I hopped into the car and prayed silently that the bar would be dimlylit and that Sam wouldn’t take one look at me and run for the hills.
When I got there, he was sitting at the bar, reading the paper. He smiled when he saw me and didn’t seem repulsed. Things were looking up.
‘About bloody time,’ he said, handing me a double vodka and Diet Coke.
‘I’m sorry. Mark arrived home late and we got into this huge row and it was all a bit of a nightmare,’ I said, and suddenly began to cry. Once I’d started I couldn’t stop. I sobbed and sniffled in between gulping my drink. ‘God… sorry… just tired and emotional… long day.’ I tried to wipe my nose with a beer mat.
Sam handed me a tissue. ‘You’ve been through a lot.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, blowing my nose. ‘I’m just worn out.’
‘Well, you do look wrecked,’ Sam said, as I welled up again. Did he have to rub it in? I knew I looked like shit, but couldn’t he have lied and told me I looked fantastic?
Don’t men get it? We’re not complicated: we just want to be lied to. When your friend arrives out wearing a hideous dress and asks you what you think, you lie. She’s out, for God’s sake, it’s too late for her to get changed. Telling her she looks like a bag of hammers isn’t going to help. Does my bum look big in this? No! Jesus, it’s not rocket science.
‘Hey, there, come on, it’s not that bad. Fiona’ll be OK,’ said Sam, as I covered myface with the tissue, ashamed that I was crying because he’d told me I looked tired and because now my makeup was streaked and I knew I looked even worse. Maybe Mark was right: I was selfish and shallow.
‘How’s her chemo going?’
‘She had the second session today,’ I said, pulling myself together. ‘It’s making her sick, but she recovered well after the first dose. I’m worried her hair will fall out this time and that that might push her over the edge. She’s pretending to cope well and that it doesn’t bother her, but it’s taking its toll and the fact that her husband is a tosser doesn’t help.’
‘Your relationship with Mark hasn’t improved over the years, then?’ asked Sam.
‘You can safely say it’s at an all-time low.’
‘Maybe he’s finding it hard to deal with. She’s his wife and the mother of his kids, after all.’
‘Exactly, and that’s why he should be a rock to her and not spend all his time at the bloody office avoiding his responsibilities. I’m like the father in the bloody family. He’s never there.’
‘Some guys fall apart when their wives get sick.’
‘Why are you defending him?’
‘I just think it must be hard for him – you know, frightening.’
‘What about me?’
‘You have another life in London. He doesn’t. If Fiona dies he has no wife and no mother for the boys.’
‘What about me, losing a sister?’
‘Of course that’d be awful, but still worse for Mark. He has more to lose.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder if she’d be better off without him.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, don’t mind me. I’m blowing off steam. Besides, I’m biased because I blame him for dragging me back. It does bother me that he isn’t more involved, though. He should be.’
‘I always thought they were well suited,’ said Sam.
‘I used to think so too, because they were both into maths and chess, but I don’t know anymore. His big ego has smothered his nicer side. Anyway, enough about Mark. Tell me about that cow you married,’ I said.
Sam groaned. ‘The lovely Nikki had an affair with her perma-tanned, sports-car driving, filthy-rich boss. When I found out, she said she was sorry but she wanted a big house, nice car and holidays in the Caribbean.’
‘Bitch! Was she always like that?’
‘When I first met her she was the receptionist at her company and thought my job and apartment were the high life. But then she got promoted and started earning good money and saw the life the senior partners in the ad agency were living and decided she wanted more. She knew that, as a journalist, I was never going to give her a life of luxury, so she aimed high and shagged the CEO.’
‘What a ruthless cow. You’re better off without her.’
‘Yes. Ambition can be a curse,’ he said, looking directly at me.
I shrank back in my chair. He wasn’t only referring to the ladder-climbing Nikki. I decided to concentrate on her infidelity: I wanted to avoid the ambition conversation at all costs.
‘I don’t understand people having affairs. Why bother getting married?’ I said, pushing my own affair, last year, with a married man to the back of my mind. In fairness, at the beginning I hadn’t known he had a wife, but when I found out I had continued to see him for a few weeks.
‘You get married because you’re in love.’
