by Shari Low
Mr Johns started speaking. Saying words. At least, his mouth was opening and closing, but I was hearing nothing. Just more white noise. Glioblastoma. Grade 4. I knew this wasn’t good. Oh, fuck. We were definitely not fine.
I realized he’d stopped talking and either time had stood still or they were waiting for me.
‘Colm, do you have any questions?’ From the way he said it I could tell he was repeating it. I hadn’t heard it the first time.
‘Is it curable?’ I think it was my voice...
Something rearranged the doctor’s features for the briefest second before he spoke. Sadness? Pity?
‘I’m sorry, it is not.’
‘So… So…’ My voice again, working independently of my brain. My fucked-up, broken, bastard of a brain. ‘So what? It will kill me?’
‘It is incurable. Yes.’
‘When?’
‘I’m afraid there is no quantifiable answer to that. What matters is that…’
‘I need to know when.’ I repeated, cutting him off.
‘Colm, we prefer not to discuss timescales. They vary so widely and there are no definitives.’
Shauna spoke up, reading me, knowing what I needed, smart enough to ask the question in the right way, even though tears were flowing down her face and she had to pause between words, her voice failing her.
‘Mr Miller, I think I read on the internet that a glioblastoma has an average prognosis of twelve to eighteen months. Is that true?’
Twelve months. A year. That couldn’t be correct. She was mistaken.
‘In some cases, yes. But Mrs O’Flynn, I must emphasize that’s not a fixed term. Many people outlive that prognosis.’
‘How many? Exactly how many outlive that prognosis?’ I pushed.
He paused again before answering.
‘Research shows a five-year survival rate of around six per cent.’
Six per cent.
So that meant ninety-four per cent of people with this tumour died within five years.
My beautiful, crazy, brilliant Beth was five years old and he’d just told me I wouldn’t see her grow up.
This was worst case scenario. Worst. Fucking. Case. Scenario.
22
2008
The New House
The front doorbell rang and I instinctively looked at the kitchen clock I’d just hung five minutes before. Five o’clock. Jess was bang on time as always. She was great like that. Unfailingly dependable and reliable.
‘Colm, Jess is at the door!’
No answer.
‘Davie, Joe! Your mum is here.’
Still nothing. Bugger. I bent at the knees, the way they advise in Health and Safety videos, and put the huge cardboard box I was carrying down on a clear space on the floor. I’d much rather the Health and Safety video said, ‘Don’t even consider carrying huge cardboard boxes, especially when there are big strong men who could do the job for you.’ However, it seemed like the ‘big strong men’ were nowhere to be seen.
Annie and Rosie were unpacking stuff in the kitchen and I knew Vincent was in charge of organizing the garage. Lulu and Dan were missing in action. And Colm was…
I heard a scream from the back garden and looked out of the window to see
Colm was chasing Joe and Davie with a water gun. Great. It was the day of the move into our new house, we had a whole host of grown-up jobs and he was out playing with the twelve-year-olds while two large trucks, still half-full of our entire worldly goods, sat in the driveway.
Not that I was keeping score, but I’d found this house, organized the mortgage, dealt with the lawyers, the estate agents and the banks, arranged the removal vans, packed up the old flat, cleaned it for the next tenants, arrived here at dawn this morning, cleaned it from top to bottom, went back to the old flat, coordinated the loading of the vans, arranged drinks and food for everyone who was helping us, pitched in with the unloading of the vans at this end and I was now humping bloody great big boxes while Colm, who’d contributed zero to the process so far, was outside chasing the kids with a bloody water pistol.
And worse, his ex-wife was ringing a doorbell I didn’t even know we bloody had.
‘Do you want me to get that?’ Rosie shouted from one of the other rooms.
‘No, it’s fine, but could you go shout the boys and tell them their mum is here? They’re in the back garden.’
It would be rude to keep her waiting any longer.
Smile on face, hair hastily smoothed back into less of a riot, I opened the door.
