Chapter 9
Over the next few days, I continued with what was becoming my new routine.
Walking, reading, periodically freezing in panic.
I cancelled my gym membership but proudly fixed a fence panel that had blown down in the gale, Ernest skipping around my feet providing motivational barks.
A couple of times, I tried to consider what I might do with the rest of my life, but the resulting cold sweat forced me to accept I had to be patient and tackle whatever this was before I even thought about what came next.
On Sunday, Lacey phoned. I missed it at the time because I had taken to leaving my phone on silent, but once I’d noticed, I swallowed hard, straightened my spine and called her back.
‘Finally,’ she said with a huff.
‘You only called a couple of hours ago and didn’t even leave a message.’
‘How about all the other calls, a couple of weeks ago, back when we thought you might have jumped off your fancy balcony?’
I breathed out slowly, counting to five in my head.
‘Two calls. You didn’t leave a message then, either, so I’m guessing you weren’t that worried.’
‘Bronte, who doesn’t have a load of mutinous kids to look after, came to check on you, didn’t she? Someone had to stay and make sure Mum was okay. Can you imagine how overwrought she was, her daughter losing the plot live on ITV?’
Whenever I went a while without interacting with my family, I ended up gaslighting myself.
I would dig up the old excuses that they weren’t that bad, just a bit emotionally rough around the edges and inevitably wrapped up in their own problems. I’d been pushing them away for years, so I could hardly complain when they were distant.
Then, I’d speak to one of them again and remember.
They were the problem. Most of it, at least. I wasn’t oversensitive like Mum and Dad had told me, countless times.
If anything, I was desensitised to quite how dysfunctionally my family behaved.
‘You were worried about Mum being upset that I might have hurt myself, due to becoming a global laughing stock. You didn’t think offering any support, some reassurance – love – might help prevent me doing something that would upset Mum?’
‘You did this, Alex. You chose to humiliate yourself – and us, by the way. That comment about your family was downright nasty. You decided to swan off and become rich and famous, which means dealing with the crap that comes with it. We didn’t ask for this.’
‘No. You did ask for – and enjoy – plenty of my so-called riches, though.’
‘Ah yes, here we go again. A whole two minutes before you twisted that rusty old knife. If you resent helping us out so much, keep your stinking money! Forget how I practically raised you. The difference being, I spent whatever pittance I had on you and Blake. However much you give us, I’m sure you’ve still got more than enough. ’
‘I don’t mind helping you out.’ We’d replayed this argument so many times I was able to sound calm even as my insides writhed.
‘I mind that you expect it, while not ever, once, sparing a thought for what I need. Like, for example, a sister who occasionally looks out for me. Do you think having my own house and a few fans means I don’t need you any more? ’
‘You’d better not need me,’ Lacey said, her voice cracking with bitterness.
‘I have four kids and two parents who need me, Alexis. Who the hell do you think takes care of me? When you’re having a mental breakdown, you get to hide in your big house in your Oliver Bonas pyjamas and order takeaway.
I don’t get the luxury of sitting on the toilet in peace.
So, forgive me if I don’t abandon the family members who can’t pay their way out of their problems and come running because you’ve had a tantrum on the telly. ’
I closed my eyes, took some more deep breaths, and resisted the urge to mention the cleaner I’d hired, who Dad had kicked out on the first shift when she asked about his stash of stolen goods.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls, or message Mum, okay? I’d turned my phone off, so I didn’t know the speech was online until Bronte came over. Was there something else you wanted to talk to me about?’
‘Are you still coming on Christmas Eve?’ Lacey asked, as if I hadn’t just apologised in the hope she might do the same.
‘Of course. If I’m still welcome.’
‘Yeah.’ Lacey sounded odd all of a sudden. Evasive. Almost contrite. ‘So, what about after that? Got any swanky holidays booked, now your career’s kicked the bucket?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I just… I might have something on. I might need someone to watch the kids for a bit.’
‘Of course. I’d love that. Let me know the date and I’ll put it in my calendar.’ Not that I had anything else in it. ‘I’ve told you they’re always welcome to come here for a couple of days if you need a break.’
‘Thanks. I’ll let you know.’
