by Maeve Haran
‘And your wild streak, it hasn’t stopped you being happy?’ Sal realized she was referring as much to herself as to Lara.
Lara shook her head. ‘Not at all. I have a husband of seventeen years.’ She got out a small passport-type photograph of a dark-haired man with gently smiling eyes. Sal thought with relief that he looked kind. ‘His name is Max. He teaches at the university.’
‘Not philosophy?’
‘Biology. In Trondheim, not Oslo.’
‘He looks lovely.’
‘And there are your grandchildren.’
‘Grandchildren?’ Sal closed her eyes and bit her lip to stop the tears falling. ‘How many? What are their names?’
Lara handed over another photograph of two pretty girls and a tall, very serious boy. ‘Angelika is sixteen, Martina thirteen and Martin is ten.’
‘Martin was my father’s name. Oh, God, Lara,’ she stared at the happy, healthy faces smiling out of the photo, ‘this is so staggeringly, amazingly wonderful. And your mother? Is she still alive?’
Lara’s face clouded. ‘No. That is another reason I wanted to look for you. She died. To look for you while she was alive would have seemed disrespectful.’
‘And your adopted father?’
‘He is dead now. He was a kind man. Rather serious but kind underneath. I had a happy childhood.’
‘How did you find out? That she wasn’t your natural mother?’
‘She was always very open. I knew I was adopted from the start. In that way, I am like her. I don’t like secrets. To me, secrets are bad. They create more problems than they solve. This is very Norwegian, I am told, to be so straightforward and direct.’
Sal hesitated, not sure she wanted the answer to the next question.
‘How did she die?’
‘Cancer. Of the adrenal gland. It was quite rare and pretty fast.’
‘Lara . . .’ Sal could hardly force herself to speak. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘Maybe she brought us together. She was a very generous woman.’ Lara looked at her watch and stood up. Amazingly, two hours had passed. ‘I am so sorry I must go because of the flight, but it has been so very amazing to meet you.’
‘And we must meet again. Perhaps I could come to Oslo and see your family.’
‘That would be wonderful. My children would very much enjoy having two grandmothers.’
And then she was gone.
Sal sat down heavily. The pain of loss was worse than any cancer symptoms. To have found her daughter was wonderful, amazing, but for her to leave so soon was like losing a limb and finding that it still ached after amputation.
I don’t like secrets. To me, secrets are bad. They create more problems than they solve.
How right Lara was. And yet how could she tell her daughter that not only had her adopted mother died of cancer but also that her natural mother, whom she had found after a difficult and painful search, had the very same illness?
Sal went into her bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed staring into the blankness of the empty room. She ought to get ready for the hospital but felt as if all her energy had been drained like a battery that had gone suddenly flat.
Even the sound of someone banging on the door couldn’t penetrate the depths of her isolation.
But the knocking persisted until finally she went to answer it.
Lara was standing on the threshold, the hood of her parka still up from the wind outside. ‘I have one question.’ Her direct blue gaze fixed on Sal. ‘Do you have cancer also?’
Sal gasped. ‘Is it so obvious?’
‘To me, yes. Like Astrid, you are wearing a wig and you have no eyelashes from the chemotherapy.’
Sal almost wept as she stood back to let her in.
‘Yes, I have cancer.’
‘What kind of cancer do you have?’
‘Of the breast.’
Lara looked relieved. ‘That is not so bad. And what do the doctors say?’
‘I have been having drugs to reduce the size of the tumour before they operate.’
‘Neoadjuvant therapy. Yes.’
‘I need to go back to the hospital this afternoon. My consultant wants me to meet his team and discuss what happens next. I’m so sorry, it seems so unfair when you have already lost your mother once.’
‘Now that I know this, I will stay in London.’
‘But what about your family?’
‘They will understand.’
Sal took her hand and held it tight. She hadn’t lost Lara after all. Lara would be at her side, and somehow that made it seem so much less frightening. ‘Thank you, Lara, for coming back. I am so lucky to have you.’
