“Best for who, Tom? No, there must be more to it.” Now it was me who was pacing. I struggled to understand. “Yes, Heather and I were estranged. But, you said yourself, you knew I’d want to see her, to see the baby. It was you – you who didn’t want that. It was self-interest wasn’t it? You used to get jealous of how close Heather and I were. Were you scared that Robbie would be a way back to that closeness - that his existence might lead to reconciliation? But then there was no danger of that once she was dead –so why…” And it was then that my earlier formless dread took shape.
“I wasn’t jealous, that’s ridiculous!” Again I could see Tom struggle to keep himself under control. Again he lowered his voice. “Rosie, I saw how Heather hurt you and your family. God she probably hastened your mother’s death with all the worry she caused. I was scared she’d destroy you too. You were so vulnerable, even before her death – but afterwards – you were in pieces. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want you torturing yourself any more than you already were. It wasn’t easy not telling you, but it was right at the time.” He got up and came over to me. He stretched his arms towards me.
“Come here,” he said softly.
“Get away from me. Don’t touch me!” I backed away from him. “Okay, you say you weren’t jealous of Heather, but it wasn’t about protecting me. You were protecting yourself! You were having an affair with her. It all makes sense.”
Several emotions seemed to cross Tom’s face, shock, hurt, anger.
I continued. “You were often out in the evenings when I was pregnant with the twins. We fought about it. I remember. You said it was work. You were so distracted at times. It made me angry. But that’s it! It’s you isn’t it? It’s you. You’re Robbie’s father.”
Tom winced, shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak but I didn’t stop.
“That’s what you’re afraid of. That’s why Michael hasn’t said anything – why you and he don’t get along. That’s why he doesn’t visit. Robbie said Michael was with you at the time of the adoption. Michael knows, doesn’t he? It must have suited you fine that Heather and I weren’t speaking. How did it happen, Tom? Did you feel sorry for her? I know she fancied you.”
“Stop it Rosie! Stop it!” he shouted. He put his hands on my shoulders.
“I said don’t touch me!” I pushed his hands away and stepped back from him. I was shaking with anger. Tears came. “What did you expect? You’ve kept Robbie a secret for seventeen years. Did you think I’d say, ‘oh that’s okay, never mind, I know now’?”
“No of course not – but I certainly didn’t expect this – this overreaction.”
“Overreaction! What’s the appropriate level of reaction to finding out your husband had a child with your sister seventeen -”
“Shut up –just shut up!” Tom stepped towards me again and leaned in, inches from my face. “I am not Robbie’s father. How can you even think it? It’s sick!” He turned his back and walked over to the window.
“No, Tom, that’s not what’s sick – what you’ve done, that’s what’s sick.” My voice was quiet again. I wiped roughly at my tears with the back of my hand. “Christ, her dying must have suited you perfectly. Nobody need ever know. I feel so betrayed – so let down by you, Tom.”
Tom let out a strangled howl. He thumped one of his fists down on the window sill as he swung to face me again. I’ve never seen him so enraged. “Shut up, Rosie! You don’t know what you’re saying!”
“I will not shut up – I know exactly what I’m saying – you’ve betrayed me – you –you cheating, cruel bastard.”
Tom recoiled momentarily. “Stop being so bloody melodramatic! Yes, I’ve kept Robbie’s existence a secret, but I haven’t betrayed you.” He came over to me. He took hold of me by the elbows and looked into my face. I turned my head away. He gave me a little shake. “Look at me.” I wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Look at me!” I glanced at him. His breath was hot on my face. His expression was ugly and cold. “I did not sleep with your sister.”
I tried to speak but only a sob came out. I shook my head and looked down at the floor. He let go of my arms. “Oh, what’s the use?” He went back to the window and looked out at the darkening sky. I felt my legs buckling. I sat down. Tom spoke – still with his back to me. “I’ve told you why I did what I did – it was for your protection.”
