by Mandy Magro
7 July 2012
Dear Diary,
Oh, what a horrible day! Aden’s ex-wife Tammy called, and it all just seemed to go downhill from there. And the nightmares, the ones of the accident, they just keep coming and once I wake up from one I find it so hard to go back to sleep. I’m so tired. I just wish I could sleep for two days straight.
This morning after yoga, I visited Mary with Mum and Aunty Kulsoom. I really don’t think she’s going to survive the night, but if she does it won’t be much longer that she’s with us. She’s barely able to hold her eyes open and she looks so frail. Poor Harry, he’s trying his best to be strong in front of her but as soon as he walks out the bedroom door he breaks down. Today I found him sitting on the floor in his office, tears rolling down his cheeks, photos of his and Mary’s wedding day scattered about the floor in front of him. Mum, Kulsoom and I made him go and lie down because he hasn’t slept in goodness knows how long. The stubborn old bugger tried to argue that he didn’t need sleep, but he eventually gave in. Not surprisingly, he was asleep in minutes. I spent the rest of the day sitting by Mary and reading to her while Mum and Kulsoom cleaned the house for Harry and made him a week’s worth of meals. Mary has always loved books, and even though she hasn’t got the strength to say much I can tell by the little smile on her face that she enjoys me reading to her.
The doctors have increased her morphine so at least she’s not in any pain now. She can no longer swallow and hasn’t eaten or drunk for four days. She begged me for water today so I tried to soothe her thirst by rubbing a piece of ice along her dry lips. She kept nodding her head gently to let me know that she appreciated it. It’s terrifying seeing her the way she is. I’m trying not to think of my own situation when I’m with her, but I can’t help it. The fear of dying is almost too much to bear. It might be easier if I didn’t feel like shit the whole time – there’s still two sessions of chemo to go, my next one in four days’ time. And on top of all of this I’m so confused about my relationship with Aden.
He returned Tammy’s call after dinner tonight and apparently she was begging him to take her back. He told her that their chance had passed. He swears he wants to be with me, but I’m finding myself doubting everything these days. Why would he want to be with me, dying of cancer, when he could be with a woman who has her entire life ahead of her? I mean, he must still have some feelings for Tammy. He was married to her, for goodness sake. I’ve known Aden for most of my life and deep down I know I can trust him . . . but I can’t help feeling shaken up by Tammy’s phone call.
I’ve asked him to give me a little breathing space for a few days and to sleep in his own room. I think it would be good for us to have time apart, to get our lives into perspective. He was really upset, but with everything weighing down on me I just need some time to myself. I’m utterly exhausted and feel like I haven’t even got the strength to have a shower, let alone a boyfriend! But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love him. I’ll just see how I feel in a couple of days – that’s all I can do.
I wish there was some way of knowing what to do – some magical answer. But I just have to stand on my own two feet and follow my head, not my heart.
Kirsty xx
Aden heard a soft thump as Kirsty closed her bedroom door. He’d hoped she might change her mind about sleeping on her own, but it seemed unlikely as he listened to her climb into bed. He lay in silence, the chilly winter winds outside sending a scattering of leaves fluttering against his bedroom window. He closed his eyes, willing her to come to her senses, holding his breath in anticipation. Why did Kirsty doubt his love for her? She kept pushing him away, over and over. It made it hard for him to be near her, but his love for her hadn’t wavered. Was it just the cancer and the chemo? It was clear that Kirsty was under an enormous amount of stress, but was there more to it? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He wished he knew so he could take action – anything other than lose her. He could feel her slipping away from him, slowly withdrawing into herself and he had no idea what to do. Kirsty was only on the other side of the bedroom wall . . . so close, yet so far away.
