The Other Life of Charlotte Evans

by Louisa George

  ‘It’s just… you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I give you a get-out-of-jail-free card. No strings. Nothing. If it turns out I do have cancer, you can walk away.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Is that what you think I’m about? Really?’ He pushed the tray of samples away, across the table, edged them up against the files they hadn’t opened. ‘One whiff of something and you think I’ll bail?’

  ‘No. No. I just don’t want you to think you owe me anything.’

  His voice was dark and fractured, but low. A strain to maintain. ‘I owe you a lot. Everything, actually. I’m marrying you, Charlotte, whatever happens. I’ve made promises I would never break. I love you. ‘

  ‘I know.’ But things had changed; the dynamic between them was different. It wasn’t that she was suddenly needy – she’d never needed anyone before and she’d get through all this on her own if she had to. But she could see the balance between them shifting and that made her feel uneasy. It was probably just the normal ebb and flow of relationships, adjustments to the changing sands of life. But she didn’t like it. ‘You haven’t touched me since you found the lump. Not in any way.’

  ‘I was giving you some space. The doctor said not to touch it, you told me. I didn’t know what to do… say. I was…’ He scrubbed his hand across his shaking head. ‘I was giving myself some space too, trying to work things out, read up on it. My first thought was cancer. My first thought was that I would lose you and I didn’t know how I’d handle that. I was trying to be strong for you by holding it all in. Stupid, eh? Especially when we have no diagnosis.’

  ‘And what have you read?’

  ‘That it’s probably nothing. That we’re being hasty… but you see so much stuff, right, on the internet? Everything’s about cancer. But you haven’t got it. You’re too… vibrant to be ill.’ This was the most he’d said about it at all. Since that hug on the day he’d found the lump he’d kept a distance, but so had she. They usually shared everything, but some of the panic they’d kept to themselves. ‘Anyway, whatever happens, we’re walking down that aisle in six weeks. And we’re eating cake. Okay? So we’d better get a wriggle on and choose which kind.’

  Tears pricked her eyes and her throat was so full, so raw, there’d be no way she’d get even a tiny morsel of food down it. ‘Okay. Okay. So you’re not completely repulsed?’

  He sighed. Blew out, hard. ‘By what? You? Come on, Charlie, give me some credit. I’m a copper. I see a lot of bad things. You are definitely not one of them.’

  ‘I didn’t mean… me. I mean… this.’ She pointed to her chest.

  ‘I’d love you with no breasts or three breasts.’ He wrapped his arm round her shoulder and tugged her against him, pressing a soft kiss on the top of her head. ‘For God’s sake, don’t do this. Don’t doubt me.’

  Now she’d made things a hundred times worse between them, when he’d bought her flowers and brought her here in an effort to make her feel better. Blood rushed to her cheeks. She was ruining everything by concentrating on the wrong things. Even though her brain kept sliding towards the lump and her growing need to discover what was going on in her genes, she had to stop. Stop all this thinking and focus on the things that mattered to her and Ben, not just to her. She looked down at her new non-paint-streaked work top and tried to lighten the rapidly deteriorating mood. ‘Hey, maybe that’s what’s happening… Maybe I’m just growing another boob. Put me in a circus – we could make some money.’

  That put a flicker of a smile on his beautiful face. ‘It’d pay for the flowers, I suppose. They weren’t cheap.’

  ‘They’re gorgeous.’

  He shrugged. ‘You deserve them. I know I can be pretty strung-out about money, and it’s for good reason, but perhaps we can be a bit more flexible every now and then.’

  ‘We’re just building a life. We have a plan. It’s okay.’

  ‘Yup. But we can splurge every now and then. You’re worth it.’

  Charlotte’s heart started to slow. Things were getting back on an even keel again. ‘I’m sorry for the wobble. I seem to be having a few of them at the moment. I think I might have upset mum earlier too. I didn’t mean to. But I told her I was thinking of looking up my birth mother. Well, I didn’t exactly say that… but we talked about it. About her.’

