The River Home : A Novel (2020)

by Richell, Hannah

  Lucy turns to look at her. ‘Yes, all right,’ she says.

  Margot nods, though she doesn’t feel particularly reassured. Lucy looks pale and distracted, not herself.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asks quietly. ‘You look a little … peaky.’ She knows she shouldn’t stir, but it does seem ridiculous that her and Tom are making such a meal of it. The way they’re acting, such cloak and daggers, it’s as if Lucy is the first woman on earth to ever conceive a child.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replies, reaching for the untouched glass of Prosecco in front of her. Tom throws his arm around her. ‘Feeling OK?’ he asks, kissing her cheek.

  Lucy nods.

  ‘I just asked her that,’ says Margot. She narrows her eyes. ‘Do you think she should?’ she asks in a low voice, gesturing at the wine.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lucy looks at the glass in her hand and then flushes red.

  ‘You know, in your condition?’ Margot nudges her. ‘Come on, Luce,’ she carries on. ‘You might as well tell us all now.’

  Tom leans across, and speaks so that only the two sisters can hear, ‘Back off, Margot. Let her tell you in her own—’

  ‘Tom,’ warns Lucy.

  Margot throws up her hands, annoyed at Tom’s interference. His overprotectiveness is misplaced. He doesn’t need to shield Lucy from her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise a prerequisite for marriage was the removal of a woman’s backbone.’

  ‘Will you two stop it,’ says Lucy, more loudly perhaps than she’d intended because the whole table falls silent and turns to look at the three of them.

  Mercifully, Ryan chooses that exact moment to arrive at the table. He starts taking orders at Eve’s end, beaming round at them all, seemingly oblivious to the rising tension. As he gathers the menus, Margot waves for his attention and orders another vodka tonic, ignoring the look of daggers from her mother. Turning back to Lucy, she finds Tom talking to her sister in a low, soothing voice. Margot sighs. When did she become so passive and simpering?

  With the easy distraction of the menus removed, an awkward silence falls over the table. Ted clears his throat, as if to speak, only to fall silent again. Margot sees Sibella lay a hand over her father’s. The gesture only infuriates Margot further. What is wrong with everyone? Ted ditched their mother for Sibella. Andrew is having an affair right under Eve’s nose. Tom is smothering Lucy like some overbearing minder. Why should she be the only one to be judged – to feel shame? ‘You know,’ she says, turning to address the table, ‘you all act like I’m the only person in the world to ever do anything bad, but maybe some of you should take a look at yourselves.’ She lifts her near-empty glass in a toast to the rest of the table and finishes it with a swig.

  ‘Margot,’ says Lucy, pleadingly. ‘You said you wouldn’t do this.’

  ‘Do what? What?’ Margot looks around at everyone. She sees her father’s crestfallen face, her mother’s tight-lipped fury and Eve’s weary resignation. Tom’s sister is gazing intently down at her lap. His parents wear baffled expressions. ‘What’s wrong with you all? This is supposed to be a party, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Andrew, speaking up from beside Eve. ‘You’re right. I could do with another drink.’ He pushes his chair back from the table. ‘What can I get everyone?’

  Margot watches him go, imagining she has touched a nerve. She nudges Lucy, wondering if she has noticed too, but Lucy won’t look at her; she is, instead, doing everything in her power, it seems, to ignore her.

  Margot frowns. Has she gone too far? She picks up the nearest bar mat and starts to rip it into small pieces. She can’t seem to stop herself. There is a pressure building, a strange buzzing. Images and memories she doesn’t want to think about threaten to rise up. She reaches for her drink again, but this time Eve stretches across and places her hand over the top of her glass. ‘I think that’s enough, Margot, don’t you? How about a little fresh air?’

  Margot feels the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘Yes, of course. God forbid I should do anything to embarrass the family.’

  Kit shakes her head. ‘I don’t understand where all this anger comes from, Margot.’

  ‘Of course you don’t.’

  ‘Margot.’ Eve says her name, a low warning.

  Kit eyes her coldly. ‘Why don’t you go and cool off, before you say something you’ll regret.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m going. I’ll be a good girl and go and “cool off”, as Mummy suggests.’

  As she pushes her chair back, swaying a little at the sudden movement, caught off balance, Margot hears May’s giggles followed by a loud whisper, ‘She called Granny Mummy!’