I managed to find my voice. “So you say – but you could have told me afterwards – when I was well again. That’s what’s so hard to understand, Tom – that’s why I think there’s got to be more to it.”
“I did mean to tell you one day – when the time was right – but I don’t know – the longer time went on I-”
“It must have occurred to you that Robbie might come looking for his family one day.”
He turned to face me and leant against the window sill. “Yes, it did but I thought we’d – I’d get some warning – a letter or something - so I could prepare you. I’ve always thought of him as James – she named him James Robert after your father – so I didn’t make the connection. It wasn’t until I saw him tonight-”
“So you weren’t going to tell me unless you were forced to – unless Robbie made contact. You weren’t really waiting for the right time, were you?”
“When would have been the right time, Rosie – when? Do you remember how ill you were – how deep the depression was? Even as time went on I could never be sure you were strong enough to handle all the facts about the end of Heather’s life.”
“Not strong enough – how can you doubt my strength? Have you ever considered what I’ve have coped with – on my own – with no help from you – bringing up the children, working, running this place, looking after my father-”
“Oh here we go – Saint Rosie – the martyr! You don’t have to work – you know that – you put the pressure on yourself. You don’t want my help – not really. You shut me out – everything’s always under control. You enjoy being put upon – you smother the children. No wonder Adam’s the way he is.” This made me gasp.
“So I’m a control freak and a bad mother, am I? What about you, Tom – absent father and unfaithful, dishonest husband.” Tom looked at me the same way Adam did after I slapped him.
“Right, that’s enough – this is getting us nowhere.” Tom put his hand up to silence me. “Let’s leave it for now. We’re both tired. We should go to bed. Robbie exists – you know now. You need time to get used to that fact - to get over what’s happened. It won’t look so bad in the morning. Come on, let’s go up to bed.”
Now I felt patronised. “No Tom, no - you don’t get this do you? Don’t tell me what to do and how to feel. Don’t talk to me in that ‘doctor knows best’ way – I’m not one of your patients!” I was shouting again and the tears had restarted. I stood up and headed for the door. Tom was right behind me. I turned to face him, my hand on the door handle. “This is far from over. I haven’t even begun to get my head round Robbie and what you’ve done. I don’t know what to believe or what to think. But I do know I’m angrier than I’ve ever been with you. And I also know I don’t want you in our bed.”
Tom looked stunned. “Don’t do this, Rosie.” He tried to turn me towards him as I headed out of the door.
“Get off me. I mean it, Tom, leave me alone.”
I was so angry that my throat hurt as I spoke. At that moment I hated Tom. I hated that he thought he knew best. I hated his need to take charge. I hated that he just expected me to understand.
Chapter Eight
I went up to Max’s attic room to say goodnight but he was already asleep, curled up on top of his duvet. As I crossed the passageway at the bottom of the attic stairs, I glanced at Adam’s bedroom door. It was closed. I had to see Adam, to apologise, but not now. I could hear Sam and Jenny. They were in Sam’s room, the door was ajar and I glimpsed them sitting on the bed, chatting. They didn’t notice me as I slipped into my own room.
I sank down on the bed and crawled under the duvet, still fully clothed and
I cried for what seemed like hours.
I slept fitfully. Early next morning I heard Tom going out with Toby for their morning jog along the beach. When they returned, Tom didn’t come into our bedroom. I didn’t get up until I heard him leave for the hospital. I looked and felt grim.
Tom had left a curt note in the kitchen. It said he’d be staying at the hospital that night. Tom staying at the hospital was not unheard of, but it didn’t happen often. Occasionally, if there was a patient he was particularly concerned about or an operation ended late in the evening, he would stay over. I suspected neither of these reasons applied to this occasion. I shrugged and dropped the note. I couldn’t think about Tom, or any of it, yet. I had to get through this day first. It was easier to keep up a pretence of normality, go to school and then to my appointment. I’d think about the other stuff later.
Sam and the twins slept on while Max and I had breakfast. Sam had the day off and the twins’ study leave lasted till the end of the week.