  ‘That seems a bit out of left field, Charlie.’ He looked at the tray of cake. Shook his head. The poor cake fairy was probably in her back office hearing every word and not knowing whether or not to come out. Weddings. Cancer. Adoption. All in one visit. That was pretty heavy for a Thursday evening and they hadn’t had even one mouthful yet. ‘You’ve never even mentioned her really.’

  ‘It’s not something I talk about, because who wants to hear it?’ Ever since Michael Maloney she’d trained herself not to mention it. Life was easier, safer, if she was on the receiving end of fewer clumsy questions and comments about being given away, sowing the seed that there was a possibility it might happen again if she got too difficult, challenging. That didn’t mean she hadn’t been thinking about it, though. ‘I’ve often wondered… thought about her. And I’ve been thinking about her a lot more recently. About this. My genes.’

  ‘What did Eileen say?’

  Charlotte thought of her adoptive mum dragging her hand away. Not wanting physical contact with her just because she’d asked a question. She shuddered. ‘That I had other things I should be focusing on.’

  Ben shrugged. ‘She could be right. You do have a lot on at the moment.’

  ‘The lump… yes, but maybe searching for her might take my mind off things.’

  He frowned. ‘I was thinking about the wedding, actually. But yes, the lump too.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. Yes. Yes.’ How could she tell him that her interest in flowers and cake and wedding dresses had diminished to almost zero? The only thing she could see on the horizon was a black shadow zapping all the fun and anticipation. She needed to focus on positives. ‘Yes. There’s still a lot to get done.’

  ‘Yip. So listen, it’s all overwhelming and you’re probably all over the place. You are allowed to freak out a bit, but now we’re going to rise up and fight… okay? Together. We’re a team, Charlie.’ He tugged on her hand, wrapped his fingers into hers and made a tight fist. His smile showed her he only wanted to help, to smooth her journey. ‘We’ve got this.’

  ‘We most certainly have.’ She squeezed her fingers in his too. He was right; they were a team. A bloody formidable one at that. And the countdown was on. Whatever else happened in their lives, they had less than two months before they made that ultimate commitment to each other, and there was still a lot of work to be done and decisions to be made. So she needed to somehow rediscover her interest in wedding bouquets and silk and lace and push everything else to the back burner. She owed him that, owed them both. One little lump wasn’t going to derail their plans. Not at all. Their love was stronger than that. Hell… she was stronger than that. ‘Eek! We’ve got a whole wedding to organise and I’ve dropped the ball a bit, to be honest. No problem. We’re on this.’

  He tipped her chin to look into her eyes. ‘Too right. If you need any help, ask me. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Now, baby, have some cake. Please.’ With his free hand Ben picked up her fork and fed her the double-chocolate, which was so divine she pretended to swoon. Then he gave her some of the red velvet and smiled – the tension drifting away, leaving just them and their promises and this minute, and this one… And she smiled too and fed him some carrot cake. He pigged his eyes and copied her swooning and they were back to situation normal.

  Thank you. Thank you, Ben. Thank you for making me laugh, she said silently, leaning into him and hoping some of his strength would leach into her. Remembering, too, to be grateful for the small things, which were often the most important. Being silly. Laughter. Moments of love.

  While they lasted.

  Chapter Four

  It was amazing how quickly things moved when you
had money. No matter how much Charlotte had refused, her mother had pushed for a quick appointment, so here they were, the very next afternoon, pushing open the heavy wooden door with the golden plaque bearing the name West London Breast Clinic.

  The place looked like a hotel, not a private hospital. With blonde stone and marble floors it oozed grandeur and wealth. It was everything the NHS GP surgery wasn’t: plush, spacious, tidy. In any other situation Charlotte might even have been excited about going into such a place. ‘Wow. Very glam. If only I wasn’t feeling quite so nervous. All the gilt and marble is a bit intimidating.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’ Ben squeezed her shoulder, but the tremble in his hand gave him away. ‘Look at the sculptures and the artwork. Now you know where half the consultation fee is going.’

  There were huge, comfortable chairs in the waiting room and in each of them sat women a lot older than Charlotte. All of them looked glum. Anxious. Which made Charlotte’s worry quota escalate a hundredfold.