  Chloe, perhaps from the look on Eve’s face, seems to know not to laugh and nudges her little sister in the ribs. Both girls drop their heads to their colouring sheets.

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’ Sibella asks from the far end of the table.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ mutters Kit, shaking her head.

  Margot doesn’t bother to reply. Instead, she follows the corridor to the ladies bathroom where she stands for a moment leaning against the sinks, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the gilt-framed mirror. She studies her eyes – red-rimmed and bloodshot – and sees the flicker of a younger girl in a grey, shapeless hoodie standing in the same spot, looking into the same mirror. No, she thinks. She is not that girl. Not any more.

  She bursts out into the back car park, gasping for air, sucking it into her lungs in deep breaths. Outside, in the night sky, the stars seem to fizz and blur. She is definitely more drunk than she’d intended. Squinting across the car park she sees someone sitting on a step near the kitchen. A teenager, wearing a striped apron, smoking a cigarette. He is clearly on a break from kitchen duties. She heads straight for him and hits him with what she hopes is her most winning smile. ‘I don’t suppose I could bum a cigarette off you?’

  ‘Sure.’ He pats his pockets and then holds out a box of cigarettes. His lighter follows. Margot cups her hands around his and leans in, the cigarette hanging from her lips as he lights it for her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, taking a deep drag before exhaling smoke up into the dark sky. She wraps her arms around herself, her bare arms tingling in the cold air.

  ‘No worries.’

  ‘Australian?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Backpacking?’

  He nods. ‘I’m on my gap year. I was hoping for a little adventure before uni.’

  ‘And you washed up here in the buzzing metropolis of Mortford? Lucky you.’

  He laughs. ‘Ryan’s my uncle. He offered me the job. What brings you here?’ he asks, eyeing her tattoos. ‘You don’t look like the usual type we get in here.’

  ‘Family.’

  The boy nods again and throws his cigarette butt to the ground, scuffing it beneath his trainer through the gravel. ‘Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them,’ he says.

  ‘Isn’t that the truth.’

  ‘I’d best get back to it,’ he says, indicating the kitchen with a tilt of his head.

  ‘Sure. I don’t want to get you on the wrong side of your uncle. Thanks for the cigarette.’

  ‘No worries,’ the boy throws the words over his shoulder at her as he ducks back inside the kitchen.

  She stays outside a minute longer, gazing up at the stars. Now she is alone, it doesn’t feel so rebellious to be sitting there puffing away on the cigarette. It’s cold too, without her jacket. She rubs her arms and thinks about the smoke circulating in her lungs. She thinks about the grotesque health warning she’d glimpsed on the packet as the boy had handed them to her. She is old enough to know better.

  She throws the cigarette to the floor and stubs it out, just as a movement in the shadows across the car park catches her eye. She peers more closely through the darkness, and sees what looks like a man and a woman standing together in the shadows, near a car. Something about the stance of the couple makes Margot’s blood run cold. She blinks, trying to clear th
e vodka haze that has set in. Something in the closeness of their bodies, the fierce gesticulations, the looming height of the man makes her feel afraid. She knows she should shout – try to help the woman – but she is paralysed and her words are caught in the sour bile rising up her throat. The man reaches out and pulls at the woman’s arm. Margot’s heart thumps in her chest.

  A cat runs across the car park gravel and triggers a security light. As the yellow glow sweeps across the couple’s faces, Margot sees another truth. The man is no stranger. It is Andrew, and he looks ashen-faced, as the woman he is with – the barmaid from the pub – gesticulates angrily. She turns slightly away from him and folds her arms.

  Andrew, glancing around, notices Margot standing by the back steps of the kitchen, still caught in the glow of the security light. She gives him a long, cold stare then turns on her heel and re-enters the pub. Fucking Andrew. Lucy was right.

  Back inside, Lucy and Tom are standing at the bar conducting an urgent-looking conversation. As she stalks past she hears Lucy say, ‘Not now. Not with all this tension.’

  ‘When then? You said you’d tell them tonight.’

  ‘It’s all wrong, the wrong atmosphere. Margot has ruined it.’ Lucy catches sight of Margot and looks away guiltily.

