“I just think you’re going to need Tom – with - you know – well now you’re - you’ve got cancer.” Even the normally forthright Kirsty had difficulty saying the ‘C’ word.
“Don’t be afraid to say it, Kirsty. It’s a fact – I’ve got cancer.” I spoke more sharply than I meant to. The last thing I wanted to do was fall out with Kirsty. Her complete honesty and inability to say one thing and mean another, was one of the things I loved about her. But I didn’t like that she saw me as in need of Tom’s protection and support, and in need of shielding from the fact of having cancer. I wanted to think I could be as strong as Kirsty. She reached her hand out to me across her desk.
“I know,” she said gently. “I know you’re strong, Rosie. I know you can cope. I’m trying to be helpful – and making a mess of it. I can’t believe you’ve got cancer. I don’t know what to say, to tell you the truth. I’m more in my comfort zone doling out advice about husbands.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” I squeezed her hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Lucy.”
“We won’t ever have to do without each other. You haven’t managed to shake me off after thirty years, so it’s not going to happen. The three of us will grow old disgracefully together.”
Kirsty and I met each other in our first year at St Andrews University. She had the room next door to mine in the hall of residence. She was a striking girl – tall and athletic, with auburn hair. She came from the Isle of Skye and spoke Gaelic. I thought her quite exotic when I first met her. On the face of it we didn’t have that much in common. She was studying science and I was doing arts. She was into sports. She played in the hockey and badminton teams and was a keen hill walker. My passions were playing the piano, singing in the university choir and reading, what Kirsty called, soppy novels. However, in spite of how different we were, Kirsty’s level-headedness and her ability to be simultaneously kind and direct, were qualities that I found reassuring and stabilising. She also had a wicked sense of humour, something that stood her in good stead over the years. We remained friends throughout our time at university and beyond. I was especially pleased that she and Lucy also became friends when I introduced them to one another.
Thirty years later she was still good looking and she’d kept her lovely accent. “Rosie,” she said – I’d always liked how she pronounced Rosie with a soft‘s’ - like the ‘c’ in Lucy - “independence is all very well, but it can be very lonely. And I had no choice, not with my dear ex. Thank your lucky stars, Tom’s not like Gary.”
I looked at Kirsty and shrugged. I conceded that she probably knew what she was talking about. Kirsty divorced her husband, years before when their only child, Eilidh, was still very young.
“I don’t know what to believe, Kirsty. But I know that if Tom finds out about me being ill, he’ll leap into action – telling me which doctor to see, which hospital to go to and which treatment to have.”
“Would that be so bad?” Kirsty asked gently.
“Yes, it would, actually. Don’t you remember what it was like when I had the depression – after the twins were born? He had me admitted to that awful place.”
“Of course I remember. He didn’t do it lightly, Rosie. And of course a psychiatric hospital is no picnic-”
“I hated it there! I hated the way the drugs made me feel, but Tom kept telling me they would make me well.”
“And he was right – you did get better.” Kirsty still spoke gently, but as always she wasn’t letting me get away with any display of self-pity or unfairness.
I couldn’t help smiling. She was a brilliant devil’s advocate.
“Yes, in the end, the medication did help,” I said. “And so did having access to that counsellor. She was good – I admit.”
“Well then – perhaps you should trust Tom again…”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I hadn’t realised till now - I’ve never really got over the feeling of powerlessness I experienced then.”
And I didn’t say so to Kirsty but I’d also just realised how much I blamed Tom. “Oh, I know I sound like a spoilt brat,” I continued. “But this is my illness, my body and I want to be in charge for a change.”
“Okay, okay!” Kirsty smiled. “I’ll support you whatever. I’ll help in any way I can. Come here.” She came round the desk and we stood and hugged each other. “But I still think you need to talk to Tom,” she said as she stood back. “Now, as for school – how do you want to play it?”
