One Summer Between Friends

by Trish Morey

  ‘How’s the hip going?’ Sarah asked, already exhausted. ‘Is it getting easier walking around?’

  ‘Well, it might be,’ Dot said, ‘if I didn’t have to deal with that thing.’ She threw a snarky glance at the walking frame standing near the bed.

  ‘Isn’t it helping?’

  ‘I don’t want a walking frame. I just want to be able to walk. Why is that so hard for the doctors to understand?’

  Sam squeezed his wife’s shoulder. ‘I’ll be right back to help you with your exercises, Dot, I’ll just help Sarah to the studio with her luggage. Okay?’

  ‘See you soon,’ Sarah said, and waved.

  They’d barely gone five steps through the kitchen before her father said, ‘And no, you are not getting on the next plane.’

  ‘Ha. How did you know?’

  ‘I live with her, don’t I? There’s not a day goes by at the moment I don’t think about getting on that plane myself.’

  ‘Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’ll get better. She’ll get better. And then I’ll only be thinking about getting on that plane every other day.’ He smiled as he said it, before they both laughed.

  ‘You deserve a medal.’

  ‘That I do,’ he said, leading her into the studio where she’d be spending the next six months. He snapped on the lights. ‘Now, your mum wanted to give you your old room, but since it’s right next to ours, I figured you might want a degree of separation. This room is a bit chillier than the main house, but it’s got its own loo and external access. Might be handy.’

  ‘In case I have a secret love tryst?’

  Her father’s face didn’t even twitch. ‘In case you’re trying to avoid your mother. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this.’

  She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Dad, I think I already do.’

  Sam showed her the old bike he’d cleaned up for her to use and left propped up outside, and then returned to look after his wife’s needs.

  Sarah wandered around the room, added for shop workers when the house was full of her and Danny. A simple add-on with plain walls and louvred windows but with the bonus of a bathroom and easy access. Plus a bike so she had wheels. What more could she ask? Her dad was indeed a gem.

  Sarah sat on the double bed, the mattress a little smaller and less grand than what she was used to, and gave a long sigh of relief. She’d survived the airport and the drive here without any disasters. She could survive whatever else was coming. She had to.

  11

  If there was one thing Floss had learnt it was that, whatever happened, life went on. Just … sometimes not in the way you wanted.

  Feeling a sense of gloom about the unfairness of the world, Floss steered the van out of her parents’ driveway, watching her dad in the rear-vision mirror as he gave one final wave from the top step before heading back inside their cottage.

  Life went on. Even when it wasn’t easy.

  It hadn’t been easy when she’d discovered she was pregnant with Mikey. Four kids, they’d agreed on, albeit reluctantly on Andy’s part—more of a going along with Floss to keep the peace, rather than an enthusiastic endorsement, she knew. When they’d got married, neither of them really had any concept of what a large family meant, but four kids later, they sure as hell did. So when Mikey happened along, things between Floss and Andy got tense for a while. But what was one more, Floss reasoned, when you already had four? And how could you not have this child, when your other children had magically expanded your heart so you could fit them all in? So they’d made it work, even when she knew it could have been easier.

  Life went on.

  Even when you couldn’t change things, no matter how much you wished you could. How much did she wish she could change things for her folks? Her dad hadn’t complained when he’d called to say he couldn’t get to Beached today because her mum’s MS had flared up overnight and she was in too much pain for him to leave her. He’d actually apologised that he couldn’t come in, and apologised again when Floss had dropped by with a corned beef dinner for them both, because he didn’t have time to cook.

  Life went on.

  And even if her mother’s illness didn’t make her feel any better about her own problems, it sure put them into perspective.

  Floss had been operating on autopilot since the birthday-night fiasco, doing what she had to do, looking after Beached, her guests, her kids, and even Andy when he was home to be fed and watered (because he certainly didn’t ask for anything more). But she was numb inside, and her relationship with her husband had to change or she’d go on being numb forever. Or worse, the numbness would thaw to a bitterness that would taint their marriage irreparably. If it hadn’t already.

  For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health … The words of the wedding vows—the words her father was living by yet had apologised for—weighed heavily on Floss as she drove slowly down the road, watching out for cyclists and pedestrians in the half-light. A new, even gloomier thought wormed its way into her mind: maybe that was the difference between her parents’ situation and her own; her mother and father still loved each other, while her union with Andy seemed like it was teetering on the edge of something cataclysmic. Something terminal.

  She rounded a bend, or tried to, but the van didn’t want to go with her. It was suddenly unresponsive. Floss pulled over as best she could.

  One look at the tyre had her cursing Andy and his insistence that the tyres still had a good couple of thousand kilometres in them and didn’t need replacing just yet. Of course he was out on the supply vessel right now. And she could hardly ask her dad for help.

  ‘Shit,’ she said, and kicked the tyre for good measure. Her toe connected with the rim and pain shot up her leg. ‘Ow!’ She hopped to the back of the van. She was a dab hand at looking after most things mechanical—when she had to be. She had this. But when a car pulled up as she was lifting out the jack and someone offered to help, she wasn’t about to say no.

  It was the new copper she realised when she looked up, the teeth in his wide smile all the whiter against his dark skin. ‘I take it you’re a local?’ he said as he climbed out of the cab. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting everyone. I’m Senior Sergeant Noah Lomu.’

  ‘Floss Miller,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘I run Beached.’ She pointed over her shoulder. ‘Just up the road, with my dad.’

  The policeman nodded as he crouched and ran his hand over the flattened tyre. ‘Well, this is well and truly flat.’ He stood and wiped his hands. ‘Come to think of it, I reckon I might have met your daughter the other day. Angela, or maybe Annie? Met her with a friend.’