  ‘No,’ says Margot, plastering a smile on her face. ‘Tom’s right. You should tell us all now,’ she says. ‘Put us out of our misery,’ she adds, a slight taunting tone in her voice. ‘I mean, it’s not like most of us haven’t guessed already. It’s so obvious.’

  Lucy stares at her. Margot rolls her eyes. All this carrying on like nobody knows, as if they have this huge, precious secret to divulge. They are so wrapped up in their own lives – the drama of it. So what. Lucy and Tom are having a baby. The way they are carrying on is ridiculous. ‘The pitter patter of tiny feet?’ She glances down meaningfully at Lucy’s stomach then raises an eyebrow. ‘Come off it, we’re not idiots.’

  Lucy stares at her, the colour draining from her face.

  Margot shrugs. ‘Oh, I get it. You want to revel in your big moment. I won’t spoil it for you.’ She snatches up the nearest glass from the bar and raises it, drops of wine spilling onto her hand as she does. ‘But between us, let’s toast … to babies. The next generation of little fuck-ups.’

  Tom’s arm tightens around Lucy’s shoulders. Margot sees it and feels a surge of anger. He doesn’t need to protect Lucy from her. Surely he knows that? She loves Lucy – always has, always will. She’d never do anything to hurt her.

  She spins on her heel, heading back to the table, but it’s no better back there. Andrew approaches, pale-faced, his hands jammed in his pockets. He glances in Margot’s direction as he slides back onto the bench beside Eve, then wraps his arm around his wife and pulls her in for a kiss. Eve throws him a surprised look. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Couldn’t be better,’ he says loudly, eyeballing Margot

  Yeah, right, she thinks. You don’t fool me. She glares at Andrew and he drops his gaze.

  Over the course of the meal, the conversation is false and stilted. Margot has lost her appetite and only picks at her food, settling instead for another glass of wine. Lucy barely touches her food too and Eve sits quietly, distracted and tense. Only the two little girls at the end of the table seem oblivious to the family tensions around them. ‘We’ve finished. Can we go and play on the pool table?’ Chloe asks.

  ‘Yes,’ says Andrew, with barely disguised relief. ‘I’ll take you into the games room.’

  The plates are cleared and no one seems to want to order dessert. After a tactful amount of time, Margot sees Ted whisper something to Sibella. She nods and Ted clears his throat. ‘Well, thank you for a lovely dinner, Lucy … Tom. We know you two have a big day tomorrow. I suppose an earlyish night might be in order. We don’t want to keep the bride and groom from their beauty sleep.’

  ‘Yes,’ agrees Tom’s mum brightly. ‘We’ll all need a good rest.’ She pats her husband’s hand, smiles pointedly at Margot, then reaches for the handbag on the back of her chair.

  Eve, reading the mood of the table, starts to gather up the girls’ felt tip pens and sketch pads. Margot, slumped in her chair, her chin propped on her hand, turns and sees Tom give Lucy a little nudge. ‘Go on,’ he whispers.

  ‘Yes, go on,’ says Margot.

  Lucy shoots her a look, but then, to Margot’s surprise, she stands. ‘Would you all stop and listen for a moment. Please. There’s something I need to tell you, before you leave, and perhaps it’s best that I do it while Andrew is off with the girls.’

  Well here we go, thinks Margot with a small smile, leaning back in her chair. At last. The big revelation. ‘Hit us with it, Luce,’ she says. ‘Dazzle us with your wonderful news. We’re all ears.’

  23

  Lucy stands, her heart thudding in her chest. She takes some comfort from Tom’s solid presence at her side. ‘Go on,’ he says again. ‘I’m right here.’

  ‘What is it?’ asks Kit, looking baffl ed. ‘What’s going on?’

  Lucy takes a deep breath. ‘So it’s no secret that Tom and I have rather rushed this wedding. It was just over a week ago, in fact, that we decided to get married, which didn’t give anyone much time to plan or prepare. For that we’re sorry.’ She pauses. ‘But we are incredibly grateful that you are all here with us this weekend.’

  She looks around the table and sees the bewildered expressions.

  ‘The reason we wanted to get you all together tonight, before the big party tomorrow, is because I have something important I need to share with you all.’ Margot is still grinning up at her with such a look of ‘knowing’ on her face. Lucy can’t bear it.

