And Dean, how would he cope with work and the kids as well as the house?
Dirk’s little face jumped into her mind. And me, the vision seemed to be saying. Don’t forget about me.
Oh, her birth mum! She had to find her birth mum before it was too late.
‘What happens now?’ Dean asked, his face pale.
‘Today I’d like to go over Lauren’s whole body again and make sure there aren’t any other moles or lesions. I’m almost positive that I haven’t missed any, but it’s always best to be on the safe side.’ Michelle’s eyes were full of sympathy. ‘In the media, melanoma is portrayed as large moles that change colour or suddenly go from flat to raised. This is often the case, but there are many other ways it can manifest. You’re very lucky that Dean noticed it and that you listened to him.’
Lauren gripped her husband’s hand tighter. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to him.
He turned to her in surprise. ‘What? What do you mean?’ He took her face in his hands. ‘What are you sorry for?’
‘I’m sorry to do this to you. To scare you.’
‘Babe, this isn’t your fault! You didn’t make yourself have cancer. You can’t think like that. Anyway, as Michelle keeps saying, this might just be a small blip. There’s nothing to indicate that it’s life-threatening.’ He squeezed her face gently, then turned back to Michelle. ‘Is there?’
‘Look, melanoma is a complex disease. It usually has deep roots and can show up anywhere. I’ll be a lot more comfortable when the tests show that it hasn’t spread from the original site into the lymph nodes or any organs. I’ll get these bloods organised. You’ll also need to have a CT scan. All of this will tell us what we’re dealing with.’ She folded her hands on her lap, and Lauren realised that Michelle was watching her closely. Probably trying to work out how she was taking it all.
Lauren wasn’t sure. Numb and disbelieving were about as far as she could get, along with a little frightened. She stared at the familiar fake pot plant until she heard the printer whirring. Michelle was signing papers and holding them out to Dean. He took them and glanced over at Lauren, as if unsure what to do next.
‘Do you want to get undressed and I’ll check everything again?’ Michelle asked Lauren. She realised that her dermatologist must be a veteran of these types of appointments. She couldn’t remember the exact statistics Michelle had once told her; something like one in fourteen men and one in twenty-four women will be diagnosed with melanoma in their lifetime. So how many of them had Michelle needed to tell?
Now, being one of those patients, Lauren couldn’t wait to get the all-clear. She ripped off her top and bra before Michelle reached for her dermascope and started to scan her skin. ‘Dean, do you know much about melanoma?’ she asked.
‘Only what Lauren has told me over the years,’ he admitted, watching the examination.
‘There are five things I look for that might raise a flag with me. The first thing is moles that don’t look the same on both sides: that’s called “asymmetry”. Then there are edges that are blurry or irregular—jagged, if you like.’ She stopped and ran her finger over part of Lauren’s skin, checking the height of a mole. ‘Then there are colour variations within the lesion or mole itself.’
‘What are you looking for now?’ Dean asked.
‘All of the things I’ve just mentioned, plus anything that’s bigger than about six mils.’ She straightened and smiled at Lauren. ‘I know this is frightening. I can tell you, it’s the unknown that causes the fear. Once we know what we’re dealing with and we have a plan, it won’t feel quite so overwhelming. Plans always help. Now, I just want to have a feel under your arm and see what your lymph nodes are doing.’
‘Why do you do that?’ Dean asked.
‘To gauge of the size of them.’
Fingers pushed deeply into her skin, and Lauren smiled for the first time since the phone call. ‘That tickles!’
‘Sorry,’ said Michelle, her face serious. She moved the dermascope to Lauren’s neck. ‘I’ll check your groin too, just to be on the safe side.’
Lauren tilted her head under the pressure of Michelle’s fingers. Her mother used to make a similar movement when she was brushing Lauren’s hair, ready to put it in a ponytail.
When Lauren thought of Connie, she was struck by an idea. Parents!
‘Is melanoma genetic?’ she asked, the question rushing from her.