Lara smiled. ‘And I am lucky I didn’t listen to Mia. And now we will face this illness together. By now I am good at asking the questions. But maybe we will have a glass of wine first?’
Sal found some Sauvignon in the fridge. ‘What lie shall I tell my employers this time?’
‘Why do you not tell them the truth?’
‘Oh, Lara, because I am sixty-three and incredibly lucky to get this job. It is only for six months. How can I tell them I need to take time off because I have cancer?’
Lara didn’t argue further but Sal knew she disagreed. Secrets were bad.
In the waiting room for the clinic the mother was there with her two pretty daughters. Sal could hardly believe she now had a daughter of her own. When she went in to see Mr Richards she introduced ‘my daughter Lara’ with such a broad smile that they must have thought her deranged.
There were four professionals on the other side of the table. Last time there had been only two. Work it out for yourself, as Rachel would have said.
Her tumour, it seemed, was not reducing in size as fast as they wanted it to.
‘We would like to alter your drug regimen. At the moment you are on FEC.’
Sal felt a sudden desire to giggle. What had Rachel said about the cancer sufferers’ joke? You can all FEC-off.
‘To reduce the tumour more quickly we’re going to start you on Taxotere as well. Then we’ll begin to think about surgical options.’
‘You mean I may not need a mastectomy after all?’
Mr Richards steepled his hands. ‘I’m afraid your cancer is not suitable for breast-conserving surgery. A mastectomy has always been the only option. And we’ll take some lymph nodes as well. Now, Ms Grainger, have you given any thought to breast reconstruction?’
Sal shook her head.
‘Basically there are three options. The first is a silicon implant.’
Like a conjuror producing an egg from behind a spectator’s ear, Mr Richards pulled a teardrop-shaped object from his top drawer. ‘They come in silicon or saline solution.’
Sal had a sudden image of swimming pools on board ships that swooshed up and down.
‘Inserting an implant will only take an hour on top of your operation and you’ll wake up with a breast.’
‘That has to be good.’
‘Option two: the plastic surgeon would use your thigh, your tummy or your buttock. These are more major operations, but it is your own tissue.’
‘Or – three – I could opt not to have reconstruction at all. After all, this is pretty major surgery.’
‘Ms Grainger,’ Mr Richards smiled at her gently, ‘after what you’ve been through with chemo, the surgery will be a walk in the park.’
Once they were outside the consulting room Lara turned to her. ‘I have one question.’
‘Fire away.’
Lara shook her head, but smiled. ‘Do you ever take anything seriously?’
Sal smiled back. ‘Not taking things seriously is my way of taking things seriously.’
‘In that case, I’m glad you’re taking things so seriously.’ She grabbed Sal’s hand and held it tight. ‘I am so sorry, just when I have found you, you must undergo this operation and lose your breast.’
But Sal was beaming as if the news had been nothing but good.
‘Lara, this may sound crazy but I d
on’t really care if I lose a breast. I long to get better, obviously. I can’t wait to meet your husband and children,’ she couldn’t quite bring herself to call them her grandchildren yet, ‘but something extraordinary has happened to me. Until you came, I tried to convince myself I didn’t miss having a family, but now you’re here I’m glowing with satisfaction.’ She hugged Lara so tight that neither could breathe. ‘My life is complete because you are in it. Thank you, thank you so much for coming to find me.’
Nigel was staying tonight so Laura, strung out and exhausted after almost three weeks at her daughter’s bedside besides going back to her job in the day time, could go home. Bella’s blood pressure was showing no sign of going down, and if it hadn’t fallen soon, for the sake of both Bella and the baby, the obstetrician was planning a Caesarean.
As soon as she got home Laura poured herself a drink and tried to watch TV but nothing engaged her attention. She went online and browsed for a while on the subject of pre-eclampsia before deciding to go to bed at ten.
It was no good. Even though she was in her own bed she couldn’t sleep.
Finally, at ten-thirty, she rang Simon.
He didn’t answer on the first call and no message clicked in, so she tried again. Just as she was about to give up, he answered.