And now she said she needed space. He didn’t like the sound of that. It had been exactly what he and Tammy had said to each other a month before splitting up for good. He just couldn’t understand why Kirsty didn’t believe him when he said he wanted to stick by her through her cancer. And was she using Tammy’s phone call as an excuse to distance herself from him? He banged his head against the pillow a few times in frustration before brusquely kicking off the blankets and sitting up on the side of the bed, staring out at the horse paddocks through his bedroom window. Sleep felt unattainable, his mind whirring and his heart breaking. He stood and pulled on his jeans, sighing as he dragged a T-shirt over his head. It was going to be cold outside.
Aden made sure his wrists were taped tightly before slamming his clenched fists into the punching bag in the shed repeatedly, billows of dust pluming out with every powerful thud. All the tension, all the stress – from his relationship with Kirsty, how busy he was with work, his sorrow at what he couldn’t fix – came out through the force of his punches. With each movement, the burden was somehow lightened.
The bag jerked and Aden ducked and weaved as though the bag were a real opponent who was nimble on his feet. The chill in his bones rapidly left him as sweat began to drip from his face and trickle down the back of his neck. It felt good, so good, to purge his tumbling emotions and his anger at the world, his helplessness in the situation and his unrelenting grief at losing his sister.
He took a quick step backwards, whirled around on his heel and then slammed his foot into the bag with a loud smack, the force sending the bag swinging violently from side to side. Aden shot out a few more punches in quick succession, giving it everything he had, then wrapped his arms around the punching bag and slumped into it, his hot breath escaping in clouds of mist.
Groaning, he wearily eased himself down to the ground and hung his head in his hands, a heavy sadness creeping over him, making him feel as though he were plummeting into a dark abyss. Finally, he let his tears fall, the tears he had been holding inside for months. The ones he had been so afraid to cry. Men weren’t meant to cry. Men were meant to be strong, to be able to carry the world on their shoulders. But he could hold his emotions in no longer.
Curlews cried out and a horse whinnied in the distance, the sounds of the country at night somehow making him feel as though he wasn’t alone. It was a comforting feeling. Thank God he’d left the city and come back to Hidden Valley. He wiped his eyes and let out a long slow breath, then lay back on the dirt and tucked his hands underneath his head, allowing himself to calmly run everything over in his mind once again. Was Kirsty scared she was going to die and leave him a broken man? Or was he right in thinking there was something else going on? Maybe, deep down, it had nothing to do with Tammy asking him back. He was never going to give up on Kirsty, especially if she was going to give up on herself. He loved her too much, too deeply, to turn his back on her at a time when she needed him the most. He had to fight on, fight for her, show her just how much she meant to him. And if, in the end . . . if, God forbid, he lost her to the cancer, he would never regret that he had shown her just how much he loved her. But that wasn’t going to happen. Kirsty was not going to die. Life couldn’t be that cruel.
Chapter 20
THE aroma of lemongrass wafted delightfully around the bathroom as Kirsty lit the four candles Jo had given her a few days ago when she’d come around for yoga. Jo had bought the candles at the local markets and they were so pretty Kirsty was hesitant to burn them, but Jo had insisted that she use them daily; lemongrass apparently had strong healing properties. Kirsty wasn’t convinced it was going to help her but she felt blessed to have a mate like Jo. Burning the candles was the least she could do after the countless hours Jo had spent taking care of her.
Kirsty sat down on the edge of the claw-foot bathtub and assessed the temperature, dipping her hand undern
eath the substantial layer of lavender-scented suds, mesmerised by Enigma’s relaxing melodies floating from the stereo in the lounge room. The water was perfectly warm, and would help ease her intensely aching bones. Other than her fortnightly acupuncture sessions with Colin, a bath was one of the very few ways she found some relief from the pain of the chemo. Another two days and she would be getting her fifth lot of chemo and then she’d only have one to go. The fact that it was almost over gave her a small amount of comfort, but she was still filled with dread every time she thought about walking through the hospital doors. It never got any easier.
Turning off the taps, Kirsty stood and slipped off her robe, her attention caught by her own reflection in the vanity mirror. She hesitantly turned so she stood before it, feeling tremendously exposed. It was as though she were looking at a stranger. The young, spirited, healthy woman she had once been had disappeared.