‘Hi Jess. You found us!’ I kissed her on each cheek, ignoring the contrast between us. There was I, old ripped jeans, a baggy white T-shirt, hair looking like I’d been electrocuted, while Jess was in immaculate white trousers, with a fitted grey shirt and her deep chestnut hair gleaming as it tumbled in a Jennifer Aniston style bob to her shoulders. I chided myself for the trite comparison. Jess was a good person and a great mum – she deserved to have gleaming chestnut hair.
‘Would you like to come in? The boys won’t be long.’
‘No it’s fine. Steve is waiting in the car,’ she gestured to a silver Mercedes further along the road and I gave Steve a wave. They’d been a couple for a few years now and – although we only interacted at pick ups and drop offs - he seemed like a really nice guy. More importantly, the boys loved him.
‘Thanks for coming to get them. They were dying to see the new house and they were actually really helpful this morning. They’ve got longer attention spans than Colm.’
She smiled ruefully, ‘Yep, ain’t that the truth.’
As always, we’d gone straight for our common ground – Colm and the kids. Sometimes I wondered if we should try to establish a more personal relationship but Colm didn’t see the point. We were never going to be the kind of co-parents who went on holiday together or sat round the table having Christmas dinner. However, on the infrequent occasions when we met, it was amicable, friendly. We chatted when there was anything to discuss, called each other if plans had to be changed, but other than that, Colm generally did the exchanges and they were a quick but friendly five minute affair at the door.
‘Hey Jess, how’re ya doing?’ Colm materialized behind me with the kids, who immediately did that thing that kids do.
‘Please can we stay longer mum. Please?’
Jess shook her head, smiling patiently. ‘Sorry, guys, Steve is in the car and there’s a pizza at Pallino’s that just won’t wait.’
‘Pizza! Yaaaaaaaay! Let’s go!’ Joe yelled and took off down the path, his brother right behind him as they headed for the car.
‘Oh, you’re good,’ I joked with Jess.
‘Yep, how easily they’re coaxed,’ she laughed.
‘I’d happily go racing to the car for a pizza right now too,’ I admitted, only half kidding.
We waved until they were out of sight, and were just about to retreat back inside when another car slipped into the spot that Steve and Jess had just vacated.
Lulu and Dan got out and were heading towards us. I immediately scanned their body language: stomping footsteps, hard-set expressions, no physical contact. So that explained why they were six hours late.
‘Don’t say it,’ Lulu greeted me. ‘I’m sorry, I’m a crap friend…’
‘Indeed you are.’
‘And I know we’re horrendously late and we’ve been no help whatsoever.’
‘Nope, none.’
She held up a carrier bag. ‘But we’ve brought food and wine. Forgive me.’
It was impossible not to. The strain on her face was visible, her eyes puffy. I had no idea what was going on, but it clearly wasn’t good. Behind her, Dan hadn’t shaved and his eyes were bloodshot. Another day, another drama. What was it this time? Couldn’t be the whole “kissing in the pub” thing – as far as I knew, that had blown over months ago. It hadn’t taken long for it to get back to Dan. Someone other than me had seen her in the Pitcher and Piano that night, they’d told someone, who’d told som
eone else, who knew Dan’s sister, who’d told him. When he confronted her, she’d admitted that it had been a meaningless fling and begged him for another chance. Eventually he’d agreed. Clearly it wasn’t going smoothly. And no wonder. I wouldn’t blame Dan for walking away. He’d put up with more than anyone deserved and, despite all her promises, Lulu obviously wasn’t going to change. Loving someone who was hell bent on self destruction was one thing, but surely there had to be a limit before self-preservation kicked in? I loved Lou – but I loved Dan too and wanted him to have a chance at real, long-term happiness.
We joined Annie, Vincent and Rosie in the kitchen, where we ate the fish and chips straight from the paper, with cardboard boxes as tables, and drank wine from plastic cups. Barring the fact that the new arrivals had added a touch of frost to the atmosphere, the happiness was palpable. Our first real home. Sure it was a huge risk. We’d stretched ourselves to afford the mortgage, but my business was going so well and Vincent and I felt sure it would continue, and we had to buy before Dan and Colm carried out their plan to set up their own company later in the year. It was all going to work out, I could feel it. Colm’s life motto of blind faith and optimism was contagious.