She hung up, leaving me standing there with my mouth dangling open.
I’d offered to have my nieces and nephews to stay many, many times over the years. Lacey always dismissed it outright. They were too much work, Lennon couldn’t cope with new places, Harley would miss his mummy too much…
Bronte was right. Something was going on with my sister.
The thing that disturbed me the most?
She’d said thanks.
On Tuesday, I got up early and walked Ernest, reassuring him I’d be gone for a few hours but would be back in time for his supper.
I forced down a mouthful of cinnamon bagel and drove over to the Breast Institute at Nottingham City Hospital, leaving plenty of time to find a parking space, as well as my courage.
A twinkling receptionist who could have stepped right out of a Hallmark Christmas movie greeted me, double-checked my details, peered at my face, then directed me to a pink chair in a side room decorated more like a spa reception than a hospital waiting room.
I’d hoped a pair of tinted glasses, the old Covid mask and hair tucked into a woolly hat would ensure no one spotted the disgraced celeb, but I was still very grateful to be the only person there.
After an initial load of questions and an examination, the doctor explained that because I was under forty, they would start with an ultrasound scan rather than a mammogram.
If, as hoped, this confirmed the lump was a cyst rather than a solid lump, they wouldn’t need to do any more tests.
I was waiting for the scan when a message pinged through on the ‘Advent Challenge’ chat.
Today we kick off the Advent Challenge with FUNNY. Looking forward to all your pictures!
The thought of sending the chat a photo of me sitting here with a paper towel draped over my top half, waiting to get gel squeezed on my boobs, was enough for the radiologist to find me laughing when she came back in.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed, so went ahead and took a selfie, thinking the moment was worth capturing even if I didn’t send it.
Unfortunately, trying to remember the last time I’d properly laughed was so depressing that by the time the scan started I was crying instead.
‘It’s fine,’ I reassured the radiologist when she paused to hand me a tissue. ‘It’s not just this. I’ve got an all-round life catastrophe going on right now.’
‘I didn’t like to say, but getting fired from the show on top of all the Alex Nixon Losing at Life jokes can’t be easy.’
‘It’s certainly helped take my mind off a lumpy boob.’ Of course, she too had realised I was that Alex Nixon.
‘Okay, I’ve got everything I need,’ she said a short while later.
‘I’ll send the results over to the doctor while you get yourself sorted.
Take a seat back in the side room when you’re ready, but it looks like this could be your first win in a while.
Oh, and do pop your bra and jumper back on.
Some women are in a bit of a daze and forget. ’
‘Are you serious?’ I would have hugged her if I hadn’t still been topless. ‘It’s not cancer?’
‘It would be completely unprofessional for me to comment on that. I’m sorry, Ms Nixon, but I am not allowed to reveal the results of the scan. You will have to wait for the doctor to tell you that this is a harmless cyst.’
She gave an exaggerated wink and disappeared, leaving me now laughing and crying at the same time.
Oh, what the heck. The moment I left the doctor’s office, I sent the photo to the chat.
‘How was it?’ Will phoned while I was walking back to my car.
‘Do you think anyone would have found it funny if I’d shared that photo after bad news?’
‘I don’t, but I’m paranoid enough about putting my foot in it to wait for you to say it.’
‘A harmless cyst, like the GP thought.’
Will was silent.
‘Oh, no. I’m sorry.’
‘What?’ He sounded baffled. ‘Why would you be sorry? You said it was harmless?’
‘Well, yes. I just… you went quiet and I thought maybe I was being tactless. Like, rubbing it in that I’m fine, when your wife wasn’t.’
Another brief pause.
‘You thought I would prefer to hear you did have cancer?’
‘No! But it might have been hard for you to hear either way. I don’t know. It’s been an emotional day on top of a very crappy month. My head is a jumbled mess. And I should warn you, I really have no idea how to do this.’
‘How to do what?’
‘I don’t know – people. Friends. Talk about things that matter to me.’ I reached my car, leaning back against the cold metal. ‘Trust. I don’t know how to trust people with anything important. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Let’s just leave it here. Thanks for calling.’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘What?’
