Who We Are

by Nicola Haken

  * * *

  The weeks ticked by, April rolled into May, the weather got warmer, days brighter…and I got sicker. I couldn’t explain it at first. General malaise is how Google described my initial symptoms. Tiredness. Pale skin. Trouble sleeping. Hot and bothered. It was either malaise or the menopause and, despite my lack of degree in medicine, I felt pretty confident I’d picked the right one.

  Still, I wasn’t ill as such. Just…not ‘right’. It certainly didn’t warrant seeing a doctor. In fact, I’d almost convinced myself I was simply overworked and not eating healthily enough since taking on a third job. I’d soon perk up if I ditched the microwaved burgers and crisps, is what I told myself. That was until I felt a lump in the fleshy underside of my chin while carrying out my moisturising routine one night. It wasn’t visible, so I didn’t mention it to anyone until I managed to get an appointment with my GP a week later. A quick feel with her fingers told her it was a swollen lymph node, most likely a delayed reaction to the chest infection. Completely normal. Nothing to worry about.

  I couldn’t argue with a trained medical professional without sounding like a raging hypochondriac, so I accepted her diagnosis with a smile…even though I was worried. I didn’t feel ‘completely normal’. As bizarre as it sounds my body didn’t feel like mine. It felt…wrong. Older. Broken. It didn’t react in ways I was used to. Waking up inside it every day felt like a betrayal and I couldn’t explain why without sounding like I’d lost my mind, so I didn’t. I kept it to myself and plodded on through life with fake smiles and excuses.

  Bad day at work. Headache. Ate a dodgy curry. I always had a lie in place for whenever anyone asked why I was quiet, or pale, or looked like crap. What else could I say? There was nothing wrong with me. A doctor had confirmed it. There was a real possibility it was all in my head and I was slowly going insane.

  The UTI that followed my chest infection wasn’t in my head, though. Neither were the mysterious bruises that appeared from nowhere. This time they weren’t caused by a fall in a car park or fainting on stage. I had no recollection of knocking my skin, yet they appeared anyway. A couple on my thighs, another on my ribs. The blood in the sink after brushing my teeth wasn’t imaginary either. I saw it. I even bent down to look closer every time it happened, just to make sure, to convince myself. That’s when I knew. I knew because I’d seen this, lived this, before.

  With my mum.

  While I waited for yet another doctors appointment to come around, my thoughts raced and turned in a thousand different directions. At times I convinced myself I was overreacting, that only a drama queen would go straight to cancer. There were surely a hundred other, less serious explanations for my symptoms. A vitamin deficiency, perhaps. Anaemia. Hell, I didn’t know. I didn’t know I had blood cancer either.

  Except…I did. I don’t know how, I just…did.

  In the GP’s office, I pressed the cotton wool ball to the crook of my arm after having my blood taken and stared over her shoulder at the poster displaying the warning signs of a stroke that was pinned to the wall, while she wrote across the sides of the little tubes that contained my blood.

  “Really, Oliver,” she began, sealing the tubes – all with different coloured caps – in a clear bag. “I don’t think we have any reason to worry yet. Give the surgery a ring after ten tomorrow and the receptionist will have the results for you.”

  Tomorrow. That wasn’t reassuring at all. I’d had a blood test before and the results usually took three days. “Thank you.”

  With nothing else to do but wait, I went home, stopping at the chippy on the way to pick up something for Tyler’s tea because I couldn’t face cooking…or eating. When I reached my front door I took a moment to compose myself before going inside. I needed a few seconds to straighten my back, fix a smile in place, remember how to act.

  Pretend.

  I’d tried so hard not to pull away from people, not to act any differently than I usually would, and on the whole I think I did a decent job of fooling the majority. I hadn’t seen much of Rhys but he assumed I’d simply been busy being crazy in love. Dawn and Claire were more colleagues than close friends and if they’d noticed a change in me then they hadn’t mentioned it. Tyler, well, he was fifteen and his whole world revolved around his Xbox, mates, and girls…or boys. I still hadn’t figured that one out yet.