‘It can be, but we don’t know your family history,’ Michelle said gently. ‘If we could test your biological parents, then we might find that it’s hereditary. Of course, you’re also at risk of skin cancer because of your fair complexion.’
‘Can we test my children?’
‘We can,’ Michelle said cautiously, ‘but I think we’re getting a little off-track—and too far ahead of ourselves.’
‘Okay,’ said Lauren, filing it away for later. She had one last question. ‘Another thing is that I don’t feel sick. Is that normal?’
Michelle paused. ‘There are often no physical symptoms at the beginning of melanoma. And yours may not have spread.’
‘But she’s tired,’ Dean broke in. ‘She’s always exhausted—look at the black marks under her eyes. Could that be part of it?’
‘That’s a question I can’t answer yet. Another reason to request a full blood picture and find out where your body is at.’ She picked up the phone. ‘I’m going to make an appointment for you at the hospital, and we’ll focus on your arm first.’
Lauren and Dean drove home in silence. She was reeling and couldn’t think of anything to say that would ease the pain Dean was so obviously feeling. The fact that he was holding her hand as they drove was enough.
He flicked on the blinker and turned into their driveway. As she’d done a million times before, Lauren opened the glovebox and pressed the button for the garage door to rise. Once inside, Dean turned off the car. Lauren counted the ticks of the engine in her mind. One, two. One, two. Like the rhythm of a metronome.
As Dean turned to her and started to speak, she did the same thing.
‘Sorry, you first.’ Dean gripped her hand.
She swallowed. ‘Okay, we’ve got to tell the kids. How are we going to do that? “Hi, kids, how was your day? Oh, by the way, I was diagnosed with cancer.”’ Tears welled in her eyes, and she took a deep breath before she continued, her voice stronger this time. ‘I don’t feel all that unwell, so I think we should make light of it—tell them what’s happened, but that it’s not a big issue. Continue with all the normal things. I’ll go back to work tomorrow and go to the hospital when I have to. Let’s just take each day as it comes, and live as normally as we can. Okay?’
Dean stared at her, his eyes full of love. ‘You are so incredibly strong. I love you. And I think you’re right: there are so many unanswered questions, and there’s no point getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s wait and see the results, then make a plan.’
‘I don’t see another choice, do you? My mind was going a mile a minute at first, but now that I’ve had a little time to process everything, it’s like you said at Michelle’s—probably just a blip.’ She leaned over and kissed him.
‘No, they’ve got the results wrong,’ Skye said, her voice wavering. She was standing in front of Lauren and Dean in the kitchen, where they’d just delivered the news. ‘Those results have to be wrong.’
The look of desperation on her daughter’s face broke Lauren’s heart. She reached out to comfort her, but Skye wrenched away, staring at her with wild eyes.
‘Sweetheart, this isn’t a big deal. I’ve got to have a few extra tests and a bit more cut out. Nothing more.’
‘I know about melanoma,’ Skye said. Her eyes were huge and she couldn’t stand still. ‘We learned about it in health. Once you’ve got it, it never goes away. Never! It can turn up anywhere. It kills you.’
‘You’re being a little melodramatic,’ Dean interjected. ‘Mum still has to—’
‘I’m not!’ There was just enough time for
Skye to draw breath before she shouted: ‘I’m not!’ She stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Dean and Lauren looking at each other, feeling as though they’d done ten rounds in the boxing ring.
‘Bloody hell.’ Dean ran his hands over his face and rubbed hard. ‘I hope telling Stu isn’t like that.’ He started after Skye.
‘Just leave her for the moment,’ Lauren said, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. ‘We need to be here together when Stu shows up.’
Soon they heard a key in the front door and glanced at each other. Dean got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge, then held another one up, offering it to Stu as he came in through the door. ‘That’s what I like,’ he said, grinning at them both. ‘A-plus service, guys. But I’ll take a raincheck, thanks. I need to study tonight.’
‘Lauren, want a wine?’ Dean asked.
