Change Of Life

by Anne Stormont

  If Rick noticed my barely suppressed aggression, he didn’t seem in the least fazed by it. He turned back to Rosie. “Hope it goes okay,” he said.

  “Thanks, Rick. See you later,” Rosie replied, smiling at him, as she stepped back from me.

  I wanted so much to hit him. “He’s still here then?” I said, as the front door closed behind him. I couldn’t help myself – so much for trying to impress Rosie.

  “Clearly,” Rosie replied. “Look – please, Tom - don’t start. Sit down – please.”

  I bit back what I wanted to say and sat down opposite her. She was right of course. Today was not about Rick Montgomery and his relationship with my wife.

  “Oh, by the way,” I said, reaching into my pocket. “These are for you.” I held out a couple of packets of Starburst sweets. “The kids told me you’ve developed a liking for them.”

  She laughed as she took them from me. “Thank you – yeah – they’re one of the few things I can eat with any pleasure – most stuff tastes like its been dipped in metal or has no taste at all.”

  “So - how are you, Rosie?” I asked, as we both sat down.

  “I’m okay – you know – as well as can be expected – as they say. I just had my fourth dose of chemo – a few days ago. So this is a tough week. It’s a two week cycle – get chemo, feel grim for a week, recover during week two, feel almost human and then it’s the next dose. Still, I’m saving a fortune in shampoo and conditioner.”

  “It must be hard going. Have you lost it all?” I asked, pointing to her head.

  “Oh yes,” she nodded and removed her hat. “Look.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I gasped. She was completely bald.

  “I know,” she said. “Scary, isn’t it?” She rubbed her head with her hand. She smiled and added, “Max said I looked like an alien at first, then he said I looked like the robot in that film ‘I, Robot’. His latest comparison is to the person in the Munch painting – you know – the Scream. None are very flattering!”

  I smiled back at her. “Typical Max.”

  “Yes, he thinks I should wear the wig at all times.”

  “But you don’t like it?”

  “There’s nothing really wrong with it. It’s realistic enough and everything, but it makes my head hot and itchy. I prefer hats and scarves if I want to cover up. Jenny and Sam have been lovely about it. They’ve bought me a couple of hats and a pretty scarf as well. They tell me I look cool. They’re probably just being nice, but I choose to believe them.”

  “You look fine,” I said. “It’s a shock at first, that’s all.”

  “I was so scared of losing my hair. It scared me as much as the cancer at first, if I’m honest, but now I’m used to it. And do you know the really annoying thing about it?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I still have to shave my legs – those hairs are unaffected!” She laughed. It was a lovely sound. I laughed with her.

  “And what are the doctors saying - about how you’re doing?”

  “Oh, Angus Campbell is usually upbeat and reassuring. He’s pleased with how the surgery went. The scar is healing well. I lost the whole breast – which is – well it’s been difficult – you know?” She swallowed.

  I so wanted to reach out and touch her, but ...

  “But it could have been worse,” she continued, “at least it doesn’t seem to have spread - and I have my prosthesis to balance things up. I might have a reconstruction later.”

  I could only nod.

  “Anyway, the main thing is the tumour’s gone,” she went on, “so, I suppose - so far so good. Amanda Knox – the oncologist – she never gives much away. She just keeps saying it’s early days. Once the chemo’s over they want me to have radiotherapy.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “They should throw everything they’ve got at it. What sort of tumour was it – if I’m allowed to ask?”

  “Of course you can ask!”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m asking so I can go and question your doctors – you know – take over – like you were afraid I’d do.”

  She looked away for a moment before she answered. “I’m sorry, Tom – I’m sorry –the way I told you – it was cruel. I should have told you about the cancer right at the start – it seems a bit daft now – but I felt it was my battle, my body and I wanted to do it my way.”

  “And now, Rosie, how do you feel now? Can you share any of it with me now?” Of course I wanted to ask her so much more. Like – was she coming home and how did she feel about me? Could she forgive me? Would she listen to my story? But I somehow managed to hold back.