Max was his usual sunny self. He sat opposite me at the kitchen table. “Robbie’s nice, isn’t he, Mum?”
“Yes, he did seem nice,” I replied and I meant it. Whatever else I was unsure of, I knew I’d already made up my mind about one thing. I wanted to spend time with my nephew and get to know him.
“It’s so cool to have a boy cousin at last. When’s he coming here again?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to see.” I realised I didn’t know where Robbie lived or even have a phone number for him. I also realised I hadn’t exactly gone over the top in making Robbie welcome. Neither Tom nor I had behaved well and it wouldn’t have been surprising if he didn’t want to see us again. I couldn’t bear that.
“Mum, you look sad again, like last night. Don’t you want Robbie to come back? Is it because of your sister or because he made Dad so cross?”
I got up and gave Max a kiss. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.
“Ugh, Mum!” But he was smiling as he said it. “It’ll be all right,” he continued. “Dad won’t stay cross. He’s like Adam and doesn’t like surprises.” He stood up and put his arms round my waist.
I cuddled him tightly, struggling not to cry. “You’re a very wise boy sometimes, Maxy. And I love you very much.”
“Love you, too, Mum.”
As always, Max had lightened my mood. He was such an uncomplicated and cheerful lad. Despite professing to hate being kissed, he still regularly sought and accepted a hug, and still liked to cuddle up close on the sofa when watching the television. I hoped it would be some time before this changed.
Once at school, I reminded Max I wouldn’t be there at the end of the day. And then he was off into the playground, shouting to a friend to kick the ball to him.
Like the day before, I found work to be therapeutic as I had no time to think of anything other than what was happening in the classroom. One of my pupils, Maisie, a shy and reserved child normally, was glowing with the arrival of her baby brother. She stood up and told her news to the whole class and showed us a photo of the baby. This inspired several of the other children to share stories of wee brothers and sisters. There were tales of a two-year-old having to go to hospital to have a raisin removed from his ear and of a wee sister’s potty training accidents. Then it was time to get everyone changed for P.E. As we lined up to go to the gym, Jordan was copiously and colourfully sick on the classroom carpet. This caused hysteria among the other children, who were both disgusted and delighted. I despatched a runner to find the janitor. After break there was a maths test to do, followed by an exploration of the wonders of magnetism.
Before I knew it, it was two o’clock and time to drive to Edinburgh. The traffic heading into the city was not too heavy at that time of day, so I didn’t take the by-pass all the way in. It was such a horrible road. I much preferred to approach the city through Musselburgh and Portobello, keeping the sea in view. The sun was out and it was a warm afternoon. The sea sparkled. I threaded through Leith with its new flats, warehouse conversions and trendy bars and restaurants. And soon I was heading west along Ferry Road to the Crewe Toll roundabout and the Western General Hospital. It took me almost as long to find somewhere to park as it had done to drive into the city.
I knew the Western quite well. Tom worked there when he was a junior doctor and it was where my mother had her cancer treatment. I’d accompanied her to some of her appointments. It was still a sprawling, incoherent set of buildings, supplemented nowadays by various portacabins. The breast clinic had moved from where it had been during my mother’s time. It had taken me a bit of time to find it on my previous visit, when I came to have the tests done. This time though, I knew where I was going.
The clinic’s waiting area was cramped and dilapidated. Two rows of mismatched chairs faced each other; many already occupied when I walked in. The reception desk sat across the top of the small space. In the middle was a low table, its grubby surface littered with ancient magazines and empty plastic cups. I informed one of the receptionists of my arrival and was told to take a seat. I managed to find one that had no one sitting on either side.
Across the corridor from the waiting area were several consulting rooms. The doors to these rooms opened from time to time and a patient would emerge, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied.
It helped pass the time to wonder about the relationship between patient and escort, and what their story was. Sometimes a patient and partner would come out beaming and embracing. Other times a woman would emerge in obvious distress and supported by a nurse. Then there were those who were impossible to read. Had they had good or bad news? And away they would all go, to face their fate.