‘Were you?’ I said, hoping he’d say no. I wanted him to say that he’d only ever been reallyin love once, a long time ago, and then we’d stare into each other’s eyes and he would take me home and ravish me. Of course, I’d have to hold my stomach in all night but, oh, God, it’d be worth it.
‘Of course I was,’ he said, looking at me as if I was thick.
‘Well, sometimes people get pressured into marriage.’
‘She didn’t pressure me. I wanted to get married, have kids, the whole nine yards.’
‘Are you over it now?’ I asked, giving him my sexiest vodka-hazed smile. I was feeling rather light-headed.
‘Not really. Maybe when the divorce comes through I’ll be able to move on. But it’ll take a while. I’m a slow healer,’ he said, staring into his pint.
‘Maybe I can help you out there,’ I purred, putting my hand on his knee.
His head snapped up. ‘Oh, uhm, Kate, I don’t think so. I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea. It’s great to see you and all that, but I’m actually with someone at the moment.’
‘What happened to the slow healing?’ I asked, shocked into sobriety.
‘I’m trying to get on with my life.’
I was mortified. I had made a total fool of myself. How could I have misjudged the situation so completely? I had to save face. ‘Good for you,’ I said, lurching from sexy siren to chief cheerleader. ‘And who is the girl? A gorgeous young one with big boobs, I hope.’
Sam looked a little taken aback at my sudden turn-around. ‘Oh, she’s, uhm, a girl from work.’
‘Young?’
‘Twenty-one.’
I hated her already. ‘Foxy?’
‘Not bad.’
‘Good in the sack?’ I said, morphing into one of the lads.
‘Fine,’ he said, looking bemused.
‘Give a good blow-job?’
‘Jesus, Kate.’
‘Just kidding,’ I said, slapping him on the back. ‘Right, excellent stuff. Well, I’ll be off, leave you to meet up with your young one for the Friday-night shag. Good to see you and – yeah – see you around… or something. Cheerio,’ I said, and rushed out the door before I started crying again.
19
I woke the next morning to Derek banging on my bedroom door. I peeled myface from the pillow and shouted at him to go away.
‘Yo, Mark’s on the phone.’
‘Tell him to fuck off.’
‘He sounds kinda freaked.’
‘Tough.’
‘He said Fiona’s locked herself in the bathroom and won’t come out.’
While I had no intention of helping Mark, Fiona was a different matter. Ungluing my eyes, I shuffled over and unlocked the door. Derek handed me the phone. ‘Yes?’ I grunted.
‘Kate, I need you to come over. Fiona won’t come out of the bathroom and I can hear her crying in there.’
‘So deal with it. She’s your wife.’
‘She won’t talk to me and the boys are getting upset. Maybe she’ll talk to you. She sounds very distressed.’
‘She has cancer. Of course she’s upset. Welcome to reality, Mark.’
&
nbsp; ‘Can you save the jibes for later and please come over?’
I was tempted to leave him alone to deal with his family issues himself, but I could hear Bobby howling in the background and I was worried about Fiona. ‘I’ll be over in ten minutes,’ I said, and hung up.
I washed my mascara-streaked face and threw on my jeans and sweatshirt. On the five-minute drive to Fiona’s I almost crashed the car twice as I remembered the holy show I’d made of myself the night before. How could I have misread the situation so badly? I couldn’t believe I’d made such an obvious pass at Sam. Oh, God, it was toe-curling humiliation. Could my life possibly get anysadder? Jobless, chubby, penniless – and now I was a social reject.
When I got to the house, the twins ran up to me. ‘Mummy’s crying and she won’t come out,’ they said in unison.
‘Don’t worry, she’s probably a bit sick from the nasty medicine,’ I said. ‘Now, you go and brush your teeth and wash your hands while I talk to your mum. OK?’ I ushered them into the main bathroom and went to find Mark.
He was crouched on the bedroom floor, talking to Fiona through the keyhole of the en suite. Teddy was sitting beside him, scratching the door with his paw and whimpering. For once, Mark seemed pleased to see me – well, relieved, at least.
‘Thanks for coming. She won’t talk to me,’ he said.