Yes! Yes, she did. In fact, she could probably drink a whole bottle. But she shook her head. ‘No thanks, babe.’ She gave Stu a smile. ‘So, how was your day?’
‘Fine, I didn’t drown anyone.’
‘Well, that was an achievement!’ Lauren joked. See? She could act normally.
Dean sat down and took a long swallow of his beer, while Lauren looked down at the table and fiddled with the glass of water that sat in front of her.
‘What’s going on?’ Stu asked, looking from Dean to Lauren and back again. ‘You’re sitting here pretending something isn’t going on. You’re not doing a very good job of it.’
Out of nowhere, a bubble of laughter escaped from Lauren. The situation felt surreal and crazy, and there didn’t seem to be any better option than laughing out loud. She didn’t want to let her children know how frightened she was.
When Lauren was growing up, she never saw her parents discuss problems or fight. They’d shielded her from every little piece of emotional upheaval. As a mum, she understood the need to protect her children from distressing news, but she wasn’t much good at hiding her feelings. She was a heart-on-her-sleeve type of woman.
She obviously needed to take a leaf out of Connie and George’s book and try to be a bit less transparent.
‘So what happens from here?’ Stu asked, once Lauren had finished recounting the events of the day. He squeezed her hand. ‘Is there a prognosis?’
‘We’re not at that stage yet,’ Lauren explained. ‘And fingers crossed we won’t need to be—I’m really hopeful that it will be contained to part of my arm.’
‘You’ll be okay, Mum,’ Stu said. He put his chin on her head and wrapped his arms around her. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help.’
‘I’m really lucky to have you. And, really, I shouldn’t be out of action much at all.’ Lauren smiled at them both. ‘This is going to be one of those times that just makes us all a little stronger.’
‘Does Skye know?’
Lauren nodded.
‘How did she take it?’
She sighed. ‘Not well, but it’s just a matter of adjusting.’
Dean held her close that night. They were both taking comfort in each other. The future seemed uncertain, but they wouldn’t let it get to them right now.
‘I need to find my birth mother,’ Lauren said. ‘For the kids’ sake, I need to know if this is a genetic thing.’
Dean squeezed her. ‘Of course you do.’
‘I’ll talk to Mum and Dad as soon as I can.’
A silence stretched out, and Lauren thought that Dean had gone to sleep until he turned over. ‘Skye’s going to have trouble with this,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m surprised by her reaction.’
Lauren gave a snort. ‘I’m not. I can never predict how she’s going to react these days. So unlike the girl she used to be.’
‘She’s concerning me.’
‘And me. We’ve just got to get through this time and we’ll be able to concentrate on us as a family again.’
‘Yeah.’ It was said softly. Almost wistfully, Lauren thought.
Worn out, hugging Dean, she slipped into a deep sleep.
That night the nightmare returned. But for the first time, it changed halfway through. The hands holding her down morphed into soft ones, kind ones, poking and prodding. Instead of darkness, she was bathed in the glare of fluorescent lights. A scalpel glinted in Dirk’s hand. ‘Don’t forget me,’ he said. As she watched herself in the dream, Lauren felt the very real prick of a needle entering her arm. She woke with a jolt.
Dear Diary,
I asked him not to—no, I told him not to—and he still did. I didn’t want it to happen, but he didn’t listen.
What are Mummy and Daddy going to say when they find out? I can’t tell them, but I need to tell someone.
It’s easier to write it down. Then I can tear out the pages and throw them overboard. Let the fish eat them and pretend it never happened.
I’m so scared.
Everywhere I look, there are happy faces. People in the pool, sunbaking, reading on the deckchairs. It feels like one big party all the time.
But it’s not. There are real things happening on this ship. Things that shouldn’t happen. Bad things.
Daddy promised me that going to Australia would be a new start. A new beginning. But it’s not now. It’s tarnished; just like me.
I can’t write this without crying. I still can’t believe it happened. Never again. Just never. Again.