Then a nurse would call out the name of the next soul awaiting their verdict and sentencing. Each time this happened my heart lurched. Part of me wanted the consultation to be over, but another part wanted to prolong this time of ignorance. What you don’t know can’t hurt you - my mother again.
Up until Robbie came into my house and said who he was, everything was normal. Then in the space of a sentence everything changed. My world shattered, certainty fragmented and fell away.
And now, at the hospital, another potentially devastating sentence could be about to be uttered. But at least I was bracing myself in preparation this time. My mind drifted on and on.
“McAllister, Rosemary McAllister?” The nurse’s voice sounded impatient as it broke into my thoughts. She was frowning. I wondered how many times she’d said my name. I raised my hand.
“This way, please,” she said, without smiling. I followed her across the corridor to the door with Mr Campbell’s name on it. She showed me in and disappeared.
“Good afternoon, Mrs McAllister.” Mr Campbell came round from behind the desk and shook hands. As at our first meeting, there was the nice smile and the calm manner. “Do sit down, please.” He indicated two chairs side by side at right angles to the desk. The room was very small and stiflingly hot.
“Thank you,” I said as I took a seat. My mouth was dry. My voice sounded weak. I cleared my throat. There was a quiet knock on the door. A nurse entered. She looked friendlier than the one who’d shown me in. She smiled and sat down beside me.
Mr Campbell brought his chair out from behind the desk and sat facing me. He looked down at the file in his hand. “I have the results of the scan and the biopsy.” He laid the file down. He leant forward and put his hand on mine. “Mrs McAllister, I’m sorry to have to tell you that the lump in your left breast does appear to be malignant.”
So much for bracing myself, it was still a shock. To hear that word –‘malignant’ – applied to me, to something in me, was devastating.
“Do you have anyone with you today?” He nodded towards the nurse. “Would you like Sister Webster to ask them to come in?” Mr Campbell looked me in the eye, his hand still on mine. He had such a kind face.
“No, there’s nobody with me. I came alone. I preferred it that way. My husband would have come if I’d asked him, or any of my fr
iends, of course. But this is how I wanted it. I’ll tell people when I’m ready. My husband’s a doctor – a surgeon – I didn’t want him taking over.” I was babbling. I knew I was, but couldn’t help it. For some reason it mattered to me that Mr Campbell understood why I’d come alone.
“That’s all right. Everyone copes in different ways. A surgeon you say? McAllister - not Tom McAllister, heart man at the Royal?”
“Yes, Tom’s my husband. Do you know him?”
“We’ve met, but I know him by reputation mainly. He’s very highly thought of. But I take your point about us surgeons wanting to take charge. We make terrible patients and even worse partners of patients!” Mr Campbell laughed at this observation. I managed a weak smile. “Anyway, Mrs McAllister– I know it seems like very bad news, but try not to worry. I believe we’ve caught your cancer early and it will prove to be treatable. I’d like to get you in as soon as possible and take a good look at what we’re dealing with. I need to operate and I’ll only take as much of the tissue as is absolutely necessary. Then we’ll work out exactly what further treatment is needed. But you will definitely need a course of chemotherapy.”
He sat back in his chair and I realised he was waiting for me to respond. I was unable to speak. All I could take in were the words ‘your cancer’, ‘taking tissue’ and ‘chemotherapy’. They echoed round my head. I felt very strange. I actually thought I was going to laugh. This was all some hideous joke – Robbie, Tom, cancer…
“Mrs McAllister, take a wee sip if you can.” Sister Webster was holding a cup of water to my lips. Her arm was along my shoulders.
Mr Campbell was opening the window in the stuffy little room. I took a couple of sips.
“Better now?” Mr Campbell smiled his lovely smile again. “Sister Webster was quick off the mark. She saw you about to hit the deck and caught you. Good catch, Wendy, by the way!”
Change Of Life Page 5