Emma seemed to be contemplating her options. She turned around to face Liz, folding her arms.
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘You can do it on one condition – that I don’t hear another word about it before the wedding. Are we understood? I assume you’re going to send it off for testing, so you can let me know the results when I get back from my honeymoon. I’ll deal with it then. I mean it, I don’t need anything else on my plate right now.’
‘Sure,’ Liz agreed. She should have crossed her fingers behind her back, but she was just going to take it one step at a time. ‘So, I’ll call Michelle to expect us soon, get things set up.’
Emma frowned. ‘You want to do it right now? It’s Friday afternoon.’
‘Exactly,’ Liz said, keeping her tone upbeat. ‘My schedule was cleared this afternoon so that I could come here. So it’s perfect, no waiting, you’ll be in and out in no time. You don’t want to put it off till next week, Em, you don’t have the time. Let’s get it out of the way now. Do you have to be somewhere?’
She looked at her watch. ‘Not until later.’ She still seemed unconvinced.
‘The sooner you do it, the sooner it starts to heal,’ Liz added as the final clincher.
Emma relented, and Liz called ahead to Michelle. As she promised, the procedure was quick and simple, and Liz saw her out of the office again not half an hour after they’d arrived.
‘So that’s the end of that,’ said Emma as she got into the lift. ‘Right?’
Liz just smiled as the lift doors closed. She was even more concerned once she’d examined the mole under the dermatoscope, not that she’d let on to Emma. She walked back into her office and through to the small examination-room-cum-surgery, where Michelle was placing the sample into the fridge for storage for pick-up after the weekend.
‘No, I’m going to take that with me now,’ said Liz, stopping her.
Michelle turned. ‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘I’ll take it to the pathologists myself.’
‘But they won’t be open.’
‘No, not for usual business, but they have staff there around the clock.’
Michelle looked at her. ‘You’re that worried?’
‘Well, you saw it,’ she said.
‘Mm, it was nasty-looking, all right.’
‘What bothers me is that Emma has no idea how long it’s been there, or when it started to change or grow, but it has felt itchy. The woman fitting her dress couldn’t remember it being that big a couple of months ago. I’m hoping we’ve caught it early, but we’re guessing until we get these results.’
As Liz started up her car, she heard the beep of a text message. She picked up her phone to check it. It was Andrew. How’s it going there?
She quickly keyed in her reply. Something came up. Won’t be able to meet.
Exiting the carpark, her phone started to ring. Damn, she knew it would be Andrew. She picked it up.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘I’m driving, Andrew, I can’t talk now.’
‘Well, pull over.’
‘I don’t have time. I’ll talk to you later,’ she said. She turned the phone off and tossed it into her bag.
Ten minutes later, Liz pulled up in the near-empty carpark of the building that housed the pathology labs. She picked up the small cooler box from the passenger seat and carried it over to the front entrance where, as she expected, there was an after-hours buzzer. She pressed it and waited. Presently she could make out a figure approaching through the opaque glass, and a voice came over the intercom.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes, hi, I want to drop off a skin sample for urgent analysis.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s after hours.’
‘I realise that,’ said Liz. ‘But like I said, this is urgent.’
‘Who is this, please?’
‘My name is Dr Beckett,’ she said. ‘I’m a local dermatologist, this is my regular pathology service. I have ID.’
There was a buzz and a click, and a woman opened the door, peering out at Liz who was already holding up her hospital ID.
‘Good evening, Dr Beckett. I’m sorry about this, it’s just not standard practice to receive random samples at the door.’
‘Of course, but like I said,’ for the third time, ‘this is urgent.’
The woman looked pensive. ‘I can’t do this without authorisation. I’m going to have to check with someone.’
‘Call Dr Tao.’
She blinked. ‘Oh I can’t possibly phone Dr Tao, he’s the head of the whole practice! I can’t just call him up on a Friday night.’
‘He’s an old friend of mine,’ said Liz. ‘Please, call him.’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t even have his number, outside of work.’