The flicker of the candles softly lit her features, accentuating bones that protruded in places she had never seen them before. Pasty white skin stretched over her body. She poked at her hipbones, half expecting them to shatter beneath her fingertips, then cast her gaze upwards as she ran her hands over her bald head. She imagined her long blonde hair slipping between her fingers and cascading down her bare back. She ran her eyes back down to her chest, staring at the offending breast. She wished she could just cut the darn thing off and throw it away, but she knew that it wouldn’t solve her problem. What if the cancer had already spread?
Her mind began to spin with unanswered questions, questions she had asked herself a million times already. What was to become of her? And what did Aden see in her? How could he be attracted to her when she looked like this and was so damn moody all the time? Fuck it all! Why her? A furious pent-up rage filled her; she felt powerless to rid herself of the disease that was eating away at her and ruining her life and her relationship with Aden. She lashed out at her reflection, smacking the mirror with her palms, over and over until her skin stung with every whack. She collapsed despairingly against the handbasin, clutching the edges of the porcelain to stop herself from falling, panting loudly from the unexpected outburst. Turning her back to her reflection as if turning her back on an opponent, Kirsty shuffled over to the tub and eased her shuddering body into its warmth. Her emotions getting the better of her, she wept freely once again.
‘Yes, Joy, I know it’s time for your bottle!’ said Kirsty, smiling as Joy clip-clopped around the kitchen, bleating loudly and gently nudging her leg. Wherever Kirsty was, Joy was never far behind. After her meltdown in the bathroom that morning, Kirsty was more thankful than ever for Joy’s unconditional love.
Kirsty wandered into the lounge room with Joy hot on her heels and slumped down into the beanbag, finding it hard to believe it was only seven weeks ago that Aden had brought Joy home. Joy scrambled onto her lap, making loud suckling noises as she grabbed the teat of the bottle and began slurping away. Kirsty smiled. This would be the last time she bottle-fed her – Joy was almost two months old now and ready for weaning. And, at thirteen kilos, she was getting way too heavy for Kirsty’s lap.
While watching Joy drain the last of the milk from the bottle, Kirsty thought about her treatment. Thank goodness she only had two more chemo sessions to go – and then she would have another series of tests to find out the long-awaited results. She would know whether the cancer was gone or not. And then maybe she would be able to have the operation to remove the part of the breast where the cancer had been, and she could get on with living her life. The thought of finding out the results of the chemo filled her with dread. She knew she had to stay positive, but watching Mary fade away had made it even harder.
‘Kirsty, are you awake, love?’ Ron’s voice called from the front door of the cottage.
‘Yeah, Dad, come in! I’m in the lounge room,’ Kirsty called back as she wriggled a sleepy Joy off her lap. It was rare for Ron to pop in during the day as he was normally out in the saddle or tending to the horses. She tried not to think about how much she missed working with him and Robbie, spending the days out mustering cattle, fixing fences or exercising the horses. They were treasured chances to bond with her father and brother – but, Kirsty told herself, she’d have those chances again.
On the odd occasion her dad had called in to see how she was doing, he always seemed uncomfortable, like he didn’t know what to say. He would fumble with his hat or stare at the floor while he was talking to her – anything but look her in the eye. She tried not to take it personally and she knew he loved her deeply, but sometimes his distance really hurt. Ron was a country bloke through and through, thick-skinned and bred tough, and taught from a young age that it wasn’t manly to show emotions.
‘Hi, love.’ Ron smiled gently as he walked into the room and perched on the edge of the lounge chair. He took off his hat and began twirling it around on his fingers while clearing his throat. He looked utterly exhausted.
Kirsty could tell from his grim expression that this wasn’t a social visit; something was wrong. She placed her hand firmly on his jiggling knee to stop it moving. Her heart beat gained momentum by the second. ‘What is it, Dad?’