‘Oh, this is so good,’ Rosie cooed, holding a chip up in front of her face and admiring the view. ‘Don’t tell Mark I’m eating this or he’ll have me on a week-long juice cleanse to recover.’
‘So how’s it going with Yogaman then?’ Colm teased, earning a flying chip in his direction.
‘Still going,’ she said brightly, but my spider senses tingled. If there was a scale of conviction, her tone was only sitting around eighty per cent. And we were getting to the two-year mark of doom.
She was still speaking. ‘He’s really smart. And funny. And bendy.’
‘Bendy is good,’ Lulu offered and we all ignored the fact that Dan scowled.
‘And I’ve finally got the hang of the whole yoga/vegan thing.’
‘You’ve gone vegan? Rosie, you’re eating fish!’
‘I’m a selective vegan. Only when Mark’s around.’
We all laughed, but I did feel another twinge of worry. Every boyfriend that came along brought about some major change in Rosie. At college, there had been Sy, the fun-loving party animal that Rosie loved so much she stayed out every night and blew her final exams. Paul the zoologist loved indie music and staying home, so Rosie slipped right into his reclusive lifestyle. Now Mark, aka Yogaman, had her on mung beans and the downward dog. It seemed like she always had to morph into the guy’s idea of a perfect woman, instead of just being herself – the lovely, kind, funny, smart woman that she was – and being loved on her terms.
Vincent was the first to stand up and scrunch up his chip papers. ‘Right, well, much as it’s been a slice of heaven, I’m going to bail out and leave you to it.’
‘Hot date?’ I asked.
‘And is it with me?’ Annie added hopefully, with a cheeky wink.
‘Sorry, Annie, someone else got in there first.’
‘Story of my life, son. Tom Jones said the same thing. He’ll be back when he realizes his mistake.’
‘I’m going your way if you want a lift though,’ he added thoughtfully. God, if he didn’t work it out with Carole, then whatever other stunning babe with forty-four inch legs that finally landed Vincent was going to be a lucky lady. He’d covered our jobs this morning, come straight here afterwards to help out. He had a brilliant creative eye, and now he was chauffeuring my granny home to Wimbledon. I made a mental note to ask how it was going with his commitment issues. Actually, that was a crap and wholly incorrect label. He didn’t have commitment issues, he was just being cautious. Making sure. Careful with her heart. And in a way, that said more about him than if he’d just waded on in there with reckless promises that he might break further down the line.
In the meantime, at least he was putting a smile on Annie’s face.
‘Go on, gran. You’ve been a great help, and we’re not going to do much more tonight anyway.’ I was honest on the first count, lying on the second. Annie had barely stopped since this morning, cleaning, sorting, organizing, making endless cups of tea for everyone else. She was twice the help my feckless parents could ever have been if they’d deemed to show up. Which, of course, they hadn’t.
I was grateful I’d inherited her grafting gene, although I knew that was why I’d still be unpacking at 3 a.m. if necessary. If I let her, she’d stay until then and do the same, but I could see the tiredness in her eyes. I didn’t want to exhaust her. It was so easy to forget she was in her seventies.
‘Are you sure, love?’
‘I’m sure, gran. I’ll call you in the morning.’
When the door closed behind them, I picked up Colm and Dan’s chip papers and tossed them in the black plastic bag that was hanging from the kitchen doorknob. ‘Right, gents, your mission if you choose to accept it… Actually, scrub that, you’re not getting a choice. There’s a set of wardrobes in each bedroom just dying to be built up.’
Colm groaned, but Dan, looking slightly more alive than when he’d arrived, got to his feet. ‘Come on, O’Flynn, let’s go.’
I had a feeling he’d rather be anywhere else but here in this room. As soon as he’d left, Lulu exhaled, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Here we go. It’s not that I didn’t care, because I did, but bloody hell, this was the busiest day of my life and it was going to get hijacked by yet another Lulu and Dan drama. Right, no matter what this was, I was nipping it in the bud and getting back to unpacking crockery.
