“I was thinking, how would you like a weekend away, in Cornwall?” I asked.
“That sounds wonderful but I guess we need to see what the doctors say first.”
“We will, but I’ll start to have a look around.”
“Your dad loved Cornwall,” she whispered.
I was determined, whatever the news, we were going to take a short break to his favourite place, to a place of such wonderful memories and happy times. Nearly every photograph of me as a child was taken on a beach or around a BBQ in Cornwall. It had a special place in my heart yet I’d never taken my own children there.
Michael had always insisted on the Caribbean, the same resort where he could lounge by the pool or on the beach for two weeks doing nothing. I’d come home more exhausted than when we’d left after spending the time entertaining the children. Not that I minded but it would have been nice for him to have spent some quality time with them; they barely saw him when they were growing up.
I decided to email his personal account. I wasn’t sure he would receive it, but I’d let him know he had mail and that I would forward it to his mother. Although they lived a five-minute drive away, I’d mail it. I had no intention of visiting.
To: Michael
From: Jayne
Date: 12 June 2014
Subject: Mail
I have some post here for you. I thought I’d let you know that I’ll mail it to your mother. I guess she’ll have an address and she can forward it on.
Jayne
While I had my email account open, I sent one to Stefan, knowing he wouldn’t receive it until the Monday.
To: Stefan
From: Jayne
Date: 12 June 2014
Subject: Thank you
I just wanted to thank you for the call. It was lovely to talk to you and to hear your voice. Take care if you’re out on that bike.
J xx
I closed my email account and googled cottages for rent in Bude. I wanted to take mum and dad back to the beaches we’d spent most of my childhood on. I read through agencies, looking for something but not quite knowing what. I scrolled page after page until I found it. A small letting agency had a cottage right on a beach. I couldn’t place it from my time there but being as young as I was, I guessed I wouldn’t have noticed it. It wasn’t on one of the two main beaches but a couple of coves up. I read through the details; it sounded perfect and best of all, dogs were allowed. I bookmarked the page, not trusting myself to book it until we knew what was happening with dad. I did, however, print off the details so I could show them.
I received a call from my mum; an appointment had been made for dad to have some further tests, a scan of some sort. The doctor had called her that morning. I’d offered to visit but dad wanted to go to his boules club, he wanted normality and no fussing. That was an impossible request for mum and me.
I spent a week ferrying mum and dad from appointment to appointment, scans and blood tests were done until eventually we were given a date to meet with a consultant. During that week I hadn’t spoken to or emailed Stefan; each day seemed to have flown past in a blur.
Dad, straight backed and with his usual mistrust of anyone in the medical profession, sat opposite the consultant; mum and I were to his side. I could see the consultant’s mouth moving, I watched dad lean forward and listen intently. I saw tears roll down my mum’s cheeks, but all I could focus on was one word—cancer. My dad had cancer. It was such an ugly, dirty fucking word for an ugly, dirty fucking disease. Stage 3B lung cancer. I had no real idea what the ‘B’ was for but it wasn’t good.
“I’ll need to think about that,” dad said.
“Think about what?” I asked. I hadn’t heard half of the conversation.
“I was explaining that we can offer chemotherapy. It’s palliative care—” I cut the consultant off mid sentence.
“What’s there to think about? Of course you’ll have it,” I said, turning in my seat towards my dad.
“I’ll think about it, Jayne. We need some time,” dad replied.
“I’ll make an appointment for a week’s time. My secretary will call you. Take some time to think things over,” the consultant said.
Mum hadn’t spoken the whole time. She had just sat twisting that damned tissue in her hands. Dad stood; I sat open-mouthed. I wasn’t ready to leave; I had a million questions. I needed the consultant to repeat the whole conversation because I hadn’t heard, and it hadn’t stuck in my brain. I was the last to leave my chair.
“Oh, I think we need to pay for car parking. I’m sure I saw a machine somewhere,” dad said.
“Huh? Car parking?”
“Yes, Jayne, car parking. You don’t think the hospital let us park for free, do you?”
I shook my head. Why were we having a conversation about car parking? We should be talking about chemo and finding a cure. I opened my mouth to respond.
“Let’s just get home,” mum said.
We drove home in silence, a surreal silence. In fact, I remembered leaving the hospital and the next thing I realised, we were pulling alongside the kerb outside the bungalow mum and dad lived in. I watched as a neighbour waved while mowing his lawn and dad waved back.
“I think we all need a cup of tea,” dad said as he opened the front door.
Mum and I walked to the living room and slumped on the sofa. I took her hand in mine. She had silently cried the whole journey home.
“It will be fine. If dad has the chemo, he could have years and they might be able to do something in the meantime,” I said.
“Did you not hear what he said?”
“He offered chemo.”
Mum just looked at me. “It’s in the lymph thingy’s.”
“Maybe they can cut those out, maybe they can remove the lung. People live on one lung,” I said.
“I’ll not be having chemo,” dad said as he walked into the room. He was carrying a tray with three mugs of tea.
“What? Of course you will. Why would you not?” I asked.
“Because it’s not going to cure me. I don’t want to spend the next few months sick as a pig either.”
