One Summer Between Friends

by Trish Morey

  What the hell?

  ‘Are you coming, Mummy?’

  Jules turned to look at her daughter, holding her arms over her chest as the water rained down over her, flattening her strawberry blonde curls against her head. Her four-year-old daughter who’d lost her father and who had a mother with a lump on her breast, and a thousand horrific scenarios lit with neon lights flashed their way through her mind. Could life be that cruel?

  She smiled at the child she thought she’d never have. The child she’d had more for somebody else than for herself. And yet, this was the child who had wormed her way into Jules’s life and enriched it in ways she’d never imagined possible.

  Damn it, no. Life wouldn’t be that cruel. She wouldn’t let it.

  ‘Coming,’ she said, assuming a villainous crouch the way she did when they were playing hide and seek. ‘Ready or not.’

  Della shuddered in faux terror as her mother sprang into the shower and grabbed her under the arms to lift her high under the spray, where she squealed with delight until they were both laughing. And when the girl was done with laughing, she wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck, pulled her face close, and kissed her on the nose.

  ‘I wuv you, Mummy.’

  Jules was glad she was in the shower so Della couldn’t see the moisture that had sprung unbidden to her eyes. She squeezed her girl tight. ‘I love you too, Della Bella.’

  It was just a lump. That was all it was at this stage.

  It didn’t have to mean anything.

  6

  Sydney

  ‘How soon does your mother get out of hospital?’ asked Frankie during Monday’s lunch at the busy sushi restaurant around the corner from the office.

  ‘How soon does she escape from Alcatraz, you mean.’ Sarah gave a wry smile as her eyes followed the parade of little covered dishes on the conveyor, pouncing on a dish of steaming prawn dumplings to add to their small collection. ‘At least that’s what Mum calls it. It would have been later this week, but they’re keeping her in longer.’

  ‘Oh. That must be frustrating for her.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’ The novelty of smiling at every doctor, nurse and dinner lady was rapidly losing its gloss, and Dot was reverting to type. Sarah had taken her father home to her place for a night over the weekend, ostensibly to let him sleep in a real bed and give him a break from the fold-out chair, but they both knew it was to let him have a mental health break from Dot. And meanwhile she had fed him the lie that the partners’ meeting had been postponed because someone was ill. It was only a tiny white lie, really, but she didn’t feel good about it and she’d been feeling sick ever since. ‘But the physio’s not happy to send her home to the island until he’s satisfied she’s on top of her exercises.’

  Frankie nodded, aiming her chopsticks at a dumpling. ‘That would do it.’

  ‘It did. So she demanded a second opinion.’

  The dumpling hovered just short of Frankie’s mouth. ‘She did? Wow, she’s ballsy. How did that go?’

  ‘She got one, all right, but the second said the same as the first, so now she doesn’t like either of them.’

  Frankie chuckled, reaching for a plate of chicken karaage, and for a while they concentrated on the assortment of dishes between them. ‘So I guess that means you’ve got a bit more time to work out what you’re going to do, huh?’

  Sarah sighed. ‘Yeah.’ What was she going to do? The question had been plaguing her all weekend. It was the last thing swirling around in her brain when she went to sleep at night. It was there the moment she woke up—which she did several times a night. Her visits to see her mother in hospital were painful because Dot already considered the matter settled. There was no escaping the decision she’d have to make, and soon.

  But right now she was feeling pleasantly full, and that didn’t make it any easier. ‘I don’t know, Frankie, how could I possibly leave Sydney? I seriously don’t think I could survive without our weekly sushi fix.’

  Frankie nodded sagely. ‘Well, there is that,’ she said, topping up their tea. ‘Although …’ She put the pot down. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, would it be so bad, going back? I know you don’t get on with your mother, but after what’s happened, surely it would be better than staying at FRL?’

  Sarah screwed up her nose. ‘I’m not staying at FRL,’ she said. ‘I can’t, after being shafted like that.’