  She bit her lip and took a steadying breath. “I’ve got a fairly aggressive version, but it was caught at stage two and there is no sign of any spread to the lymph nodes or anywhere else at the moment. So, if the chemo does its job and if I have the radiotherapy and drug treatment afterwards, it seems I have a fairly good chance of survival. Of course, they can’t promise anything but, as Angus Campbell says, none of us has any guarantee of a ripe old age.”

  “Thanks for telling me.” My voice was a croak. I fought to hold myself together. I cleared my throat. “I’ve been wondering, you know, about the medical nitty-gritty – the occupational hazard you were afraid of, I know. But it sounds like your medical team are on top of it.”

  She smiled again. “I’ll tell them you said so. They’ll be relieved to hear it.” I knew she was teasing me. I smiled back weakly.

  I was restless. I was enjoying being with Rosie but my nerves were shredded. The combination of trying to say the right things, of listening to Rosie talk about her illness and anticipating Adam’s arrival, made me shaky in a way I never was with a scalpel in my hand. I suggested a cup of tea. Rosie said she’d love one. She looked tired already.

  Once I was back with the tea, which I noticed she didn’t touch, we talked about Adam and about Jenny, Robbie and Eilidh all rallying round in support. Rosie told me that, according to Kirsty, Robbie and Eilidh had been on a couple of dates. I told her a bit more about Robbie and how we were getting along well and she seemed pleased. She also seemed as excited and apprehensive as I was about seeing Adam. She got up periodically to look out of the window for him.

  Watching her looking out, scanning the street for our son, I was uncomfortably aware of my part in Adam’s leaving. “I’m sorry, Rosie,” I said. “Sorry I caused Adam all this anxiety and then didn’t exactly reassure him when he needed it. I’ve let you both down - I know - but I am sorry. I want to put it right. There’s other stuff I need to tell you - about Robbie and Heather and – everything.”

  “It’s not all your fault, Tom – I didn’t exactly handle Adam’s distress well either – and, yes, we do need to talk –and we will, I promise – but not today – today is about Adam.” As she finished speaking she put her hand up to her mouth. She looked very pale.

  “Sorry,” she said through clenched teeth. “Sick!”

  I jumped up and went towards her. She got to her feet. I put out my arm to help her and she threw up down the front of my shirt.

  “Sorry,” she said again. And then she fled from the room. As I peeled off my shirt I heard the bathroom door clatter against the wall. I went after her. She was crouched over the toilet. I knelt down beside her and rubbed her back as she vomited. She retched violently and not always productively. Then, at last, I could feel her body relax. She leant back against me. I got hold of a face flannel from the side of the bath. I managed to dampen it under the wash hand basin tap without having to completely leave my position beside her on the floor.

  “Here,” I said and she turned her face towards me. She was still very pale. I gently wiped her face with the flannel while supporting her in the crook of my arm. She rested there for a few minutes, her head against my chest. We didn’t speak.

  It was me who broke the silence. “Better?”

  “Yes, sorry about that,” she said, turning her head to look directly at me. She put her hand flat
on my chest. “Sorry about your shirt too.” She smiled, even managed a little laugh. “But you did step into the firing line.” She continued to look at me. I held her gaze. I felt like I had lost the power to breath. Rosie this close, even in these circumstances, I was lost.

  Then she rallied, smacked me on the shoulder. “Come on – we better get you a shirt before the kids get here.” She stood up and held out her hand.

  I took it and stood up. She led me through to the back bedroom. It was full of camera equipment and bags and other clutter. The bed was unmade. She opened the wardrobe.

  “Good job you and Rick are roughly the same size,” she said. “What about this one?” she asked, taking out a checked cotton shirt.

  “Yes – anything,” I said.

  She handed it to me, and then made a face as she said, “God, my mouth feels disgusting – like a dry, furry, tin can.” She glanced at herself in the dressing table mirror. “I’ll leave you to get dressed. I need to freshen up.”