  She takes another deep breath. She has rehearsed this moment in her head over and over, but somehow, now that it has arrived, she doesn’t feel ready. ‘I’m not pregnant,’ she says, turning to Margot. She sees the smile begin to falter on her sister’s face, her quick glance in their father’s direction. ‘I’m afraid it’s not such happy news. You see, I’m sick.’

  ‘Sick?’ asks Kit, with a frown.

  ‘Yes,’ says Lucy, turning first to her mother, and then to Ted. ‘I have cancer.’

  A stillness falls over the room.

  Ted coughs.

  She sees Margot’s expression shift from confusion to disbelief.

  Her mother is staring at her, open-mouthed.

  Margot breaks the silence with a laugh. ‘Luce. That’s not funny.’

  When she doesn’t answer, she sees Margot look uncertainly at Tom, searching his face for reassurances, and slowly the smile on Margot’s face fades. ‘But you’re pregnant,’ insists Margot. ‘It’s been the worst-kept secret ever.’

  Eve squeezes Margot’s arm. ‘Shut up, will you?’

  ‘Sorry. No,’ Lucy says. ‘I’m not pregnant.’ Her hands hang uselessly at her sides, fists squeezed tight. ‘I’m sorry for the secrecy. But I wanted to tell you all together. In one go. I thought it would be easier this way. I’m being admitted to hospital on Monday for a procedure. An operation.’ She can’t help her hands moving to her stomach, covering her sick, traitorous womb. ‘Turns out there’s a rather large tumour having a party on my ovaries. They’ll remove it … and … anything else that needs to come out.’ Lucy takes a deep breath. ‘And then it will be down to chemo to slow the disease.’

  ‘Slow it?’ asks Eve.

  Lucy nods. She feels Tom’s hand, warm and reassuring on her arm.

  ‘But they can get rid of it,’ says Eve.

  Lucy holds Eve’s eye. ‘The scans I had last week show that the tumour has, most likely, already metastasised. We’ll know more next week when they operate, but the consultant has warned that it looks aggressive. Most likely stage four.’

  Somewhere beyond the table, Lucy can hear her nieces calling to each other, the crack of snooker balls hitting together, a peal of laughter.

  ‘Metastasised? What the fuck does that mean?’ Margot is blinking angrily.

  Lucy sees
her family, seated around the table, looking bewildered and upset and realises for the first time that perhaps Tom was right: breaking the news to them all in one go like this may not have been the best way after all.

  ‘It means the original tumour has spread. The scans indicate there are probably secondary tumours in my abdomen and lungs. The appointments next week will clarify things.’

  ‘But you’re on honeymoon next week,’ says Eve.

  Margot nods vehemently. ‘You’re all packed.’

  ‘The only honeymoon I’ll be taking, for now, is a stay at the RUH in Bath. The case I’ve packed is for a hospital visit, not a honeymoon. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Oh Lucy,’ says Ted, quietly. ‘My darling girl.’

  ‘But … but …’ Margot still seems to be struggling to calibrate, ‘you can’t have cancer. You’re twenty-eight. You’re getting married tomorrow.’

  Lucy nods and manages a small smile. ‘Yes, I’m getting married tomorrow.’ She reaches for Tom’s hand. ‘This is why we decided to speed the wedding up, to go for it. Finding out I have cancer …’ she sees her mother flinch, ‘well, it made me realise what is most important to me. Tom. All of you. Being together.’ She feels Tom’s squeeze of reassurance. She shrugs and gives another weak smile. ‘I wanted to tell you and for it to not feel like such an awful thing – you know – what do they say? Sandwich bad news between good news?’

  Margot snorts. ‘Hey everyone. I’m getting married. Oh, I have cancer. But let’s party.’

  Lucy winces. ‘Yeah, I suppose it doesn’t sound so good when you put it like that.’ She shrugs. ‘I’m sorry if it feels selfish and as if I’ve dragged you all here under false pretences, but we are getting married and we want it to be fun.’ She smiles. ‘We insist it is fun. I’m pretty certain the next few months aren’t going to be, so let’s make tomorrow count.’

  Margot still looks furious. ‘Why didn’t they catch it sooner? How can you go from being completely fine to this? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I’ve been struggling with some symptoms for a while. Tiredness. Bloating. Abdominal pain.’ She rests her hands on her stomach. ‘They thought it was IBS for a time. Apparently it’s easy to misdiagnose.’