“I’d like to start my sick leave right away. I don’t think I can do the job justice at the moment. But I’d like to say cheerio to the kids, give them some kind of explanation.”
“Of course, do you want to do that today – you could go in after lunch. I’ll ask the supply teacher to give you a bit of time alone with them.”
“Yes please. I’d like that.”
“And the rest of the staff, what do you want me to tell them?”
“For now, could you just say I’ve got leave of absence for personal reasons and I’ll be back some time after the summer holidays. I’ll tell you when I’m ready for everyone to know, I promise. I know I can’t keep it secret in the long term. But I want to tell the children and – yes – Tom, when I’m ready. I don’t want to be rushed and I want them to hear it from me.
“All right, if that’s what you want. I’ll be discreet.” Then the bell rang and Kirsty gave me another hug. “I’ll go and see your supply teacher and tell her to wait ten minutes before coming along to the class. You go and say your goodbyes.”
So I went along and surprised Primary Three with my presence. I settled them on the carpet and told them that I was starting my summer holidays early. I said I had an awful lot of stuff to sort out at home, and that Miss Mackinnon had kindly said I could have some extra time off. I told them they’d have another teacher for a while, and that I’d see them when they were big Primary Fours. They seemed genuinely sad that I was going and I struggled not to cry in front of them. But I knew that, for now, I couldn’t give them the attention they deserved. I needed to go and get my life sorted out.
When I arrived home in the early afternoon there was still no sign of Adam. Toby made it known that he needed to go out, so I set off down to the beach with him. It was a lovely afternoon, the kind we often got in late May, a tantalising glimpse of summer but accompanied by a stiff easterly breeze. The sky was clear and the tide was well out. I threw a stick for Toby and, as we covered the length of the beach and back again, I was able to think. The astringent sea air cleared my head. By the time we were heading back to the house, I’d made some decisions.
While I still had the house to myself, I made a few phone calls. The first was to my mother-in-law, Evelyn, to see if I could go round to see her later. She seemed delighted to hear from me and said she looked forward to seeing me. She didn’t betray any curiosity about hearing from me in the middle of a weekday afternoon. Next I called Lucy to discuss her brother and his tenancy of my father’s flat.
And after that I called Robbie. Jenny had said he’d be working at the supermarket that day so I wasn’t surprised when my call went straight to voicemail.
I wasn’t consciously aware of what I was going to say to him. But there was a subconscious compulsion at work. I found myself leaving a message inviting him to join us for dinner the next day, if he wanted to, and if it was all right with his Mum. I tried to sound both welcoming and casual at the same time.
After I hung up, the possible folly I’d just committed hit me. I hesitated. Should I call back and leave another message – withdrawing or postponing my impulsive invitation? The girls had been furious at Tom’s obliviousness to their feelings about confronting Robbie, and now here I was - acting without consulting them. And, as for what Tom and Adam might make of what I’d just done… But, I reasoned, Jenny had seemed happy to give me Robbie’s mobile number and Sam – well - she liked Robbie, and she’d surely understand my need to get to know my nephew. Wouldn’t she? No,
it would be all right – it would be all right – I’d explain and hope they’d understand –and if they didn’t…
The phone rang, forcing me to abandon my qualms. It was Angus Campbell’s secretary. She said they’d had a cancellation on the operating list for the coming Tuesday and that Mr Campbell would like me to come in then for my operation.
And that was the moment when the full significance of what I was facing made its real impact. All my worrying about Robbie, about who to tell about my illness and what to say – none of it mattered - it was just so much displacement activity.
Everything fell away from me. I felt I was on the edge of a void. I shuddered, touched all over by an icy coldness, my hands clammy on the phone. I struggled to breathe. The secretary’s voice seemed muffled, far away.
“Mrs McAllister, are you still there? Can you hear me? I need to explain…”
“Yes, yes I’m here. I’m listening.” I spoke quickly, just ahead of the nausea that was overwhelming me. I clamped my back teeth together, tried to concentrate on the woman’s words. She was saying something about fasting and anaesthetic. I couldn’t really make sense of it. I was terrified. I had cancer. A surgeon was going to slice off my breast…
“So we’ll see you on Tuesday then?” The voice was as calm as ever.