  I put on Rick’s shirt, not with good grace I have to say. It was Rick’s shirt – enough said. I wondered if her easy presumption that it was okay to give me one of his shirts was an indicator of an intimate relationship between them. I refused to pursue that thought.

  I went to the kitchen and searched in the small freezer. I found what I was looking for. I put the ice cubes in a small bowl and took them through to the living room. My shirt had gone from where I’d dropped it on the floor.

  Rosie came back wearing a different dress. She wasn’t quite so pale now. She smiled and sat down. “That’s better,” she said. “I’ve rinsed off your shirt. I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”

  “Oh don’t bother - chuck it out - it’s ancient.” It was an old, faded, blue denim thing.

  “I couldn’t do that. I know it’s old – I bought it for you – and I like you in it – it suits you. Mind you, you suit that shirt too,” she added, nodding at Rick’s one, teasing me – again.

  “Do I?” I mumbled vaguely. “Here – I thought this might help your mouth – you know, with the nasty taste and the dryness.” I held out the bowl of ice cubes.

  She took the bowl from me and immediately popped a cube in her mouth. She seemed to savour it. “Mmm – that is soothing – thank you. It’s numbing the mouth ulcers too – another side effect of the chemo, I’m afraid.”

  “Glad it helps. It’s something I’ve seen the nurses on the ward do for patients from time to time. Surgery often leaves them dry.”

  She popped another cube in her mouth and sat back in her chair. She closed her eyes momentarily. She was clearly very tired. I hoped meeting up with Adam wasn’t going to be too much for her. I let her doze. I sat and looked at her while she did - my Rosie – my darling, sick Rosie.

  Chapter Thirty

  When the door bell rang, Rosie opened her eyes. We stared at each other for a moment. There was no need for words. I got up and went to open the door. Jenny stood there on the doorstep. I moved back to let her pass into the hall.

  Then Adam stepped into view. “Hello, Dad.” He looked right at me, into my eyes.

  I met his gaze. “Hello, son, come in.”

  Jenny beamed at us both. She led the way through to the living room. “Look who’s here, Mum,” she said, standing aside to let Adam go in before her.

  Rosie stood in the middle of the room. She was facing the door with her hands up at her face. Adam went to her.

  “Adam,” she whispered. There were tears on her cheeks.

  “Mum.” He rubbed at his face roughly with the back of his hand as he gathered her in an embrace. Jenny came to me, and I put my arm round her as we watched Rosie take Adam by the hand and sit him down beside her on the sofa.

  Rosie stroked Adam’s face and rubbed away his tears. “My darling, darling boy,” she said. “I am so sorry – so sorry that I hit you and that I didn’t realise how worried you were. I’m sorry I left you, without making sure you understood why I was going. I love you, Adam and I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Mum. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I upset you saying that stuff about your sister and that I’ve made you worry. It just all got muddled up in my head – Robbie and you and Dad and school. I had a horrible feeling in my stomach all the time – I didn’t feel safe any more - everything had changed. I just had to get away.”

  “Yes, yes I can understand that,” Rosie said. “And, now – how do you feel now?”

  “I don’t have the horrible feeling in my stomach any more. And, like I said, I miss you.”

  “Come here,” Rosie said, reaching forward to embrace him again.

  As I watched and listened to him talking, I was aware Adam had changed. It wasn’t a dramatic change. Yes he was taller and a bit thinner, but it wasn’t that. It was something about the way he held himself – his general demeanour. He was less diffident, more confident than before – he was grown up.

  As they moved apart, Adam spoke. “Mum, are you going to be all right? Dad told me about you being – about you having cancer. Jenny said all your hair’s fallen out and that you’re sick a lot.”

  “I’m going to be fine, son, I’m going to be fine. The drugs they give me to fight the cancer - they make me sick and, yes, I’ve lost my hair because of them. But I’m going to get better.”

  “But you don’t know that – not for certain - you can’t know that.” His voice was louder now. There were shades of the more familiar Adam. He stood up. “People die of cancer. You might die.”