  ‘Miss Evans?’ A lady with a smart chic French knot smiled across the reception desk, her voice rich and welcoming… and the loaded seriousness of her words made Charlotte’s heart race. ‘Dr Carter is waiting for you. Room two. Down the corridor, third on the left.’

  ‘Okay.’ She gripped Ben’s hand, sounding a lot more confident then she felt. ‘Let’s do this.’

  A short consult. A wait. A mammogram. A wait. An ultrasound. A wait. And now a something-something biopsy. There was a lump. Yes. Yes. They had to see what was in it.

  She was lying on an examination couch with Ben seated next to her. To her right was a huge ultrasound machine that beeped and whirred and clicked and made the room too hot.

  ‘We’ll do a fine needle aspiration…’ The room phone rang. Dr Carter peered at them over his half-rimmed glasses and frowned. He wore a tartan bow tie and a charcoal three-piece suit; very old-school with his speech and mannerisms and clothes. Charlotte hoped he was very new school with therapies and treatments and diagnostics. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to them, pointing to the phone and picking it up. ‘Yes. Yes. I see.’

  When he finished he put the receiver down. ‘Excuse me again, Miss… er…. Evans. A query. Outside. Not about you.’

  Then he left the room leaving Charlotte and Ben wordless. Being here and seeing the blurry pictures on the screens made everything feel so much worse. She’d always imagined the first ultrasound she’d have would be about a baby growing inside her. Not this.

  ‘I feel like I’m staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.’ Charlotte finally managed to get words out through a tight throat, keeping her voice low because everything was hushed here. ‘It’s like I’m in a dream. Or it’s happening to someone else and I’m watching.’

  Ben gave her a half-smile that tried but failed to reach his tired eyes. ‘I am watching and it’s no better this end, believe me.’

  Trying to break the tension she laughed a little, although it sounded forced, even to her. ‘To be honest, I’ve never had so many people touch my boobs, and definitely not all in one day.’

  ‘Serves you right for flashing them to anyone who asks.’ He winked and tugged her gaping gown across to cover her left breast. ‘Hussy.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been asked a lot today. A lot of people seem to want to look.’ She paused. Wondered whether to say what she was feeling. Decided, what the hell. ‘I’m scared, Ben.’

  That was the truth of it. She felt utterly out of control. Utterly at the mercy of the stars, or fate. In a strange limbo land that had stripped her of the ability to enjoy anything, no matter how much she tried. That had made her see herself in a new light. As something mortal, fragile, vulnerable, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  It was, as she’d felt so many times when hanging out to see whether she’d landed a role in a show or the corps or a solo, the waiting that was the worst part.

  ‘I know, me too. Shit scared with custard on top.’ Ben gave her another half-hearted smile. That was a huge admission. Something she’d never heard him admit even when he’d been posted to the riots a few years ago. Or when he’d been caught up in a stabbing and nearly got hurt himself. Even when his father got sick and it had been touch and go whether he was going to pull through.

  That made her feel doubly worse. ‘He’s a bit grumpy, though, isn’t he? Dr Carter. Very serious and pompous. I think I’m more scared of him than I am of the needle aspiration thingy.’

  ‘Imagine him naked or something, that’ll make you feel better.’

  ‘Ugh. He’s ancient. Like, over seventy or something.’ That would definitely not make her feel better.

  ‘I meant, he’s just normal like you and me. He’s nothing to be scared of.’ Ben leaned across the space between them and ran his fingers down her cheek. His mouth close to her ear. ‘You’re going to be fine. I can feel it. You’re going to be okay. And when he tells you there’s nothing wrong…’

  Charlotte sighed. ‘When they get the results of the what was it…? The cyt… cytology. It’s a whole new language. Which won’t be for another three days… another whole weekend of worry. Again.’

  ‘Let’s run away instead of going to work and doing jobs, then. And eat marshmallows and salt and vinegar crisps. Just you and me and no one else.’ Ben’s voice was soothing and deep and warm.

  ‘And drink chardonnay from a bottle. Okay. Where will we go?’ She fitted her hand into his. Where it was always meant to be.