“Yes,” was all I managed to say, before hanging up and fleeing to the toilet to throw up.
It was some time before I could get up off the bathroom floor, but eventually I did. I washed my face, cleaned my teeth, brushed my hair. Gradually I came back to myself. Slowly the panic subsided. But the underlying fear remained. I realised it would be a long time before that receded – if it ever did. But I also realised I couldn’t – mustn’t give into it. Doing nothing – hoping it would all go away was simply not an option.
Chapter Eleven
Before I left for my mother-in-law’s, I realised I’d better phone Mr Campbell’s secretary back. She didn’t seem surprised that I’d taken in very little of what she’d said before, and explained the admission procedure again. I managed to remain calm enough to scribble down the main points of what she told me.
Then, slightly later than planned, I drove to Evelyn’s. Tom’s mother lived near Haddington, about ten miles inland from Gullane. Haddington was the old county town of East Lothian and is a very pretty, well to do place. Holdfast Cottage was a traditional Scottish, one and a half-storey, white-rendered, stone building. Surrounded by a walled garden, it sat well back off the road. As I was expected, the large, solid, wooden gates stood open. My heart lifted as the car rolled up the gravel driveway. I loved the solid, thick-walled, old house where Tom spent the later part of his childhood and I loved my mother-in-law.
She was at the front of the house doing some weeding when I arrived and came to meet me as I got out of the car. She was dressed in slim-fitting grey trousers and a blue and white striped cotton shirt, worn with the collar up and the sleeves rolled back. Her silver hair was, as always, in an immaculate French roll. The blue of her shirt matched her eyes perfectly and she had little pearl studs in her ears. She took off her gardening gloves as she approached.
“Rosie, it’s so nice to see you. Your call was a lovely surprise.” She held her arms open to me. And she smiled her lovely smile – so like Tom’s. We hugged each other and I breathed in the scent of Chanel No. 5, a fragrance I always associated with her. It felt good to be embraced by this woman. It felt safe. She was taller than me, and in spite of being well into her seventies, she still stood strong and straight backed. Dr Evelyn McAllister was no little old lady.
She stepped back and looked me up and down. “You’ve lost weight my girl, and you look tired.”
“Yes,” was all I could say before those treacherous tears started. I’d promised myself I’d be strong, that I’d calmly relate what had happened and ask for Evelyn’s advice.
“Oh my dear girl – come on, come through.” She put her arm round my shoulders and guided me inside.
Having installed me in one of the comfy, chintzy, old armchairs in her sitting room, with a box of tissues at my side, she went off through to the kitchen to make us some tea. She left me with the instruction to cry my eyes out as it would make me feel better.
Evelyn’s two elderly spaniels were curled up on one of the faded, floral patterned rugs, snoozing in the warmth of the sun coming through the French windows. They’d barely looked up when we came in to the room. The windows stood slightly open, and the fragrance of Evelyn’s gorgeous Gertrude Jekyll roses drifted inside. Birdsong came from every corner of the cottage garden, and many little birds flitted from the trees and hedges to the feeders hanging all around. I curled up in the chair and, as the clock on the mantelpiece ticked quietly, I wept once more. I wept with grief for Heather and with sorrow for Robbie and for what Tom had done. I wept with shame for hurting my beloved Adam. But mostly I wept with sheer self-pity and fear. And then I could cry no more.
“I expect you’ll be ready for this now.” Evelyn reappeared with a tray of tea and cherry cake. She set it down on a large footstool in front of the fireplace. Then she poured the tea into pretty china teacups decorated with little pink roses. As she sat down on the sofa opposite and I settled back with my tea, she said, “Now, tell me what’s wrong, Rosie.”