  ‘There you go, then,’ Frankie said, her tea cup cradled in her hands, expression thoughtful. ‘So that much is settled. But I don’t know, six months on Lord Howe Island—it sounds like paradise to me. It could be like a mini sea change.’

  Huh, Sarah thought, skewering a piece of chicken fair in the middle with one pointed chopstick, an act that felt strangely therapeutic. She was under no doubt that her colleague was imagining sandy beaches and palm trees and fancy cocktails complete with little umbrellas. Whereas for Sarah, it would be less of a sea change and more like an up-shit-creek change, where she’d be at the mercy of the ghosts of her not-so-distant past with not a single swizzle stick let alone a paddle to fend them off.

  She chewed on the tender chicken like she’d been chewing on her problem, grateful to have a few moments to think before answering. But when all was said and done, there was no point trying to explain. Nobody, it seemed, could understand what going home to Lord Howe Island actually meant to Sarah. Not her mother, not her brother—though maybe he just didn’t care—not even her father, who she was probably closer to than anyone else in the world, seemed to grasp what was holding her back from committing.

  It wasn’t a sea change. It was a sentence. And Sarah wasn’t even the guilty party.

  And then she thought about Floss and added an addendum.

  She wasn’t the guilty party—mostly.

  But even as she swallowed the chicken, even as the little sushi train kept moving, a little place at the back of her mind kept chewing away at her resistance, exposing the weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

  Because no. She didn’t want to go. But she’d been kidding herself even thinking she had a choice. That was what was keeping her awake at night. It wasn’t having to make a decision, it was knowing she’d never had a choice at all. Her entire life she’d been the one called upon to step up, to help out when someone needed help. Her whole life, she’d been the one to do it. And now, when she wanted more than anything to challenge the status quo, to pass the baton and let somebody else do their bit, she had no excuse.

  All this time, she’d been fighting the inevitable—and for what?

  She tossed back her tea, trying hard to swallow the last shreds of chicken that suddenly felt like they were stuck in her throat. There was nothing to keep her in Sydney now. Nothing to prevent her from leaving, no matter how much she tried to pretend there was. No brother to suddenly—magically—pull up his big boy boxer shorts and come to her rescue.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, slamming down her chopsticks on the bench. ‘Fuck it!’

  Heads swivelled all around them. Frankie’s eyes opened wide. ‘I have never once heard you swear.’

  Sarah looked around unapologetically, directing death stares at the glaring patrons until they turned back to their sushi. She picked up her chopsticks and ordered another plate of prawn dumplings, determined that if this was her last Japanese meal for six months, she was going to enjoy it. ‘I guess I never had good enough reason.’

  ‘Listen, Dad,’ Sarah said that night when she visited the hospital and took him off in search of coffee. ‘I told a bit of a white lie the other day when I said the partners’ meeting had been deferred.’ She licked her lips. ‘It wasn’t.’

  Sam said nothing. He’d raised an eyebrow and made all the right noises when she’d told him, but she’d always been a crap liar and her dad knew it, but unlike Dot, he also knew better than to dig.

  ‘You see, the thing is, I didn’t get the promotion.’

  The skin on Sam’s face settled deeper into its creases. He patted the back of her han
d. ‘Oh, lovey, I’m sorry. Maybe next month.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. They promoted someone else—a guy about ten years my junior. Someone who’s only been with the firm for a year. And I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before, but it hurt, Dad. It made me feel like a failure, like a has-been. A bit like I’m on the scrap heap at thirty-seven.’

  This time he took her hand and squeezed it. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t think like that.’

  Sarah sucked in a deep breath, fighting back the cursed sting of tears. ‘Anyway, it got me to thinking. I can’t stay in that job. I have to find another one. But that might take a while. And so meanwhile …’

  Hope infused Sam’s eyes, a hope that Sarah knew he was too reticent to put into words. She smiled encouragingly. ‘I spoke to the senior partner this afternoon,’ she said, ‘about taking some leave—I’ve got heaps due, as it happens.’

  ‘You’ll come home, then?’ Her father took her hands between his. ‘You’ll really do it?’