  Sebastian? Yeah, he knew something was wrong. He’d brought up the subject of eating disorders a couple of days ago, said he recognised the signs apparently, to which I laughed in his face before snapping, pushing him away, and telling him to stop causing problems where there weren’t any.

  I was a terrible person.

  With a deep breath, I walked inside my house, the fake smile I’d put in place melting away instantly when I saw Seb sitting on my couch. “Oh. Hey. I didn’t see your car outside.”

  “It’s in the garage for its MOT.”

  “Sorted!” Tyler jumped from the chair, rubbing his hands together. “Chippy!”

  “Pie, chips, beans, and gravy,” I told him, passing him the bag.

  “Can I eat it upstairs?”

  I just nodded. I didn’t have the energy to give my usual, ‘bring your plate down,’ speech.

  Ty ran into the kitchen, returning seconds later with a fork, before heading upstairs to eat straight from the tray.

  “Thought you’d still be at work.” I sat down on the couch next to Seb, leaving a little distance between us.

  “Bollocks to that. Come closer.” His arm stretched along the back of the worn cushions and I shifted my bum across the seat until our thighs smacked together. “And I left early to drop my car at the garage,” he added before folding his arm over my shoulder.

  “I love you.” The words were quiet, almost mournful as they slipped through my lips. I hadn’t planned to say it, but I imagine it simply escaped because I felt it so intensely in that moment. His arms had always made me feel so safe, so special and wanted, but not even they could protect me from what I suspected was eating me alive from the inside.

  “I love you, too.” His voice was almost cautious, like he sensed something deeper in my own admission. He loved me, I knew that, and I felt…guilty. I could be about to shatter his whole world, put him through hell, pain that could’ve been avoided if I’d never worked the bar that night…

  Was it really worth it, for short time we’d shared together?

  “Oliver? Are you…are you crying?”

  What? “No…” I raised my head, angling my face towards his. Only then did I feel the cold tear I hadn’t noticed fall roll from my chin and onto my shirt.

  Seb twisted in his seat, his hand reaching up to palm my cheek. “Dammit, Oliver, tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring me.”

  Crap. Why couldn’t I have kept it together? I didn’t want to do this, share this burden with him, especially when it could turn out to be nothing more than the result of an over active imagination. Even if it wasn’t, the idea of not telling him, of breaking up with him, saying I didn’t love him, had crossed my mind. He’d fight me, he’d hurt, but not half as much as watching someone he cared about crumble under the curse of cancer. I’d been there, and it was the hardest time of my life. I didn’t want that for Seb. How was I supposed to deal with that? Watch him suffer, knowing I’d caused it?

  “Oliver…please.” His hand slipped to the back of my neck, his fingers gripping tight as he pleaded with me.

  I didn’t want to tell him, but I didn’t think I was strong enough to keep it locked inside anymore either…and I hated myself for it. “I think I’m…I think I’m sick.” The words cracked as they left my mouth on a whisper.

  “Again?” The back of his hand pressed against my forehead. “Has the water infection come back?”

  “No.” I drew in a long, stuttered breath. “No, I mean really sick. I think…I think I might have leukaemia. Like my mum.”

  A snort of laughter devoid of humour pushed through his nose. His eyebrows knitted together and his l
ips curled up into an almost smirk. “Don’t be ridiculous. You…you don’t have cancer.” His hand fell away from my neck, leaving my skin cold, grieving his touch. “You can’t.”

  “I’m so tired, Seb. All the time. I’ve got bruises on my skin. My gums are sore. They bleed when I brush them. I keep getting infections. If I close my eyes I feel like I’ve stepped back in time, back to being by my mum’s side…only this time I am her. I can’t explain it, but I feel it.”

  “I…” He shook his head. “There must be a million other explanations.”

  “Well, I should know soon. I went for a blood test today.” Rolling up my sleeve, I straightened my arm and nodded to the mottled purple marks that were already appearing around the needle site. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Fucking right you should be sorry. Sorry for thinking I wouldn’t want to know, for assuming for one second I’d want you to deal with any of this on your own. I should’ve been at that appointment with you today.”