So, once more, I related the events of the last couple of days. Lucy and Kirsty had been great listeners and had offered their support. Telling them had made it all seem a bit easier to bear. But telling it to Evelyn was cathartic. Even though Tom was her son, she didn’t jump to his defence, not even when I told her about my suspicions that he might be Robbie’s father - but neither did she condemn him. She listened in much the same way Lucy had, but with even greater attention. I realised, as I was speaking, how much I trusted this amazing woman. She was the least judgemental person I knew. Just being with her made me feel better.
Evelyn had not had an easy life. Her marriage to Tom’s late father was miserable and she divorced him when Tom and his brother were still children. Maybe her own struggles were what made her so compassionate.
So when I finished telling my story, Evelyn simply stretched out her arms to me. I went over and sat on the sofa beside her. She put an arm round me and I rested my head on her shoulder. I know it sounds daft, but it was as if I could feel some of her great strength seeping into me as we sat there.
After I don’t know how long, I had a sudden realisation. “My god, Max – he’ll be home from football practice soon. I need to get back!”
“Relax, stay where you are. You’re not going anywhere, my girl. It’s all sorted out. I texted Sam when I was making the tea and she replied immediately. She’s getting away early from work to be home when Max gets in. Although I’m sure he’d be fine letting himself in – Dan and Tom were latchkey children at his age.”
“Yes, but-”
“And I’ve sent Tom a text too, telling him to get home as soon as he can, as you are going to be staying here tonight.”
“But, why, how…?”
“I knew as soon as I saw you that you needed time out, even though I didn’t know the reason. So I hope you will forgive me taking charge - but it’s a mother’s prerogative.” All I could do was nod. Evelyn took my hand. “So what are you going to do, Rosie?”
“About what, about Robbie or Tom or the cancer?”
“About all of it, any of it?”
“Well, I need to get started on my treatment and I need to believe I’ll get better.”
“Yes, you do. Having cancer puts other things into perspective, that’s for sure. Tom and Robbie can wait, the cancer can’t. And you will get better. But you’ll need all your strength to fight that particular battle.”
“I’m scared, Evelyn. I’m really scared. I’m scared of losing my breast. I’m scared of dying if the treatment doesn’t work. And even if it does, how do you ever get back any peace of mind after this kind of thing? I feel betrayed by my own body. I don’t know – I suppose I thought I was immortal. Now I
just keep thinking - why me, why now? The children still need me, especially Max. And Robbie, what about Robbie – I’ve missed so much of his life already - and now I might be cheated out of - out of…” I could feel new tears starting.
Evelyn put an arm around me once more. “It’s all right to be scared. It’s a scary thing. Cancer isn’t rational. Yes, you can reduce the odds - but nobody’s cancer proof. It’s not as if anyone deserves it. But it’s more beatable now than it’s ever been. You’re on a journey with it, Rosie. You’ll come to terms with it.”
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough, Evelyn. What if it’s spread?”
“Take it one step at a time. You’ll know more after your surgery. You’re a survivor, Rosie – like me – made of strong stuff. You’ve survived so much already. You’ll come through this too. And you say Lucy and Kirsty are supporting you, and you’ve got me. I’ll help in any way I can.”
“And Tom, what do I do about Tom? We said some terrible things to each other.”
“That will become clearer too. You don’t want to tell him about the cancer at the moment - and I understand your reasons. Of course, as Tom’s mother, there’s a lot I could say in his defence, but I don’t think that would be particularly helpful at the moment. But I do know he loves you and I’m certain he’s not Robbie’s father. I think, though, that you probably need some space at the moment. You can stay here. You know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, Evelyn – you’re an amazing woman. And yes, I do need some space, and thank you for your offer, but I don’t want to put you in an awkward position with Tom. No, I have an idea about giving myself some time alone – but I don’t know if it’s really feasible. And there’s Max – I don’t think I can leave him. It’s probably daft to even consider it…”
Change Of Life Page 7