  ‘Fiji. The Maldives. Hawaii.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Somewhere exotic with cocktails. Sun and sea and… you know what?’ She daren’t say that word out loud. Not in here where everyone was so prim and proper. A little panicky giggle started to bubble up from her tummy. Gallows humour probably. ‘I almost said the “s” word.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to the “s” word more than you can imagine.’ Ben’s eyes flared with warmth. Not quite heat. Because how could he fancy her when she was lying here like this? Vulnerable and pathetic and half scared to death. ‘Should we just forget all of this and go right now?’

  But the door swung open and Dr Carter stepped back into the room.

  ***

  Unfortunately, life had a habit of getting in the way, and absconding to Fiji for the weekend wasn’t quite as easy as Charlotte hoped. Instead of sun, sea and the “s” word, she was stressed from work, corseted up and putting on a brave face in front of her best friend.

  ‘I look like a big meringue.’ Lissa’s hands were on her hips as she twirled in front of the Bliss Brides dress shop’s huge, gilt-edged mirror. The dress was an off-the-shoulder sheath of palest lavender silk that hugged her slim dancer’s frame. In true elegant-fashion tradition, the designer had given it a cutesy name: Isla. Which was reminiscent of the wilds of Scotland and so not inner-city London or goth-inspired Lissa with her mess of raven hair and liberal use of black eyeliner. Still, it worked. She rocked it. Actually, Lissa would have rocked a paper bag.

  Charlotte grinned at her friend in the mirror. ‘You look adorable. There’s no way you would ever look like a meringue. Actually, could you try to look a little less amazing, please? It’s my wedding, but everyone’s going to be looking at you, not me. Your bottom might even get its own Facebook page or something, like Pippa Middleton’s.’

  ‘Honey, I don’t even have my own Fake Book page, so my backside isn’t getting one, that’s for sure.’ Lissa was in the too-cool-for-social-media camp rather than the how-does-it-work one. She rearranged her boobs inside the built-in cups in the dress and winced. ‘Ouchy.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Charlotte frowned. Was everything about boobs these days or was she just hypersensitive?

  Lissa growled, ‘P.M. bloody T. Worst I’ve ever had it. Sore boobs and I’m grumpy as hell. Hence the meringue reference and the huge swollen belly. Ugh. Who’d be a woman, right?’

  ‘The day you have a huge belly will be the day mankind walks on Mars. There’s nothing of you.’ But Charlotte had to admit her friend was looking paler t
han ever. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Sure.’ Lissa shrugged, unconvincingly. ‘Nothing a couple of wines won’t help. Did the assistant mention bubbles? There’s usually bubbles at dress fittings, right? There were last time.’

  ‘Julia – she’s the assistant – said she’d bring some out when everyone gets here.’

  ‘Excellent. Trying on dresses is thirsty work. Who knew?’ Lissa stopped frowning at her reflection and turned to take a proper look at Charlotte. Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, you look… just wow. Stunning.’

  It was the third fitting, so it was hardly new to either of them, but her comments made Charlie smile for the first time in what felt like forever. She twisted from side to side to get a better look in the mirror. ‘Thanks. It’s nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s a bloody marvel. You are a bloody marvel. You look like something out of the magazines. In fact, I’m going to take a photo right now and – wait, did you just say nice?’ Kicking off her unfastened sparkly silver sandals, Lissa plonked down on the dais in front of the mirror and tugged Charlotte to join her. Which was pretty difficult in a bone-corseted, white-and-silver, strapless, lace-and-tulle gown with fishtail train. Cutely named Angelina in the brochure. ‘Okay, kiddo.’ Lissa nudged her gently. ‘This is so unlike you. You’ve been going on nonstop about this wedding since the day you met the guy and now you’re all kinds of flat and the dress is… nice? What’s the matter? Did you two have a fight or something? And… while I’m at it… I want to know where you were on Friday and why Shelley took your classes – she said you’d called her late Thursday with no proper explanation. What’s going on? Spill. Now.’

  ‘It’s…’ What was the point telling anyone until she had a concrete result? Monday. They had an appointment on Monday. Which felt like a lifetime away, as if her life had been put on hold. Charlotte shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. ‘No, we didn’t fight, I just had some things to do. You know how it is with organising weddings and running a business. There’s always a job to do.’