“Dad, the chemo might work.”
Dad sat on the edge of the sofa and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
“Did you listen to the doctor? There’s no cure, baby girl. I’m going to die.”
“No,” I whispered. My mother echoed my words.
“When?” I had sat in the consultant’s room yet my father’s words felt like new news.
“Three, four months maybe.”
“But you just have a cough, you’re not sick. You don’t look sick.”
“I have advanced cancer, not just in the lungs, and no, I don’t look sick. I don’t feel sick, and that’s the way I want it to stay.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Drink your tea. You too, Grace.”
He moved to sit in his usual armchair and we drank tea. Fucking tea!
After an hour of silence, other than the conversations, words, snippets of what I had understood whirling around my brain, mum let out a sob. She had been holding it in from the moment we’d left the hospital. I pulled her to my side as she wailed, cried out loud and cursed.
Dad leapt from his chair and knelt in front of her. He took her hands in his.
“Gracie, come on now. We always knew I’d go first.”
Watching my mother sob, watching my father on his knees comforting her, broke me. My stomach hurt, my chest constricted and my heart shattered.
I don’t know how long we’d sat crying together. I know the cuffs of my shirt were sodden with my tears and black with mascara. I’d used them to continually wipe my eyes.
“I think your mum needs to have a lay down, it’s been a shock for her.”
Although he was the one with cancer, he thought only of his family. He led my mum to their bedroom. I could hear him talking to her, helping her out of her clothes and into bed before he returned to the living room.
“I need you to be strong for her, Jayne. There’s a lot to do.”
I nodded my head. “I need to tell the kids.”
“I want what time I have left to be normal. Please, make that happen for me?”
I closed my eyes as I heard my dad choke on his words.
“Whatever you want, dad, I’ll do.”
“You need to get home. That dog will be tearing your house up. Can you drive? Shall I call a taxi?”
“I can drive. I’ll be fine.” I stood. “I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”
The drive home was pure torture. Every fucking tune on the radio was a heartache, heartbreak song. I screamed at the radio and bashed it with my fist to silence the noise. I didn’t know how I made it home, but I did.
The house was in darkness when I arrived. I’d forgotten to leave the hallway light on, and for the first time, I realised I was lonely. Regardless of my relationship with Michael, at least I wasn’t alone in the house. I left the hallway light off and made my way to the kitchen. Dini was scratching at the back door, desperate to get out. I sat at the table after letting him out to patrol and wept. I prayed; I hadn’t prayed since I was a child. I wasn’t particularly religious but I begged God to save my dad.
My phone lit up the kitchen and I picked it up. I’d forgotten to turn the ring tone back on. Through my tears, I smiled at the name on my caller display.
“Hey, how did today go?” Stefan asked.
I choked, not able to release the words.
“Baby, take a breath. It’s bad, huh?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice was croaky.
“Oh, shit. I wish I was there with you. I can get a flight.”
“Thank you, but it’s okay, don’t worry. I’m going to have a lot to do over the next few weeks, I think.”
Despite the situation, my heart missed a beat at his words.
“Is anyone with you?”
“Just me and the dog. I need to call the kids and tell them. I don’t even know where Casey is. That’s so bad, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. You call Ben, I’m sure he’ll know.”
As children, Casey and Ben had been best friends. As adults, they probably saw each other no more than a couple of times a year and that saddened me. No matter that I loved her, my daughter was spoilt by her grandfather, indulged by her father, and not always a pleasant person to be around.
“I’ll call him now. Dad doesn’t want any treatment; he’ll have about three months without it. Why? Why would he not want treatment?” I had started to cry again.
“Hey, please, don’t cry. I’m too far away to hear you cry. I guess if I were in your dad’s situation, I’d refuse too. Maybe he wants to live the next three months and not be tied to hospital appointments and the sickness that he might go through. Chemo is a shitty thing.”
He sounded as if he was speaking from experience. Somewhere in the back of my mind I recalled an old email; he had told me both his parents had died some years ago.
“Maybe he’s also scared,” he added.
I nodded before remembering he wasn’t sitting in front of me. “You might be right. I just feel so helpless.”
“Be there for him, every day. Just be there.”
“I need to call the kids. Thank you for calling. I can’t tell you how much that means right now.”
“You’re welcome. I was thinking of you all day. You take care. Ring me later?”
We said our goodbyes and I laid the phone back on the table. Dini was whining, wanting to be let back in. I rose and opened the back door, noticing that he hadn’t jumped up at me; maybe he sensed my sadness.
I called Ben. Before I’d had the chance to explain how bad his granddad was, he told me he was on his way over. While I waited, I rang Casey. As usual, it went to voicemail. I didn’t want to leave that news as a message so simply asked her to return my call.
Ben and Kerry arrived. They sat either side of me and after I told them all the details I had, I sobbed on his shoulder. Kerry made tea, and it made me chuckle. Tea was the cure-all in our family.
“I should be comforting you,” I said, blowing my nose of a piece of kitchen paper.
“He’s your dad. It’s okay to have a breakdown,” Ben replied.