  Rosie looked distressed. I was unsure if I should say anything. I was trying hard to keep out of the conversation – to let Rosie and Adam speak to each other. I was still so aware that I might ruin the reconciliation by saying the wrong thing. There was a momentary silence. Rosie looked over at Jenny and me.

  “Stop it, Adam!” Jenny was on her feet now. “Stop it.” She put her arms around him. “Calm down. Mum’s going to be all right. They got it early. They can treat it. She’ll get better.” She stroked his back as she held on to him. He seemed to relax.

  “Sorry, sorry, Mum,” Adam said, as he sat back down beside her. “It’s just - it’s not fair – why do you have to have it?”

  Rosie took his hand again. “Don’t be. Don’t be sorry. You’ve a right to be angry. God knows, I was angry when I found out. I know it doesn’t seem fair. I asked why me - at first. But then when you think about it – why not? Why not me?”

  “Because you’re my mum – that’s why not,” he said. He turned back to me. “And what are you doing for Mum? Are you helping her get better? You must know stuff to do.”

  “It’s not my field Adam. I fix hearts – you know that.”

  “Yes, but have you checked that they’re not missing anything – that Mum’s got the best doctors and the right treatment?”

  “I – well – I…”

  “I’m getting the best treatment, Adam,” Rosie rescued me. “There’s really nothing your father can do. He offered to check things out for me, but I told him not to. I’m doing this my way, love. I need to do it my way.”

  “But why won’t you let Dad help you? You could go home and he could look after you. Jen told me that Dad’s not at work so much now. Why don’t you go home? Are you still angry with him for not telling you about Robbie?”

  “I’m not ready to go home, Adam. It’s complicated. I can’t think about it all just now. I need all my strength to get better. The important thing now is that you go back home and then I don’t have to worry about you.”

  “No, Mum, no – I’m not ready to go home yet either.”

  Rosie and I exchanged a look.

  Jenny spoke. “Why – why not Ad – why won’t you come home? I thought you were cool about Robbie now – now you know more about him – and after you and him spoke about Mum.”

  “I am cool about Robbie. He seems an okay guy. But he wasn’t the only reason I left. I hated it at home without you, Mum. I’m not going back without you. And - Dad,” he paused
and looked at me. “Dad was always on my back about school and university and I - well I couldn’t deal with it. It was too much pressure.”

  “Look, Adam,” I said. “I’m sorry I caused you such upset over Robbie and I’m sorry you blame me for Mum leaving. But please come home. We all miss you. And don’t worry about the school stuff. The exam results will be out next week and I don’t care how you’ve done.” I tried to sound sincere and it was partly true. I didn’t care at that moment. But somewhere within me, I still held onto the hope that he’d re-sit if necessary.

  Anyway, Adam wasn’t convinced. He stood up. He looked right at me and shook his head. He raised his arms in a despairing gesture.

  “No, no, no,” he said, “I don’t believe you. You say you don’t care if I pass or not – since when - since you’ve been trying to trick me into coming back - that’s when!”

  I shook my head at him and glanced at Rosie. She was looking at Adam and frowning slightly.

  I tried again. “Adam, all I’m saying…”

  “Oh, I know what you’re saying! And you don’t get it! I’m not going back to school – no matter what happens. I’ve had it with school. I’m not going to university. I’m not coming home.”

  “Adam – please…” Rosie got to her feet and put a hand on his arm. “Please go home. We can talk about the school thing – work something out – but please go home.” He shook her off.

  “No – Mum – stop – please stop. You’re a fine one to talk – you’re not going home. Why should I? You don’t want to live with him either, do you?” He pointed at me. He was obviously still very angry with me and I know I wasn’t exactly saying all the right things. I felt quite hopeless. He was right. Nothing had really changed. Neither he nor Rosie wanted to come home. Neither could stand to be with me.

  “That’s different,” said Rosie. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand. Please Adam – go home...”

  “I’m glad we’ve made up, Mum. But Dad’s just the same – still on my back. I’m not going home. I could come here and live with you – what about that? I could take care of you since you don’t want Dad to.” He looked pleased with himself at this suggestion.