  “It was just a blood test,” I reassured with a small shrug of one shoulder. “No big deal.”

  “Everything you’ve just told me is a big deal, and I’m here to share the big deals. How long were you planning to keep this from me?”

  Staring down at my finger, I concentrated on the invisible patterns it drew on my thigh. “Until I knew for sure…maybe longer. Maybe forever.” Shrugging again, I exhaled a long, solemn sigh. “I considered the idea of breaking up with you and never telling you at all.” My voice was low, barely there, and a knot of guilt twisted deep inside my gut.

  Seb sat close to me, but he pulled back, understandably. After what I’d just said, I wouldn’t have wanted to be near me either. “You…why the hell would you do that? H-how…”

  “Because I know how difficult it is. I know what’s coming for me, for us, and I don’t want that for you. I don’t expect you to stay and watch me fade, to care for me, see me in pain, clean up after me…because that’s what’ll happen.”

  A shaky breath worked its way past Seb’s throat and he leaned forward, dragging his hands over his face. Standing, he strode to the other side of the room, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared past the condensation and out of the window, refusing to look back at me.

  “You have no idea what’s going to happen,” he said, his back still turned to me. “And even if you’re right…” Slowly, he shifted to face me, leaning back on the windowsill. “I don’t plan on watching you fade. I’ll be watching you, helping you fight.”

  He walked forward, dropping to his knees when he reached me. Another tear leaked from the corner of my eye – I felt this one – and Seb reached up to catch it with his thumb. “If you’re right, and I have to hold on to the hope that you’re not, I have no doubt I’m about to face one of the toughest times of my life. But do you know what’d be even harder? What would fucking destroy me? Knowing you were in pain and I wasn’t there.”

  “Sebas-”

  “No. As hard as it was supporting your mother, would you rather she’d done it alone to spare your feelings? I’m strong enough, Oliver. You don’t get to decide how much I care, or how much I can handle.”

  “God…” I looked up to the ceiling, and then back down. “I’m gonna feel so stupid tomorrow if my results come back clear.” I forced a slight smile in a vain attempt to lighten the suffocating atmosphere.

  “You shouldn’t.” Forcing my legs apart, Seb wedged himself between them and wound his arms around my waist. “Whatever happens we needed this conversation. You needed to know that from now on, whatever goes on in that gorgeous head…” Strong fingers combed through my hair and I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch. “…Needs to be going on in mine as well.”

  I’m scared…

  I didn’t think I’d spoken my fear aloud, I certainly hadn’t meant to, until Seb cradled the back of my neck and brought my head down to his shoulder. “I’m scared too,” he whispered, kissing my hair. “But I’ve got you, Olli. I’ve got you.”

  * * *

  The next morning, once Tyler had left for school and I’d rang Claire to let her know I’d be a couple of hours late, I was surprised to find Seb still hovering. He’d made breakfast for us all earlier, which I picked at out of politeness but didn’t manage to eat much, and then he cleared away the dishes, got Ty organised for the day, and now he was kicked back on the couch watching Lorraine Kelly interview a celebrity chef on the telly.

  “You’re gonna be late for work,” I told him as I straightened the pile of magazines on the coffee table, just for something to do. I couldn’t stay still. I’d been nervous and fidgety since I gave up on trying to sleep at four AM.

  “I called in sick.”

  A quiet sigh flowed from my nose and I stopped stacking the magazines. “It’s just a phone call today. I don’t want you losing money over me.”

  “My company pays for sick days.” Picking up the TV remote, he switched off the telly and looked right at me. “When I said you don’t have to do this alone I meant it. I’m with you, Oliver. Every single step of the way.”

  My lips curled into an almost-smile and I looked at the pendulum clock that hung above the fireplace, sagging with disappointment when I noticed barely any time had passed since I last checked. Minutes dragged like hours, making ten o’clock feel like days away. Two hours. I only had to get through two more hours before I could call the surgery for my results and the torturous wait would be over. Perhaps it would all be over, and I could erase the last few weeks of pain and worry from my memory because everything would be totally fine.