My son, my first-born, and the one who seemed to have inherited all my genes, sat and hugged me. He’d grown into a wonderful man, compassionate, kind and loving.
We sat for an hour talking, reminiscing on times he’d spent with his granddad. The shock of what I’d learnt that day had started to wear off. I needed to be strong for my mum. I needed to do as my dad asked and make the last of his time with us the best I possibly could.
A week had passed before I finally got the news to Casey. She was in Japan visiting Michael, and it annoyed me that neither had the decency to let me know. She wanted to fly home immediately but my dad told her not to, and I suspect that was exactly what she wanted to hear. She made a promise to come straight home when her holiday was over.
As much as dad enjoyed the constant stream of visitors, I could see it was already taking its toll on him. By the second week things had settled down somewhat. The façade I put on was wearing me down though. My saving grace was Stefan—always Stefan.
To: Jayne
From: Stefan
Date: 8 July 2014
Subject: Checking in
Hi, J. How are you? How are your mum & dad? I know I always start with the same question! Talk if you want to. I’m taking a week’s holiday with Morton. We have a plan to visit Egypt and do some diving. I made sure the hotel had Wi-Fi so I’m here if you need me. Alec finishes uni soon. I think he will come and work with me. His mother is not pleased!
Hugs, S xx
To: Stefan
From: Jayne
Date: 8 July 2014
Subject: Holiday sounds good
I’m okay, keeping busy. Dad wants all his affairs in order so we’ve been to a solicitor to organise everything. He wants to make his own funeral arrangements. I can’t bring myself to be involved in that and I feel so bad about it. Alec finishes uni? Wow, doesn’t time fly. :) I bet you’ll love working with him. It must be wonderful to have your child in the business you set up. I want to see if dad will come to Cornwall with me. It’s the place we always went to for our holidays when I was a child. I’ll attach the details.
Hugs back to you, J xx
I purposely avoided any comment with regard to his ex-wife.
To: Jayne
From: Stefan
Date: 11 July 2014
Subject: Cornwall
Cornwall looks amazing. I’d love to visit that cottage, it looks wonderful—maybe one day. I was in the UK a couple of years ago, in London for meetings, but didn’t get to see any more of the UK other than the inside of an office. I hope your dad agrees to your holiday but don’t be too hard on him if he doesn’t.
S xx
I wished that I had known Stefan when he’d visited London. In truth, I didn’t believe we would ever meet again. We talked on the phone, we emailed, but I had resigned myself that that was all it was ever going to be. Over the months we had been friends, so much had happened and he had been the one I turned to. It used to be Carla, and although she was and would always be my best friend, Stefan gave me something she couldn’t. He made me feel beautiful and special when he called me ‘baby’. I fantasied about him all the time. Some nights the frustration and desire for him hurt. But I wouldn’t jeopardise our friendship by confessing the one thing I’d continually pushed to the back of my mind—I was in love with him.
Stefan had given me back my confidence, he made me want to walk tall. He gave me reason to smile when I was at my lowest. I had a lot to thank him for. But sometimes, late at night when sleep eluded me, I wished for more.
I longed to feel his arms around me, his lips on mine. I longed to feel his breath on my skin and to see those dark blue eyes stare so intently it felt like he saw straight to my soul.
I was in love with someone
I could never have, and that hurt.
The summer wore on, and we never did get to Cornwall. Dad went downhill quickly. He couldn’t leave his bed; the effort of even sitting up caused him too much pain. The cancer had spread rapidly to his spine, and no matter how hard he tried to not show us how excruciating it was, the beads of sweat on his brow and upper lip gave him away. Mum and I sat, day after day, rubbing his back and massaging his wasted muscles to help ease the constant aches. A nurse came daily to administer pain relief and eventually a pump was fitted so he could do that himself.
I was tired, so desperately tired. I was back to not sleeping and it was only because I was constantly on alert, waiting for that phone call. I’d wake in the middle of the night and check my phone just in case I’d missed a call. I’d placed the phone on the pillow next to me so it would be close. And then one night, that call came.
“I think you should come over,” my mum said. I looked at the clock on the bedside table and saw it was two in the morning.
“I’m on my way,” I replied.
I had wanted to stay overnight but mum had insisted I go home each evening and sleep in my own bed. So for the past couple of weeks I’d had a small bag packed with some clothes and toiletries, prepared for that call. Once I’d thrown on a pair of jeans and a shirt, I grabbed the bag and ran down the stairs. I checked Dini had a bowl of dry food and water, grabbed my keys and handbag, and headed for the car.
As I drove, I prayed. Not for the salvation of my father but that the end would come quick and painless. My prayers were never answered.
I’d seen death scenes in movies, on TV programmes, but the reality was so far removed. Mum and I sat either side of dad, the nurse kept her distance in another room. His breathing was raspy; he was struggling to get enough air into his lungs. Although his eyes were closed, he would squeeze my hand every now and again to let me know he was conscious. There were times when his face screwed up as a wave of pain washed over him, and there was fuck all I could do. I would have taken that pain for him if I could have.
A Virtual Affair Page 10