she had two seconds to react properly.
‘It’s cancer; it’s always serious,’ Adam said.
‘Yeah, of course it is. Well, listen, I don’t want you to worry. I mean, she’s as tough as undercooked braising steak, isn’t she? She’s never ill. She’ll have the op and she’ll be back to normal as soon as she’s recovered. Chairing the Bingo Society, or whatever it is she does these days,’ George spoke, trying to be positive.
That’s what people did, didn’t they? Bucked each other up, told each other it was a minor blip on life’s path and everything would be back to normal as soon as. They said all this regardless of whether they really believed it.
‘I don’t think it’s that clear cut but?—’
‘Of course it is! They deal with these sorts of things all the time nowadays, don’t they? I’ve seen it on the TV; it’s straightforward, nothing out of the ordinary,’ George carried on.
‘Will you go round there and see her?’ Adam asked.
The tone of his request tugged at her. This was someone asking from the bottom of their heart. Despite her and her mother’s differences, Adam loved her and she had to remember that.
‘Of course I will,’ George replied.
‘I mean, properly go round there. For more than five minutes. Stay for Sunday dinner or something,’ Adam carried on.
‘Well…’
‘Please George, for me. I hate it when you two are fighting,’ Adam spoke.
‘I know, but?—’
‘Please George.’
How could she refuse?