The deck is supposed to be a safe place. There are always clusters of passengers sitting on the chairs and hanging over the railings. People even sleep up there now. The captain told us that we could go up there and sleep if we weren’t happy with our cabin. I was happy in the cabin, but some of my new friends wanted to try sleeping outside. Mummy was happy for me to go, just so long as there was a group of us. There were ten girls, and all the other people who were sleeping up there.
Ten. And it still happened.
The deckchairs are lined up next to one another. Quite comfortable, really. All ten of us in a row.
I had wanted to see the stars. From where we were, they shone so bright. I’d never seen so many before: big orbs and tiny little sparkles shining out from the blackness. And the moon. In all her glory, so large and full. The way the light glistened off the water was so beautiful.
At first it was very noisy. Everyone was commenting on the beauty of the night or the stars or the moon. But our chatter gradually died down. One by one, people fell asleep on the chairs.
I couldn’t sleep so I watched the moon on the water.
The boy came and found me. At first he was gentle. Took me to the funnel area. I’d heard about it and what people did there. I’d never believed it.
He went from being gentle to forceful.
I never want to go near a funnel again.
Chapter 11
Stomping towards the bus stop, Skye couldn’t wait to get to school. To get far away from the house with its long silences and whispers. Her parents had their heads so far up their arses, they couldn’t see what she already knew was coming. They could call her a drama queen, or melodramatic, but she knew. Stu had told her off for saying the truth out loud, but she didn’t care. The sooner they realised that what she was saying was right, the better.
She remembered her gran telling her that anger was often the cover for a real emotion, but then Skye shoved that thought aside. She wasn’t anything else but pissed off. Not scared, not sad, not vulnerable. Of course not.
Last night, when the house was really quiet, she’d heard her mum’s and dad’s voices through the wall. Not what they were saying, just the murmur. She’d had a fleeting thought of how she would be so exposed without her mum around to protect her; to love her. ‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ she’d muttered, rolling onto her side and pulling the pillow over her head. She was fourteen, so she didn’t need to be treated like a child anymore—especially by a mother who didn’t have time for her.
Fiddling in her pocket, Skye found her earbuds and put them in. She flicked her phone from screen to screen until she came across the song she wanted. Musi
c relaxed her; it filled her head with guitar riffs and drumbeats. When it was pumping through the tiny earbuds, she didn’t think about anything else. Not schoolwork, not her dad, not her stupid Golden Boy brother, and certainly not her mum’s illness.
Sometimes, the lyrics prompted a memory of Billy. Especially when Rihanna’s ‘We Found Love’ started: the chorus talked about finding love in a hopeless place, and that was exactly how she felt when she was with Billy.
The bus pulled up with a hiss and a jerk as the driver stamped on the brakes. Students moved towards the doors like a flood. They’re sheep being herded along, Skye thought. Blindy doing what’s expected of them.
If she had her way, she’d be on a beach somewhere, not going to school. Lying under an umbrella, swimming in the sea, dreaming of her future. A future with Billy. A future as a successful music agent.
She’d mentioned to her parents one day that she wanted to be a music agent. Their laughter had been humiliating. ‘Think you’d better try for another profession,’ her mum had said. ‘To get that type of job, you need to know someone, who knows someone, who knows someone. So it’s not a job for you.’
Well, why not? If Skye worked hard, she could achieve anything. Her teachers told her that all the time.
Staring at the floor of the bus so she didn’t accidentally catch anyone’s eyes, Skye found a spot near the middle where she could stand up, keep looking down and hang on. Even though her music was pumping hard, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from going back to the night before.
‘I’ve got to have a few extra tests,’ her mother had said.
Yeah, thought Skye bitterly. Extra tests find extra things wrong.
What did her mum expect they’d find? Of course they’d find something.
Melanoma was like a sheet of water spreading out across the flat ground. It crept quietly from one place to another. Then BANG! It was all through you, and there was no going back. When Skye had googled melanoma blogs the night before, she’d found a few ‘good’ stories—people who were still fighting the disease, ones who had a few decent years after the initial mole was cut out. But then it returned. Some fought for years, others for only a few months. But the result was still the same.
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