Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Antonia
I almost didn’t tell him. I was fully prepared to end it and move on. The last thing I wanted to be was another tragedy in his life. People can only take so much, and I didn’t want the last straw to be me.
He’s gone again.
The sun’s cracking through the curtains. His side of the bed is still warm. I’m not surprised. He kissed my forehead before he left.
I love that about him, how he puts his sons first. I like to think I’d have done the same. I know I would have.
It makes it even more special. It makes the time he has with me more precious.
I stay there for a few minutes, just staring at the ceiling, letting the silence settle around me, letting the gravity of the situation sink in.
It could be nothing. That’s what people say.
I’ve been over this in my head a million times.
But it could be something.
And telling him meant letting him in. Letting him carry it with me. Or grieve with me before we’ve even begun.
But life doesn’t end just because you find a lump in your armpit. The world keeps turning. Life has to go on. Finally, I decide I must get up and face the day.
I have an appointment this morning at ten o’clock with his colleague. He said he’s coming to pick me up and take me there. He won’t come in. He offered, but I said no. I need to do this alone. The start of it anyway. But he’ll wait for me and ensure I’m all right.
He even said he’d buy me breakfast.
What girl could refuse that offer?
So I told Clara I’d be late today. She didn’t press. She knows when not to ask questions.
Finally, I pull back the duvet.
But it’s warm, not cold. He turned on the heat before he left. I appreciate that.
The apartment feels empty without him, though. Then I see his shirt hanging over the back of the chair at my dressing table.
He’s leaving things now. A toothbrush on the sink, deodorant in the bathroom cabinet. Little things that don’t seem much, but they mean a lot.
I push myself out of bed, grab my robe, shrug it on, and head for coffee.
It’s needed this morning. No matter my health, a cup of coffee will kick-start my mood.
Anyway, he’s coming to pick me up.
I glance at the clock on the wall. Eight o’clock.
I slept in.
That’s not something I’m used to doing. Usually, I’m up before the alarm. I must have needed it.
I make my way through to the kitchen. My mug from last night is already washed, cleaned, and dried next to the sink.
That’s Ben.
Every morning I wake up, my kitchen is cleaner than when I left it the night before. Habit, I suppose. The single dad working and running a household has to manage somehow.
When I open the fridge, my empty shelves stare back, the light on but nothing too appetizing.
A lonely yogurt sits to one side. I pick it up. It’s in date; that’s a bonus. It will have to do.
It’s enough to be able to say I’ve eaten, because I’m sure he’ll ask. He reminded me to eat breakfast under his breath before he left this morning.
The kettle whistles. A strong teaspoonful of coffee, two sugars, and a good gallon of milk. I don’t normally take sugar and milk. But I feel like today’s the day I’m allowed it.
I sit down at my breakfast bar and force myself to eat. The lid of the yogurt peels back slowly, the remnants sticking to the plastic. A little falls onto my finger, and I pop it in my mouth.
It doesn’t taste sweet.
Just nothing.
I force down another bite anyway. Enough to say I’ve eaten.
Giving up, I throw everything in the trash, even my mug.
I’m walking to the bathroom when I realize what I’ve done, turning back and groaning, knowing I’m going to have to fish it out of the rest of the crap in the bin.
Finally, in the bathroom, I strip off my robe, switch on the shower, and step under the hot water. It flows blissfully over my skin. I close my eyes, letting it hit my face.
Within minutes, I know I need to keep moving, because if I don’t, I’ll just stop and stay here all day. Ben will find me wrinkled like a prune.
With a towel wrapped around my head, then another circling my body, I make my way back to my bedroom. The still crumpled sheets look inviting. I’m tempted to melt into them once more. But I don’t.
My walk-in wardrobe is one of my prized possessions. I scan the rails. So much to choose from for my day-to-day.
Then I look at the other side. More casual. The version of me I don’t use.
For February, it’s actually quite a nice day. The sun’s out. It’s not raining for a change. I crack open a window, and even a bird sings.
So I return to the wardrobe and pick out a pair of pale gray loose-fitting trousers and a pink sweater. Warm enough that I shouldn’t really need a jacket, but thin enough that if I do, I won’t overheat. That seems a sensible decision if I’m in the hospital.
One last glance. I’m staring in the mirror, running the brush through my hair again.
Subconsciously, my other hand lifts under my arm. I feel the small bump that started this bloody fiasco. Maybe if I’d stayed quiet, it would have just gone away.
But I know that’s not the case, and I know it’s not a risk worth taking.
Maybe a few weeks ago I would have thought, well, I’ll just see what happens. But when I felt it, it wasn’t just fear I felt. It was sadness that now I’ve actually got something to lose. Someone to lose. And I needed to find out what it was.
I slip my hairbrush into my handbag then pick up my phone.
Dozens of emails. Multiple messages. More people than I can cope with demanding a piece of my time. They can wait today.
I slide it into my bag, then move to stand at the window, waiting for Ben.
As I look down, his car’s already there. He’s early.
The door buzzes.
I never saw him walking from the car. My finger taps the button without even checking who it is. I know it’s him.
He appears at the door within a few minutes, obviously having climbed the stairs two at a time. Chest heaving, cheeks red.
I’m standing in the doorway. Waiting. Just the sight of him makes today a little less scary.