‘He’s seeing someone,’ she blurted.
The crockery would have to wait.
‘No!’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘He wouldn’t.’
Lulu shrugged woefully. ‘He is. The girl in the flat next door. Cabin crew. Fucking typical – she always looks great.’
It wasn’t time for comparisons, but sitting there in a black cap-sleeve T-shirt and Capri trousers, her wild mane of hair flowing loose, Lulu looked pretty great herself.
‘Has he admitted it?’
Lulu nodded. ‘Yep. Says it’s just started, but I’m not sure. I think it might have been after… after…’
Holy crap, this was a first. Dan? Loving, understanding, faithful, upstanding, putting up with more nonsense than any husband ever should have to, Dan? After Lulu’s serial indiscretions, it shouldn’t be a surprise, yet somehow it was.
‘When? After he found out about that guy you were snogging in the pub that night?’
‘That’s the one,’ she admitted. ‘I thought we’d got over that, but I guess not. Or at least, Dan hadn’t.’
Wow Their obsession with each other was matched only by their inability to let the other one go. Now it seemed that perhaps Dan was finally slicing through the ties with a chain saw.
‘Don’t say I deserve it…’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ I countered, although there was an acorn of truth in that. How many times would anyone take that kind of betrayal before returning the hurt? ‘So what are you going to do?’
Lulu shrugged. ‘He says it’s over. That he only did it because he was so pissed off. He still wants to make things work with us.’
‘And do you?’ Rosie asked.
‘I think so.’
‘Lu, you two can’t keep doing this to each other,’ I said, pointing out the obvious, repeating the same thing I’d said to her a dozen times before.
‘I know. Maybe I just don’t know how to do a proper relationship, Shauna. Maybe I just don’t have it in me. I mean, look at who taught us what was normal.’
I understood the point she was making but I didn’t want to hear it.
‘Enough, Lu.’ I scolded her, but gently. ‘We’re not our parents. We don’t need to make the same choices and at some point we need to stop blaming them for our lives and just get on with it.’
‘She’s right, Lu,’ Rosie spoke up for the first time. ‘Your parents made mistakes but that’s all in the past.’ I was astonished. Rosie g
enerally kept quiet when it came to any discussion about our parents, but she’d decided to speak up. Maybe Yogaman was doing wonders for her confidence after all. Although, she had exhaled deeply when she saw from Lulu’s expression that she didn’t appreciate the input.
‘Lulu, you know we’re right. You have to get over yourself.’
I was well aware I was coming across hard on her but it was the truth and it needed to be said. Yes, we’d grown up with parents who had a skewed relationship with monogamy and an even more dysfunctional relationship with parental care. And yes, to an extent that had shaped who we were. But surely there must be a statute of limitations on using that as an excuse for shit decisions?
‘Sometimes I wish I hadn’t gone through with it.’ And again with the maudlin self-pity. On the day of the wedding, she’d decided to call it off and I’d talked her out of it. It was only later that I found out that Dan had his doubts too and Colm had talked them through with him. Perhaps we shouldn’t have interfered. ‘But I feel like we can still make it work. Besides, I fucking hate the idea of him with someone else. He’s a good man. I just don’t know why that never seems to be enough.’
I didn’t have the answer to that, but I could guess what would probably happen next. They’d go on an incredible holiday, spoil each other with gifts, treat each other like they were the most special person on earth, and then it would slowly fade and we’d be back here again in a year, or two years, or five.
She stood up. ‘C’mon, I can’t talk about it any more. It only makes me want to smash things and I wouldn’t do that to your new house.’
I gave her a hug, then pointed her in the direction of a room that needed attention.
We worked on for a couple of hours, with Rosie The Almost Vegan finishing the unpacking of the kitchen while Lulu and I sorted out the bedroom so Colm and I would have somewhere to sleep that night. At two a.m. they left, avoiding eye contact with each other, their hostility still simmering, and I headed back to the bedroom with two cold bottles of beer. Colm was lying starfished on top of the duvet. ‘Okay, so I’m going to keep going because I want to get more done before I head out on that job tomorrow.’