  Maybe.

  Hopefully.

  Please…God.

  “You’re going to be okay.” Seb stood from the couch and took a step towards me, so I took one back and turned for the kitchen. I wasn’t angry with him, but I couldn’t pretend to believe him to make him feel better. He didn’t know if I’d be okay, neither of us did, and right now I wasn’t. Right now my body ached, I had stiff joints, my head hurt, and I hadn’t slept properly in weeks because I broke out in sweats every night. Right now I ate more painkillers than food just to try and keep myself functioning on a level that could be classed as vaguely ‘normal’.

  Right now I was terrified.

  My mobile started ringing in the living room as soon as I opened the fridge – again, just for something to do, although I appreciated the blast of cool air on my overheated skin. “Can you grab that for me?” I called out, assuming it was probably Tyler. No doubt he’d forgotten his PE kit or something and needed me to drop it off.

  The ringing continued, however, growing louder as Seb brought it into the kitchen. “The number’s not listed in your phone.”

  My heart faltered and my hand seemed to move in slow motion as I reached out and took the phone from his fingers. Clearing my throat, I brought it slowly to my ear, swiping across the screen with a shaky thumb along the way. “Hello?”

  “Good morning. Am I speaking with Mr Oliver Clayton?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Hello, Mr Clayton. My name’s Angela Kelley and I’m calling from Manchester General.”

  Oh God. I literally felt the blood drain from my face, pooling in my neck and making me feel lightheaded.

  “The consultant haematologist at Saint Mary’s would like to see you today to discuss the results of the blood test you had at your GP surgery yesterday. Can you make your way to the Oncology Assessment Unit for eleven AM? And bring an overnight bag.”

  “W-wait…what?” My knee buckled and I stumbled back a step, catching myself on the fridge door. Seb was by my side in a millisecond, his arm around my waist, his face pale with concern. “Overnight? D-discuss what? What do the results show?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Clayton, I don’t have that information to pass on over the phone.” Her voice was sickly sweet, almost robotically so, like she carried out this speech a dozen times a day…which, I supposed she did. “Are you able to attend at eleven?”

&n
bsp; “Yes. Yes, I’ll be there.”

  “Do you need directions?”

  I practically lived in that hospital when my mum was sick. Its location would be burned into my memory until the day I drew my last breath. “No, I know where it is. Thank you.”

  She told me not to worry before she hung up. I imagined it was simply part of the pre-programmed spiel she’d been trained to give but someone really should’ve advised her to take it out because it wasn’t reassuring. It was bullshit.

  “Oliver?” Seb’s hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing gently, but I couldn’t look at him as I lowered the phone from my ear.

  “It was the hospital. They want me to go in at eleven.” My voice came out so quietly I wasn’t sure I was even talking out loud, but I carried on anyway. “Told me to pack an overnight bag.”

  “Which hospital?”

  Dropping my head, I sucked in a deep breath. “Saint Mary’s.”

  His hand fell from my shoulder, from the shock most likely. Saint Mary’s was a specialist cancer hospital, everyone knew that, and I suspected he felt the same violent kick of fear deep in the pit of his stomach when he heard the words as I did.

  Dazed, he was little more than a blur to me when he moved to my front and pulled me into his body. He cradled my head to his shoulder with one hand, gripping my back with the other. “It still doesn’t mean anything.” His voice was hoarse, painful to hear. “They probably just want to do some tests. Rule the nasty stuff out.”

  After a long pause, I nodded a little. “Yeah,” I agreed, because he needed me to, because he was hurting and I didn’t know how else to take it away. He wanted to help me, reassure me, and I knew what that was like, how powerless he felt, so I had to let him.

  “Shit…” Pulling back, I rubbed at my tense jaw. “Ty. What am I gonna tell Ty? And where’s he gonna sleep tonight? Dammit…” Fishing my phone back out of my pocket, I unlocked the screen. “I’ll have to call them back. I can’t stay overnight. I can’t lea-”