‘Bella doesn’t really want me to tell you this, but I feel it’s your right as her father to know. She’s got something called pre-eclampsia. At its most serious it could damage the baby or cause Bella a stroke, so if it’s still an issue next week, they want to induce the baby or do a Caesarean.’
Simon’s answer was a strange, guttural wail.
‘Simon, don’t worry,’ Laura reassured, feeling panicked. Simon rarely showed emotion of any kind. ‘She’ll be all right. Nigel’s staying with her and they’re monitoring her round the clock.’
‘It’s not just Bella,’ Simon almost shouted, ‘it’s Suki too. They couldn’t find a heartbeat at the hospital today. Oh, God, Laura, and she’ll still have to go ahead with the birth!’
‘Oh, Simon, how terrible for you both.’
‘You don’t need to pretend sympathy, Laura. I know how bitter you felt. Now you can see this as my just reward.’
Laura’s hand crept to her face. She might have fantasized about revenge but listening to Simon just made her want to rush to Bella’s side and stay there until her baby was safely born and lying nestling in its mother’s joyful arms.
Claudia looked at the pale pink confection she was trying on in the changing-room mirror and shuddered. It was weeks since Gaby had broken the news of her surprise engagement and the wedding would be upon them before they could say the words ‘Quickie Divorce’.
For the first time she felt sympathy for the mother of Kate, Duchess of Cambridge, when she’d married Prince William. It was no easy task being the MOB; as the mother of the bride, you had to look suitable, and not wear anything that could even remotely upstage your daughter, and you had to stay sober. At least she wasn’t going to be watched by millions on telly.
No wonder her own generation had rejected weddings. Don and she had lived together quite happily and had only rushed down to the registry office when Claudia was in a fairly advanced state of pregnancy.
The thought of Don made her feel anxious. Was he still in contact with his long-lost girlfriend? He seemed to be in a good mood despite the cost of the wedding, which was strange. His good humour certainly had nothing to do with Claudia’s feeble attempts to get him to join the choir, take up bridge or come with her to Sing Out, since he’d resisted all of those. He had even stopped going to the dump daily. It had to be either because the wedding was keeping everyone busy, or because he was still enjoying emailing Marianne.
Maybe even meeting her.
Claudia wished she could make herself care more about the mysterious Marianne. The fact that she didn’t was seriously worrying. And the reason for her insouciance was waiting for her downstairs.
When she’d told Daniel she was going to Oxford Street to buy her outfit, he’d said he’d be in town as well. Why didn’t they celebrate with a glass of champagne?
So now, here they were, meeting in Selfridges’ champagne bar.
I mean, Claudia told herself, what could be wrong with that? It was a department store, for heaven’s sake. Perfectly innocent. You’d hardly meet a lover in a department store, would you?
Daniel was waiting for her in the balcony bar, in front of a large mirrored mural, staring down into the handbag department and laughing.
Claudia experienced a sudden Brief Encounter pang of misgiving. What did she think she was doing?
‘Do you know,’ laughed Daniel, ‘that young woman has just spent a thousand pounds on a bag? Think what I could do for Sing Out with that.’ He managed to sound amused, charmingly world-weary and non-judgemental all at the same time. It was a killer combination. ‘Plain fizz or rosé?’
‘Plain, please.’ Claudia sat down, feeling divinely decadent, next to an artwork by Tracey Emin which had the effect of making her think of unmade beds and all that happened in them.
‘Outfit bought successfully?’ He eyed the large carrier bag. ‘Let’s see.’
Claudia hesitated, feeling oddly shy.
‘Come on, I have quite good taste, apparently.’
‘I’m sure you do. I’m just not sure I have.’ Claudia laid the dress out on the chair next to him.
‘Beautiful. Just right. Are you wearing a hat as well?’
‘I loathe hats.’ She produced the ivory feather fascinator she’d just spent the last half-hour selecting.
‘Glorious. I shall henceforth imagine you in the Garden of Eden wearing that and nothing more.’