‘If you hang up now, you’re never coming back to Friends Wanted, are you?’
I opened the car door and slipped inside so I was out of the drizzle. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Okay, let’s try this instead. Take a breath.’
I took a breath, dropping my head onto the steering wheel.
‘Another one.’
Three more ice-cold breaths, and then I started the engine so I could get the heater going.
‘Any better?’ Will asked.
‘Yes.’ Although the truth was, that was far more to do with Will wanting to help me than focussing on my breathing.
‘Can I remind you that I also have issues in the friends department? I’m sorry I left you hanging with an eerie silence instead of cheering or whistling or otherwise accurately conveying how happy I felt.
’ Will’s voice was so warm, so gentle, I wanted to recline the seat, close my eyes and listen until I fell asleep.
‘Truthfully, because we’ve started this friendship with brutal honesty so might as well keep going, I was too choked up to speak for a moment.
I’m so, so glad you don’t get to know what it’s like to hear the doctor say the terrible words that change everything.
So glad.’ He sighed. ‘And now I’m kicking myself for ruining that golden moment for you. ’
‘If you hadn’t phoned, I’d be driving home now with no one to share this news.
Opening the half bottle of wine I ordered because I thought I’d want a drink tonight and figured a big bottle might not be a great idea, depending upon how today went.
I’d be cuddling my dog and thinking what a complete numpty I am for crafting this so-called successful life while deliberately excluding anyone to celebrate or commiserate with.
How about neither of us kick ourselves, ever, for reacting honestly and imperfectly as we try to navigate a new friendship?
My family relish picking over my words for excuses to get offended or upset.
Maybe we can agree to just not? To choose, I don’t know, grace? ’
‘I love that,’ Will said. ‘A presumption of good intentions unless proven otherwise. Let’s do it.’
‘So, we’re all good?’
‘Very good.’
I put Will’s call through the car’s system, so I could start driving.
‘Except I feel sad that you’re going to celebrate this by drinking wine alone at home.’
‘It’s fine. I’m perfectly at ease on my own. I was simply pleased to be able to tell someone. Besides I won’t be alone, I’ll have Ernest.’
‘I’d offer to come over and keep you company, only I have children and Jordan’s got his piano lesson this evening. You could come here, but given my non-existent social life, my kids would interpret a woman coming over to drink wine as a very big deal, creating the completely wrong impression.’
‘Of course! I said I’m fine.’ I ordered myself not to feel disappointed. The idea of being someone’s ‘big deal’ sent an icy shudder up my spine.
What actually happened, however, was that later on as I ate my Indian Street Food takeaway and sipped my one glass of wine, images started popping up on the Advent Challenge chat.
Joel had snuck a fake fingertip into the café’s soup tureen and taken a photo of his mum recoiling in horror when she’d spotted it.
Darya sent a picture of a French Bulldog dressed in a Christmas fairy costume at a house she was cleaning. The look of utter disdain on the dog’s face was perfect.
I got to see Lola, when she added a video of her at work in her dental surgery, blowing up a latex glove and letting go while a toddler chortled with delight.
Lola looked to be around thirty, with blonde hair, apple cheeks and huge blue eyes.
She laughed along harder than the little boy. I liked her already.
After Donovan and Merry posted a video of them lip-syncing along to a rap song, Will’s photo came last. He was sitting on a sofa with a little girl who was wearing a sparkly tiara and had her face painted like an exquisite butterfly.
Will was also wearing a tiara, but his face bore a large brown blob that most primary school children would definitely find ‘funny’.
Why have you let Bonnie draw a poo on your face? Joel asked immediately, followed by about a dozen laughing emojis.
Put your glasses on, Joel. I’m clearly a proboscis monkey! Will replied.
Aha, she’s still trunk obsessed? Donovan asked.
Her elephant seal was funnier, but I thought it get might me in trouble…
Bonnie’s brown hair fanned her head in a puffy cloud.
The way she leant against her daddy, a grin of utter delight on her face, made my heart squeeze.
I couldn’t imagine what it was like to have lost her mum at such a young age, but I hoped having the kind of dad who let her loose with face paints, then took a photo of it, helped make up for it.