Ron exhaled slowly as he stopped jiggling his hat and his leg. Then, placing his Akubra on the arm of the lounge chair, he patted it a few times and for the first time in months looked Kirsty directly in the eyes. ‘Love, I have some bad news, and I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this. I just got off the phone to Harry Mallard. Mary passed away this morning.’
Hot tears stung Kirsty’s eyes and rolled heavily down her cheeks. She’d known Mary was going to pass away. She had looked so gaunt the last time Kirsty had visited her with Lynette and Kulsoom, but the actual reality of it was overwhelming and heartbreaking. Mary Mallard had taken her last breath; she was gone now, forever, and Harry had lost the love of his life. Kirsty felt as though she had a tonne of bricks sitting on her chest.
‘Poor Mary . . . she didn’t deserve to die, to go through so much suffering. Frigging bloody cancer! It’s a pointless battle!’ said Kirsty, her temper suddenly flaring. ‘Why even bother fighting it when you’re going to die in the end anyway?’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘I’m just not sure I can do this any more, Dad, I just can’t. I’m so sorry. I want to give up, tell the cancer it’s won. I’m too tired to keep going. Please, Dad – please don’t make me fight it any more. I just can’t.’
Ron took her into his arms, his face livid with misery. ‘Now, now, love, I don’t want to hear you talking like that. It is terrible what’s happened to Mary, I don’t deny that, but you’re a different person, and you will have a different experience. There are thousands of women out there who have beaten breast cancer and are living normal, happy lives. Look at Kulsoom, she’s a perfect example. Don’t lose faith, Kirsty – please, love, don’t give up. You have to keep fighting. I love you so much . . . We all do.’
Kirsty sniffled as she squeezed her father tighter, moved at his rare show of emotion. ‘I love you too, with all my heart.’
As Kirsty relaxed into her father’s embrace a bizarre feeling of detachment washed over her. Her mind cleared and the months of hazy confusion evaporated, leaving only solid answers in its place. She no longer doubted what she had to do. It was as though the shock of Mary dying had finally allowed her to give in to her fears, to crumble, to fall from the cliff she had been fighting so hard to hang on to for so damn long. It was a strangely blissful feeling.
It was time for her to face up to a few things, to really accept the fact that there was a huge possibility she wasn’t going to make it. And with that realisation came the undeniable awareness that there was something else she knew she had to deal with: she wasn’t going to take Aden down that dark path with her. It was time to let him go. And after she’d told him the truth about her past, he was going to find it easy to walk away from her – and never look back.
Chapter 21
KIRSTY fanned her face with the piece of paper she had
been clutching since leaving the church. Blackened clouds lumbered overhead and the scent of approaching rain hung heavily in the air, adding to the already sombre mood of the day. The humidity was thickening by the minute, the sunlight almost obliterated by the stormy afternoon sky.
Kirsty could feel her anxiety building, and her throat was tight with emotion. She closed her eyes for a few brief moments, trying to calm down. The last time she’d been to the cemetery was for Bec’s funeral. The distressing memories of that day, watching Aden and his family in absolute anguish, stabbed at her heart once again. How was she ever going to let go of the haunting images of that fateful night? She would carry the guilt of being the only survivor until her dying day. Being here, at the cemetery, brought it all crashing back. She knew Aden came here once a week, sometimes twice, to place flowers on his sister’s grave. But Kirsty couldn’t face seeing Bec’s name on the headstone and had avoided coming with him. Sometime soon she had to find the courage to visit Bec’s final resting place – and those of James and Peta – but for today she had to get through Mary’s funeral.
Reaching into the back seat of Ron’s four-wheel drive, she pulled two umbrellas out, stumbling as she stepped onto the grass, her high heels sinking into the moist ground. She swore under her breath as Aden hesitantly placed his hand on the small of her back to steady her. Her bottom lip quivered as she fought with all of her might to control the urge to throw up again. It had only been three days since her second-last treatment of chemo and she was severely dehydrated, but as usual, no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t keep anything down.