‘Go and take the boys to the park or something. I’ll call you later.’
I knelt outside the door and tapped lightly. ‘Fiona, it’s me. Are you OK?’
I could hear her crying but she didn’t say anything.
‘Do you feel awful? Are you having a panic-attack? Because freaking out right now would be extremely normal.’
Silence.
I lay down and put my eye to the bottom of the door. She was holding a clump of hair. ‘Oh, Fiona, is your hair falling out? Is that it? You poor thing, is it bad? Can I come in and look? I’ll get some scissors and we’ll fix it up. Come on, there’s nothing we can’t sort out.’
She started sobbing.
‘If it makes you feel any better I made a pass at Sam last night, and after he’d ricocheted off his seat in revulsion, he told me he was seeing a young one from the office. Myface is still bright red from the shame of it. Come on, open up and let me hide in there with you. I’m a danger to myself.’
The lock clicked and mysister’s blotchy face peered out. ‘Has Mark gone?’
‘Yes.’
She sighed and pulled the door back, putting the other hand over her head. Clumps of hair layon the floor.
‘It started falling out in the shower and then I combed it – and voilà!’ she said, taking her hand down to reveal a large bald patch on the right side of her head. She looked so sad and vulnerable I reached out to comfort her, but she stepped back. Clearly I was a leper at the moment. No man or woman wanted me anywhere near them.
‘What am I going to do? I look like a freak. I don’t recognize myself. What have I become? Look at me!’ she wailed.
‘Come on, don’t say that. OK, losing your hair is rotten, but you’re still you, still gorgeous. We can fix this. You just need to shave it off. We’ll go out and buy amazing hats and bandannas and wigs. It’ll be fun.’
‘Fun? I’m a bald thirty-four-year-old mother of two, with lopsided breasts whose husband hasn’t gone near her in almost a year. Mark’s going to run a mile when he sees my bald head. I know he doesn’t find me attractive anymore and I don’t blame him. I’m hideous!’
‘Don’t you dare say that! Now, listen to me,’ I said, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her, ‘you’re the most amazing person I know. I’ve looked up to you my whole life. You’re an incredible wife, mother, sister and daughter. Your hair – or lack of it – does not make you any less beautiful. Now, put some clothes on. We’re going shopping.’
While Fiona got dressed I called Derek and asked him to get Gonzo to come over with his head-shaver.
‘Dude,’ said Derek, when he saw Fiona, ‘you can’t be going around like that. You look like someone’s attacked you with blunt scissors.’
‘I’m well aware of how appalling I look, thanks, Derek.’
‘I think you need a number two,’ said Gonzo. ‘It’ll be cool. You’ll look like Sigourney Weaver in Alien – hot!’
‘Or Demi Moore in GI Jane,’ I added, as Fiona did her best to smile.
Gonzo plugged in his razor. ‘Don’t sweat it, Fiona, I’m good at this. Plenty practice,’ he said, pointing to his own tightly shaved head.
‘Well, I can’t look worse than I already do, so go ahead,’ she said, trying not to cry.
Gonzo shaved her head gently and carefully and turned her round to admire his handiwork.
‘Good job, bro,’ said Derek, relieved to see that his sister was now more of a punk than an old woman with thinning hair.
Fiona took a deep breath and looked into the mirror. ‘It’s not as bad as I thought. I still look like hell, but I’m glad it’s all off,’ she said gulping back tears.
‘Any time you need a top-up, just let me know,’ said the newly appointed Vidal Sassoon.
I looked at Fiona’s bald head. There was something incredibly lonely and sad about it. It was as if her cancer was now a badge. Without her hair, everyone would know she was sick. When she walked down the street, people would stare. She’d never be able to say, ‘I’m great thanks, how are you?’ to anyone she met. It was as if she had an I HAVE CANCER sticker plastered across her forehead. She looked sick too. It was so much easier to pretend everything was going to be OK when she looked like her old self. But the image staring back at us was that of a sick person. A cancer victim.
‘Well, I’ll be off,’ said Gonzo.
‘Wait!’ I shouted. ‘Do me.’
‘What?’ he asked, confused.
‘Shave my hair off too.’
‘No way,’ said Fiona.