Liz took out her mobile phone. ‘I do.’
The woman brought her inside to the reception desk, where Liz insisted she phone the number so she could be assured everything was above board.
‘Hello, Dr Tao? This is Jan Wilkie from the Spencer Street labs. I’m sorry to bother you at home . . . No sir, everything’s fine. But there’s a woman here who says she knows you, she gave me your number. A Dr Beckett? . . . Yes sir.’ She held out the phone to Liz. ‘He wants to talk to you.’
‘Hi Richard, sorry about this.’
‘Liz, long time no hear.’
‘Hm, sorry about that as well. What can I say? Life’s hectic.’
‘Ah, it’s the same for all of us. It’s a mad world. What can I do for you?’
‘I’m sorry to spring this on you. I have suspected melanoma tissue that needs analysis as soon as humanly possible. It’s my sister’s, and she’s supposed to be getting married within the month.’
‘Of course, Liz, whatever you need. But you do realise even on high priority you won’t get the results until the middle of next week at least?’
‘I know, that’s why I have to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.’
‘No problem. Put me back onto the receptionist, will you? Damn, what was her name?’
‘I’ll pass you back to Jan,’ said Liz.
‘Ah, thanks, Liz.’
‘Thank you, Richard. I owe you.’
Friday night
‘Are you okay now?’ Liz asked Evie as she emerged from the bathroom.
She nodded. They had sent her off to the bathroom to wash her face and fix her makeup; they didn’t think it was a good idea for Emma to walk in and see her tear-streaked face first off.
‘So what now?’ asked Ellen.
‘Now we wait . . .’
The call had come through on Wednesday afternoon, from Richard Tao himself. Liz had picked up the phone with some trepidation when Michelle had announced him over the intercom. ‘Hi Richard?’
‘Hello Liz,’ he said. ‘I told them at the clinic to let me know as soon as the results were in. I thought I should call you myself.’
She was not surprised by then to hear that it was bad news. It was at least a T3 malignant melanoma, making further tests and surgery imperative, not optional. No one knew exactly how long it took for a melanoma of that depth to penetrate below the dermis and become life-threatening – it could be weeks, it could be days. But one thing was for sure, it could not wait until after the wedding. Liz knew how stubborn Emma would be, she’d insist that they had made a deal and simply refuse to listen to her. So she was going to need reinforcements. She had to get all her sisters in a room together, and very soon. Emma was going to be the most difficult to pin down, so Liz had started with her.
‘Now I know the high tea is only next week, but the girls and I want to have a drink with you before then.’
‘What girls?’
‘Your sisters, of course,’ said Liz. ‘Me, Ellen, Evie.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes.’
‘When were you talking to them?’ she asked, her tone highly suspicious.
‘When I called about the high tea. We realised that we’
re not going to get a look-in at that, with so many people there, so we should find another time to have a drink together.’
‘Oh,’ said Emma, her voice softening. ‘When were you thinking?’
‘Tomorrow night.’
‘Tomorrow? You’re not giving me much of a heads-up. When did you all talk?’
‘Oh, you know what it’s like trying to find a night that suits everyone,’ she said, evading the actual question. ‘I just thought there was more chance you might be free on a weeknight.’
‘Hmm, I have a late meeting . . .’ Emma mused, checking her diary, Liz imagined. ‘Actually Friday’s just opened up. We had a cancellation, we were supposed to catch up with Damien and Cressida but he was called overseas unexpectedly, so we’re going to have to reschedule. Heaven only knows when, I don’t have another opening before the wedding.’
Liz didn’t know or care about Damien and Cressida, they sounded like made-up people anyway. She was not comfortable at all about leaving it even one more day, but it was the only window she was going to get.
‘Friday it is then, we’ll meet at my place, I think six is good, you know, just come straight from work,’ she blurted all at once before Emma could have second thoughts. Then she hung up.
Now she had to get the other two on board. Evie was a pushover; Liz concocted a story about Emma feeling ignored and that they needed to rally around her, and Evie gobbled up the bait without question. Then Liz rang Ellen.