  She nodded. ‘It might take me a few days to get myself organised—I’ll need to find a tenant or a house sitter. I can’t just lock the door and walk away. But, yeah, I’ll come.’

  Sam looked like he’d just won Lotto. ‘Thank you. From a purely selfish point of view, I’ll be happy to be seeing more of you.’

  Sarah was ashamed to see the glint of tears at the corners of his eyes. ‘It’ll be good to spend more time with you too.’

  ‘And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure your mum doesn’t give you too much grief.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ Sarah said, knowing that at least she had one relationship that wasn’t messed up. The knowledge lent her strength. ‘I’ll hold you to it.’

  Although she knew that when it came to the reasons why she’d prefer not to have to spend the next six months on Lord Howe Island, her mother was only the tip of the iceberg.

  7

  Dr Bennett had finished his phone call and was busy with the paperwork by the time Jules had put her clothes to rights and was sitting opposite him at his desk again. It was strange to be here without Della on her lap getting antibiotics for an ear infection or a bad cough checked out. It was strange to be here for herself.

  The doctor’s fountain pen scratched on a radiology request pad, the appointment already made.

  ‘So you think it could be …’

  He stopped writing and looked up, forty years of patients’ stories etched deep on his face, a lifetime of understanding in his eyes. ‘I think it’s something you want to have checked out. I’m sending you to see a radiologist to have a scan and I’m giving you a referral to a surgeon in case they decide you need a biopsy.’

  She swallowed. ‘And then?’

  ‘And then we get the results and we take it from there. One step at a time. But whatever happens, Jules, you’ve done the right thing. You’ve come in early, and that’s the best thing you could do.’

  She nodded, her addled brain trying to absorb his words, trying to take comfort from his calm and measured delivery, when all she could hear in her head were the what ifs he wasn’t addressing. What if the scan showed something disturbing? What if the biopsy came back positive? What if the worst happened and—

  ‘Try not to get ahead of yourself,’ Dr Bennett said, as if he could read her mind. But of course he probably could. He’d done this before, said the very same thing any number of times when he sent someone for tests. He knew his patients must feel like an animal caught in the headlights, unable to move for indecision. ‘Have you got someone who can take care of Della while you’re in Sydney?’

  ‘Yeah. Mum.’

  Dr Bennett didn’t say anything, just looked down again, signing the forms with a flourish.

  ‘She’ll be fine, doctor.’

  He looked up. ‘I’m sure she will be,’ he said and Jules felt herself relax. God, she was jumpy. Even the harmless stack of papers he passed her felt like an unexploded bomb in her hands.

  ‘Any other questions?’

  She forced a smile. ‘All good,’ she said, as if he’d told her it was nothing that a salt-water gargle wouldn’t fix. She knew he wouldn’t be convinced. He would have heard that a thousand times before too, and besides, the quake in her voice didn’t lend her any credibility.

  ‘You’ll be well taken care of, don’t worry,’ he said as he stood up to open the door.

  ‘I know. Thanks, doctor.’

  Her head was spinning so hard she didn’t register who was waiting outside until the nurse said, ‘Floss, you and Mikey are next.’

  Jules blinked, her vision clearing to see her former friend clutching the whimpering boy to her chest. And then she knew she was really off her game. In an island the size of a postage stamp, the art of avoiding someone you didn’t want to run into gave you skills akin to those of a chess master, and yet here they both were.

  Checkmate.

  ‘Floss,’ Jules said awkwardly, because this time there was no chance of turning away unseen. But she couldn’t meet Floss’s eyes, so she looked at the child instead. ‘Mikey’s sick?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Poor kid.’

  ‘Yeah. You?’

  Jules shrugged. ‘Can’t complain. Good luck then.’ She nodded towards the child. She didn’t hear a thank you or goodbye as she left, but then, she really didn’t expect one.