‘It’s my hair, my decision, and I want it off,’ I said.
‘Awesome idea, me too,’ said Derek.
‘I will not allow you to do this,’ said Fiona.
‘It’s got nothing to do with you, so sit down and be quiet,’ I said, already in GI Jane mode. I grabbed the kitchen scissors and chopped off my ponytail as Fiona stared at me. It felt fantastic. I was getting a huge adrenaline rush from doing this for her.
Gonzo set to, and half an hour later, Derek and I were as bald as coots.
‘You look hot,’ whispered Gonzo, into my ear and proceeded to nibble it.
For once I didn’t swat him away or insult him. I knew what it was like to be rejected. Instead I tried to pull my head away gently, but then he shoved his tongue into my ear so I thumped him.
‘Newsflash, Gonzo. Women hate having a tongue rammed down their ear,’ I snapped.
Gonzo and Derek looked at each other. ‘Really?’ Gonzo asked, put out. ‘I thought chicks really dug it.’
‘Well, this one doesn’t,’ I said. Even in my current male-famine, it did nothing for me.
Derek looked at Fiona. She shook her head. ‘Sorry, guys, I’m not a fan of tongue-in-ear either.’
Gonzo slouched out of the house to his car.
As Derek began to follow him, Fiona stopped him. Looking down at the floor, she said, ‘You both know I’m not very good at the whole emotions thing, but what you just did means… means…’ She broke down.
Derek patted her shoulder. ‘I get it that you’re grateful. It’s no biggie. Gotta flycos I need to get some lyrics down for my gig next week. Adios, muchachas.’
It was just me and Fiona, and suddenly I felt awkward. I didn’t know what to say and I could see she was struggling. She wanted to say so much, but it was too overwhelming.
‘Kate, I –’
‘Hey,’ I said, ‘I know, and you’re welcome, and it’s really no big deal. Now, come on, let’s get this mess cleared up.’
Mark called to see how Fiona was. I told him about the hair-shaving and said I’d pick the boys up from the park and take them off for lunch
so he could go home to his wife. I pulled the mirror down in the car to look at my hairless self for the first time. The person gazing back at me was a total stranger. Oh, God, what had I done? I looked like a freak. It was terrifying. I panicked. Would I ever look nice again? How long would my hair take to grow back? How long before I could go out in public without people staring at me and crossing the road to avoid me? I was a cross between a skinhead and a cancer patient. My hair had always been my best feature. Why, oh, why had I been so impulsive? I suppressed the urge to wail.
I had done the right thing. It had meant a lot to Fiona. After all, what was the big deal? It wasn’t as if I had a job that required me to look good or a boyfriend I wanted to seduce. Gulping back the sobs that were threatening to escape, I tried not to think about the fact that my hair would take years to grow back and that no man would ever fancy me again.
‘Where’s your hair?’ asked Bobby, wide-eyed.
‘In the bin,’ I said, as casually as I could. I wondered if I could take it out of the bin and bring it to a shop to have it stuck back on. They could do wonders with hair, these days. ‘I decided to shave it off. What do you think?’
‘You look scary,’ said Jack, giggling nervously. ‘Like an alien.’
‘Well, boys, Mummy’s hair is the same and so is Uncle Derek’s.’
‘Why?’ asked Bobby.
‘Because we wanted to look like Kojak.’
‘Who’s that?’ asked Bobby.
‘Bob the Builder’s dad,’ I said, pulling it out of thin air. I was getting good at this.
‘Bob doesn’t have a dad,’ said Jack. ‘He has Scoop the Digger, Dizzy the Cement Mixer and…’
‘Pilchard the Cat and Wendy and JJ!’ shouted Bobby.
‘And Roley the steam-roller, but no dad,’ added Jack.
‘Maybe that’s because Bob’s dad, Kojak, lives in America.’
‘Oh,’ said the twins.
‘Where does Bob live?’ asked Bobby.
‘In England,’ I said.
‘Is that where you used to live?’ asked Jack.
‘Yes, you clever boy, it is.’
‘But you live with Granddad now,’ said Bobby, not wanting to be shown up by his brother.
‘Exactly,’ I said.
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