‘I’d love to,’ Ellen responded when Liz outlined what she had in mind. ‘But I have the kids.’
‘They’re old enough to stay on their own, Len.’
‘I know that, but I only get alternate weekends with them, Liz, and they’re busy with their friends most of the time. Friday nights are usually all we get to spend together.’
‘Look, I wouldn’t ask normally, but this is an emergency.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Ellen. ‘You just said we were having drinks to cheer her up? And I think that’s great, really, I do. But isn’t there some other time we could do it?’
‘No, there isn’t.’ Liz had hoped to avoid talking about it over the phone, but she had no choice. ‘Ellen, I found a mole on Emma’s back when I went for her dress fitting. I had it tested and it’s a melanoma. It’s malignant.’
‘What?’
Liz had gone on to explain everything, including the promise she’d made to Emma.
‘I need you with me when I break it to her, Len. We have to convince her that she has no choice, she has to have treatment as soon as possible, and we have to hope like hell that it hasn’t spread already.’
Evie had taken the news badly, as expected, even though Liz had tried to reassure her that as long as they had caught it early, it was highly treatable. She didn’t share her greatest fear that indeed they hadn’t caught it early at all, and that it had metastasised. Liz hadn’t even told Ellen that if it had, the survival rate was grim. It was basically considered incurable. She knew the chances of that were small, but without further tests any prognosis was still possible. And even if it had only spread as far as the lymph nodes and was in fact far more treatable, melanoma had a high incidence of recurrence, and survival rates reduced dramatically with each recurrence. This was the downside of being medically trained: Liz knew too much. She had to calm herself down and focus on taking it one step at a time.
When the doorbell sounded, everyone froze. Liz looked at her sisters. ‘Let’s try and act normal, natural, okay?’
They nodded and she went to open the door. Emma breezed in, pausing to air-kiss Liz, then swooping on the other two.
Liz had bought good champagne so that Emma would have nothing to turn her nose up at; besides, it felt like it was the least she could do. She popped the bottle and filled their glasses, before raising hers.
‘To Emma and Blake, may you enjoy a very long life together.’
Oh God, she shouldn’t have said that. Evie was tearing up already.
‘Oh Evie,’ Emma chided, putting her arm around her sister’s shoulders. ‘You’re always so emotional.’
Ellen gave Evie a stern older sister glare, and she sniffed, composing herself before gulping down some of her wine.
‘So let’s sit down, relax,’ suggested Liz. ‘Tell us all about the madness, Em.’
‘Madness is an understatement,’ she replied, before launching into an animated, blow-by-blow account of the preparations she was immersed in at the minute. Liz found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying, and she could tell Ellen and Evie weren’t even trying. Ellen’s eyes kept darting from Emma to Liz expectantly, and Evie was barely holding back the tide of tears threatening to burst any minute. Her face was all pinched and she couldn’t stop fidgeting. Liz knew she wouldn’t be able to put it off much longer.
The banks finally broke, and Evie started to weep. Emma put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m only talking about wedding cake and photographers, Ev. You’re going to be a mess by the wedding at this rate.’
Evie looked plaintively across at Liz, and Ellen’s eyes were still darting anxiously back and forth, her forehead knotted with tension.
Emma glanced around at her sisters, tracking the looks from one to another. ‘What’s going on here?’ she said finally.
‘I can’t stand this any more,’ Evie gasped. ‘Please tell her, Liz.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘Evie, you need to calm down,’ Liz said, keeping her voice level. She turned to look at Emma. ‘You know the mole I removed from your back? Well . . .’
She’d had to give this news before, many times. It was always difficult, but this . . . this was something else altogether. This was her sister. She took a breath.
‘I’m afraid it’s malignant, Em, and more advanced than we would have liked.’
Liz gave that a moment to sink in, but Emma was just sitting there, passive. So she pushed on.