Claudia giggled despite herself. ‘I don’t think Eve ever wore a feather fascinator.’
‘It’s a nice thought, isn’t it? Maybe adorned with serpents and apples?’ He raised his glass to her in a silent toast. ‘Have you time for lunch before returning to your mother-of-the-bride duties in Minsley?’
‘As a matter of fact, I’m meeting my friend Ella who has been dragooned into doing the flowers – as cheaply as possible.’
‘What a pity.’
Claudia felt the blood rush to her face at his caressing tone. It wasn’t a pity at all, she told herself sternly. Lunch might sound innocent enough, but as every woman knew, lunch was the first step down the primrose path to extramarital entanglement.
She finished her drink with disconcerting decisiveness. ‘That was delicious.’
‘Fancy another one?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Absolutely not or I will be too sloshed to choose the centrepieces.’
‘My, my, there are a lot of things to be decided on.’
The teasing tone made her giggle again and momentarily lose her resolve. ‘OK, just one more and then I must go.’
While he was at the bar, the phone he had left on the table flashed a message: You were supposed to be at rehearsal. WHERE ARE YOU?
The blood rushed to Claudia’s head again. He wasn’t due in London after all. He must have come here specially to meet her. She knew she shouldn’t be, but Claudia felt deliciously, dangerously flattered.
Once she’d finally torn herself away from Daniel and Selfridges Claudia found she had a message of her own. Ella was going to be an hour late. What should she do with the spare time?
Resisting the considerable temptation of running straight back to Daniel, she remembered that the hospital where Laura was watching over her daughter was only a few minutes away on the tube.
The Princess Lily was one of those huge teaching hospitals that embraced all the different medical specialisms. Claudia stood in reception trying to work out which part of the vast site she should head for when, to her amazement, she thought she could see Sal, of all people, coming out of a lift with a youngish blonde woman holding her arm.
She was about to rush over when a team of paramedics ran past her with a patient on a trolley. By the time they’d got into the lift, Sal ha
d disappeared.
How odd. Maybe they had a colleague who had been taken ill? She must remember to ask next time she saw her. Claudia took the next lift up to the maternity and obstetrics floor and asked for Bella Minchin.
She was directed to a room on the left, but even before she got to it she could sense the sudden tension in the air. The door of the room opened; nurses were running, machines beeping. Claudia flattened herself against the wall to keep out of their way as Bella’s bed suddenly emerged, pushed by sprinting orderlies. Laura followed, her face empty and strained as if all emotion had been sucked out of her.
‘Claudia!’ She looked momentarily confused, as if things weren’t making sense.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Claudia hugged her, ‘I’ve picked a terrible time. I was in London anyway and thought I’d take a chance. Are you OK?’
‘They’ve just decided to operate even though she’s nowhere near due yet. Something to do with the placenta which might harm the baby if they don’t. Nigel’s on his way. Poor little Bella!’
Laura, who had been trying to be strong for everyone, now collapsed.
‘Oh God, Claudia, I hope they’re going to be OK. I couldn’t bear it if she lost the baby like Simon’s girlfriend.’
‘Simon’s girlfriend? You mean that sperm-digger woman?’
‘The baby’s stillborn. They’re going to induce it.’
‘Bloody hell. That’s a bit biblical.’
‘He said he supposed I’d be happy.’
‘He really doesn’t know you, does he?’
‘All I care about is Bella.’
Claudia folded her friend into her arms. Under other circumstances she might have thought ‘Serves him right’, but here in this hospital, with all its anxiety and hopefulness, birth seemed so precarious that she could only feel sorry for them.
At that moment, Nigel ran in, still wearing the track suit he’d used for sports duty. ‘Laura! Where is she? I came as soon as I got your message.’
A sudden wail stopped them both. Then a door opened and a smiling nurse beckoned to them. ‘The baby and the placenta are both delivered. You’ve got a beautiful son,’ she said to Nigel.
They all three flocked into the room to find Bella sitting up, with the baby, not as tiny as they’d been expecting, already suckling at her breast.