  Outside the wind was rising, dark clouds building on the horizon, but the beauty of living on a subtropical island was that it never got too cold. Even in the depths of winter, the temperature barely dropped below fifteen degrees Celsius. But she neither saw nor felt the beauty today. Today she was compelled to zip her jacket all the way up, chilled from the inside out by words that swirled in her mind.

  Cancer.

  It couldn’t be cancer. She wasn’t old enough to have cancer. She had too much to do and Della was too young.

  God, why did she have to notice that bloody lump in the first place? If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have been at the surgery, and she certainly wouldn’t have run into Floss.

  She wished she hadn’t. Because seeing her made her realise how much she missed her old friend. She missed having someone who knew everything about her, going back to school days. She missed having a confidante, someone she could visit and have a coffee with and talk about anything and everything. She ached for the easy friendship they’d once shared. She missed the way Floss would stay so calm and measured and see the positive in everything and the good in anyone.

  Until the day she’d stopped seeing the good in Jules and had cut her off as cleanly as a surgeon amputates a gangrenous limb, leaving Jules to feel the loss every day since.

  Pru was busy making pastry when Jules let herself in to collect Della. ‘How’s the head?’ she asked, surprised to see her mum dressed in a navy blue tracksuit and looking so active; Pru Callahan had been shuffling around in her pyjamas and looking sorry for herself when Jules had dropped Della off.

  ‘Oh, no time for that,’ Pru said with a wave of her floured hand as she reached for her rolling pin. ‘I’ve got a half-dozen banana cream pies on order for Sullivan’s Buffet Night tonight.’

  ‘Yummy,’ said Della, playing with Duplo at the same kiddie table where Jules had played all those years ago.

  ‘Nice,’ said Jules. ‘Do we get one?’

  ‘Not this time. Not unless you want to pay me what they do.’ Pru looked up. ‘So how did you get on with the doctor? Everything all right?’

  Jules took a moment to answer. She hadn’t told her mother why she’d needed the appointment, because there hadn’t seemed any point in worrying her unnecessarily, but there was no way she could avoid telling her now. She looked at Della, back to playing happily in the corner, singing to the Duplo animals for which she’d constructed a zoo. ‘He’s sending me to Sydney for tests,’ she whispered, too softly for her daughter to hear.

  ‘What tests?’

  Jules glared at her mother, who immediately put her fingers over her mouth. Della was still singing, a gi
raffe in one hand, a polar bear in the other.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘I have to get something checked out. A lump.’

  Her mother’s eyes opened wide. She put one hand to her daughter’s wrist, and used the other to cover her own breast, the question plain in her eyes.

  Jules nodded. ‘Can you look after Della a couple of days later this week?’

  Pru looked at the girl, her eyes misting over. ‘Oh, Jules.’

  ‘Mum, it’ll be fine,’ she said with a certainty she didn’t feel, but she had to say it, if only because she knew her mother was running through the same scenarios that had flooded her own mind. And Jules really didn’t need her mother imagining the worst—she had enough imagination for the pair of them. ‘Really. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Della demanded, suddenly sitting to attention, animals paused mid-action.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Pru, and Jules rolled her eyes, knowing that saying the ‘nothing’ word only made a kid more suspicious.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ Jules said, crouching next to her daughter. She pushed a wayward curl behind Della’s ear. ‘You’re going to have a little holiday with Nana this week. Is that okay?’

  ‘Why?’ Della’s blue eyes darted suspiciously from her mother to her nana and back again. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Only off to Sydney for a couple of days.’

  ‘In the pwane?’

  ‘Yes, in the plane.’

  Della frowned, her bottom lip sticking out as her unfairness radar kicked in. Going on the plane was a special treat that didn’t happen anywhere near enough in her books. ‘Why can’t I come?’

  ‘Because I’m going to be very busy and I need you to look after Nana for me while I’m gone to stop her from getting too lonely. Do you think you can do that?’

  ‘Will Nana make banana cream pie for me?’

  ‘Of course Nana will,’ said Pru.

  Della looked from her mother to her nana and burst into a fit of giggles. She pointed at Pru. ‘Nana looks silly!’