‘The results we have so far are not conclusive, we need to do more tests. But it appears to be at least a T3, which means the melanoma has penetrated the dermis, or worse. We need to test your lymph nodes as soon as possible to see how far it’s spread, and to stop it spreading any further.’
Emma’s expression didn’t change. Nothing. She didn’t flinch, she hardly even blinked. Eventually she spoke.
‘I told you I didn’t want to know, Liz. We had a deal.’
‘I realise that,’ said Liz, ‘but when I agreed to that, I thought even if it was a melanoma it would be in situ, which is when it’s all contained in the actual mole and hasn’t started to penetrate the dermis yet. In that case, removing the mole is all that’s needed. I didn’t expect it was going to be a T3. If I did, I would have had you at the hospital that afternoon.’
Emma still remained strangely unmoved. ‘Well, no you wouldn’t have,’ she returned. ‘I had an engagement that evening, I wouldn’t have let you go carting me off to the hospital, and now I wish I’d never let you talk me into removing the mole.’
‘Emma, how can you say that?’ said Ellen. ‘Don’t you understand what a melanoma is? It’s cancer!’
‘Enough with the drama.’ Emma rolled her eyes. ‘The fact is, if I hadn’t asked Liz to my dress fitting, we’d be none the wiser.’ An edge was creeping into her voice. ‘So, that being the case, I would have gone ahead with my plans, feeling perfectly well, as I do now, until perhaps, just perhaps, Liz might have noticed the mole on the day of the wedding, when she was helping me adjust my veil or some such thing. And she might have had the same level of concern, but not even Liz would have thought she could whisk me away for a quick biopsy before the ceremony. And then I would be off on my honeymoon the next day, with a promise that I would have it checked out on my return, which is what I suggested last week. I should have stuck to my guns.’
Liz shook her head. ‘But don’t you see, Em, this is good news that we’ve caught it early, it’s a stroke of luck. Between now and when you come back from your honeymoon is enough time for the cancer to spre
ad, but we can arrest it now, before it has the chance.’ She hoped.
‘You’re talking about a few weeks,’ said Emma.
‘It’ll be more than a month,’ Ellen pointed out.
‘This is just scare tactics.’
‘You want to be really scared, Emma?’ said Liz. ‘If it’s already gone into the subcutaneous layer, every single day counts after that. We act now – hopefully before it’s made it to the lymph nodes – and your survival rate is very high. We leave it, it can spread anywhere, to your liver, your lungs. And the fact is, melanoma that has metastasised . . .’ She took a breath. ‘It’s terminal, Em.’
‘What?’ Ellen said, alarmed. ‘But you are talking worst case?’
‘I’m talking inevitable, if it isn’t treated promptly,’ said Liz. ‘Melanoma is one of the most dangerous malignancies, we need to get things moving as quickly as possible, get you to the hospital at the very latest tomorrow morning. They’ll do a scan, and then a surgeon will perform a sentinel node biopsy, as well as a wide excision to remove a margin of tissue from around the site of the original tumour, the mole. The biopsy results will take at least a few days and you might need further surgery after that to remove any affected lymph nodes. But the sooner we know what we’re up against, the better.’
Emma was shaking her head. ‘It’s not possible, I just don’t have that kind of time, Liz. You’ve obviously got no idea how much there is to do – weddings don’t organise themselves, you know.’
‘I can help,’ Evie piped in. ‘I’m completely available to do whatever needs doing.’
‘I have to work,’ said Ellen, ‘but that still gives me plenty of time to help as well.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ said Emma. ‘Things are too far along now, it’d be more work getting you two up to speed than it would be to do it myself. Any way you look at this, it’s simply impossible.’
‘Nothing’s impossible, Emma,’ said Liz. ‘This is too important.’
‘Look,’ she returned, clearly getting frustrated, ‘if I go ahead with this now, I presume I’ll end up with a big ugly gash across my back from that wide incision. And then you said there could be more surgery if it’s in the lymph nodes? Have you forgotten, Liz, I’m wearing a strapless dress? It’s way too late in the day to be altering it now.’
The Right Time Page 31