“Hey,” he says, leaning forward and touching my elbow before placing a soft kiss on my lips. Strangely reassuring. I’m so damn glad he’s here.
“Have you eaten?” he asks quietly.
I laugh, then groan. “I knew you were going to ask me that.”
“You know me so well already.” He takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you to this appointment.”
After locking the door, we walk down the stairs hand in hand. He moves at my pace. I notice him waiting to step when I do. To test him, I take a couple of steps faster. He follows.
I snort.
“What?” he says.
“Are you just going to mimic everything I do today?”
He smiles then, cheeks reddening again, bashful. He knows he’s been caught.
We make it to the car. He opens the door and I slide in. He closes the door softly as I secure my seatbelt, then he gets in the driver’s side.
We pull out into London traffic. The hospital isn’t far, only ten minutes away. And being mid-morning, traffic’s eased slightly, so we’re not fighting the pre-work rush. But it’s still busy enough that it takes a little bit of time.
We don’t really speak.
Ben pops the radio on, and some classical music plays quietly. I stare out the window, watching everyone go about their daily lives, completely unaware of what’s going on in mine.
The hospital is buzzing already, cars flying in and out of the car park. It never stops. It feels louder.
We arrive at the front door.
“Do you want me to come in with you?”
I pause. Part of me does. I want to say yes, but I should face this on my own. Because what if we don’t last?
I can’t start this process with support that I might not have.
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” I force a smile.
He nods once.
“I’ll wait right here,” he says. “And if you need me, you message me. Once you’ve seen the doctor, I’m taking you for breakfast before you go anywhere else.”
“I’ve already eaten,” I tell him, faking a scowl.
He laughs. “So you said, but I bet it was just a yogurt.”
He reaches for the hand set on my knee and squeezes reassuringly.
“Whatever it is, Antonia, and it’s probably nothing. Most are nothing—I’m here.”
My breath catches. I swallow it down before it turns into something I can’t control. Needing to touch him, I lean in and kiss him gently on the cheek.
“I know,” I whisper. “And I’m so glad you are.”
Before I say anything else, I push open the door and step out. I stand there for a moment, staring up at the hospital. The car door shuts softly behind me.
I don’t look back.
I don’t think I can.
If I do, I won’t go in alone.
Inside, I head to the reception area. They direct me upstairs, three floors to be exact. I check the time on my watch. Two minutes to my appointment time.
When I get there, there’s only one other person waiting. She smiles politely, then puts her nose back in a magazine. She looks calm. I don’t understand how.
I take a seat.
My bum has literally hit the cushion when the doctor steps out. “Antonia Cole?”
My stomach drops, but I’m back on my feet. Too fast like a gun’s gone off. She’s younger than I thought, probably in her forties, blonde hair, blue eyes, curves. A smile, kind but distant, graces her lips.
Probably the way all doctors have to be.
I walk forward, and she takes my hand. “I’m Dr. Green. Dr. Jones referred you to me.”
“Yes, Ben did.” Even his name brings peace, my heart rate softening as I say it.
“Come in,” she says. “Let’s see what’s going on.”
Her consulting room is like any other doctor’s office I’ve ever been in. Big desk, lots of paperwork, charts on the walls, a metal bed in the corner with a curtain you can pull around.
“Take a seat.” She points to a plastic red chair beside her desk. “So tell me, what’s going on?”
I explain about the lump. “Would it be alright if I take a look? If you just get on the bed, take off your sweater.”
She feels around in my armpit as if looking for treasure. I hold myself still, waiting for her to gasp. Find anything toxic. Or nothing.
“Yes,” she mutters. “A small nodule.”
The words land heavier than they should. It certainly shouldn’t be the surprise it feels.
She pokes around, then feels some other spots on my body, humming and hawing as she goes. Not a hint of her opinion anywhere to be seen.
“We’ll run some tests,” she says. “Please, put your sweater back on and take a seat.”
No answers then. Just more worry.
I do as she says, like a schoolgirl following a headmistress’s orders. She’s tapping away on her keys, eyes on the screen. Like, whatever this is, is routine. I clear my throat, hoping to get her attention.
She glances over, then looks back at her computer.
“One moment.” I’ve sat in so many of these consulting rooms. I’ve spoken to so many doctors, it almost feels like being at home.
It almost feels kind of ironic being here.
She looks up again. “So, Ms. Cole—”
“Antonia, please,” I say. “Call me Antonia.”
“Antonia.” She nods once. “I can feel the swelling, the lump that you mentioned. So I’d like to order an ultrasound and a possible biopsy.”
My chest tightens. This is real.
I freeze. The small, fragile hope I had this morning vanishes.
“I’d rather be thorough and go through all the tests first,” she says. “Just to be sure. But please, don’t spend time worrying. Most of these things end up being benign.”
Easy for her to say.
“Do you think it’s cancer?” I ask. The words slip out before I can stop them. I don’t want to seem irrational.
Her eyes soften. “That’s everyone’s worry. But as I said, in most cases, these things are benign.”
Most isn’t all.
Ben looks up as I step out of the hospital doors, hope already in his eyes.
I shake my head. “They don’t know yet.”
He’s on his feet before I can take another step, fingers linking with mine. Our foreheads touch, and he breathes deep.
“We’ll face this together,” he whispers. “I’m here.”
And for the first time since walking in, I believe him.