  ‘Annie’s our eldest,’ Floss said, pulling out the rest of the tool kit. ‘And if she was with anyone, she was probably with Trent. They’re a bit of an item.’

  ‘That’s the name,’ Noah agreed, as he unhitched the spare and got to work. ‘They seem like nice kids.’

  ‘They are.’ Floss looked at him suspiciously. ‘You’re not going to tell me you caught them doing something they shouldn’t have been doing?’

  He laughed. ‘You would have heard from me before now if that were the case.’

  Floss liked the man instantly. ‘That’s a relief. With kids you never know what’s coming next.’

  ‘I’ll take your word on that,’ he said. ‘I haven’t got any.’

  ‘I can’t imagine what that’s like. We’ve—that’s Andy and me—got five.’

  ‘Five kids?’ He blew out through pursed lips. ‘I’m not sure I want to imagine that.’

  Floss laughed, and together they changed the tyre, or more correctly, Noah changed it while Floss watched. It was no hardship: the man was all muscle under that uniform.

  She turned away, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts. What the hell was she thinking, ogling another man?

  As Floss got back behind the wheel, and she waved the policeman goodbye, she found herself wondering what it said about her precario
us marriage that she was.

  12

  ‘I hate you, you bitch,’ said Molly, grinning as she sat down next to Jules in the waiting room, her knitting bag tucked under her arm. ‘I haven’t had bed spins since my first B&S ball.’

  ‘Hey,’ Jules said, happy to see her new friend. They’d arranged to be at the clinic to support each other, but after the amount of alcohol they’d consumed, she wasn’t sure Molly would remember. ‘You were the one who insisted on that third round of margaritas.’

  ‘I was drunk, you fool. Why would you take any notice of me?’ Molly leaned her head against the wall, eyes closed. ‘I made it to Taronga Zoo, for your information, but only after I’d thrown up over the side of the ferry. Not my proudest moment. Then I was in bed by four.’

  Jules chuckled. No wonder she hadn’t seen Molly around the lodge last night.

  ‘But at least it took my mind off all this crap. I haven’t had so much fun in forever.’ Molly looked sideways at Jules as she reached into her bag to retrieve her knitting. She pulled a ball of wool off the end of her knitting needles and started knitting, her needles click-clacking. ‘How are you feeling today? Nervous?’

  ‘A bit, yeah.’ She’d turned up twenty-five minutes early for her appointment, just wanting it to be over. She was done with Sydney. She was done with shopping and thinking about old friends. She wanted out and she wanted out fast. Already she couldn’t wait to hug Della and her mum, and show them all the surprises she’d bought. Today, this afternoon, if all went well. There was one seat left on today’s flight to Lord Howe and she wanted so much to be on it. She had her suitcase already packed and waiting at reception. Timewise it would be tight to make it to the airport, but all she needed was the green light. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Same. I wish they could just text us when they get them. They’re our results, aren’t they? It’s not like we’re kids.’

  ‘Probably worried we might not take it well. Jump off a bridge or something. You know, while there’s one close handy and all.’

  Molly’s needles stopped clicking. She turned to Jules, aghast. ‘You’re kidding! They think we might be capable of that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Makes sense they’d want to reassure us, you know, in case—’

  Jules’s name was called and apprehension scorched a trail along her nerves. ‘Oh god, that’s me.’

  ‘All the best,’ said Molly, putting her knitting onto the seat next to her. ‘I’ll wait for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Only if it doesn’t hold you up getting to the airport if you get the all-clear. When you get the all-clear, I mean.’

  Jules smiled. ‘I knew what you meant. But in that case, if I don’t see you, all the best.’

  The two new friends hugged, bonded over the same nagging uncertainties, if not their similarly appalling inability to hold a tune, and then Jules went to get her results. All she needed was the all-clear.

  She didn’t get it.

  ‘But you said the lump is benign?’ Jules said, winding back the words, trying to make sense of why that good news wasn’t the end of it. The lump was what she was here for.

  ‘Yes,’ said the doctor, a slim, kindly faced woman in her sixties. ‘That’s the good news. But the tests also showed an area of concern …’ She turned her computer screen towards Jules. ‘It’s actually in the other breast. Can you see those white dots? They’re tiny calcifications in the milk ducts, and they could be nothing. We’d like you to stay for a biopsy, so we can take a closer look. Like I said, it could be nothing, but until we can take a look inside …’

  ‘Stay? But I’m going home today. There’s one seat left on today’s flight …’

  ‘We appreciate you want to get home, but we’d prefer that you didn’t leave just yet. The procedure won’t take long and we’ll have your results back as quickly as we can.’

  Jules shook her head. She’d thought she’d considered everything. She’d joined dots and thought about percentages, but this new kind of dots had never figured as an option. ‘I didn’t sign up for this,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask you to look at the other breast. I just wanted you to look at this lump and this lump is fine. All good. So why should I stay?’

  ‘Jules, I understand this is a disappointment. Try to see it also as an opportunity. There is no lump to feel with calcifications like these, so you’re way ahead of the game. If there’s nothing suspicious happening within the calcifications, you’ll be on the next plane home.’

  ‘And if there is?’

  ‘And if there is, then you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you caught whatever it is early.’ The doctor smiled sympathetically. ‘We can’t make you stay, but you’ve come this far. Do you really want to go home without knowing?’

  ‘No, but …’ As much as she needed to be at home, the doctor was right, because there was no way she’d be able to relax knowing they’d found something else lurking in her breast. When it all came down to it, she just didn’t want this to be happening, period.

  The doctor patted the back of Jules’s hand. ‘Do you want me to call your family and talk to them about it?’

  Jules took a deep breath, the leaden press of disappointment in her gut no match for the cold hard knowledge that she didn’t have a choice at all.

  ‘No,’ she said, already resigned to the fact that today’s plane would be taking off without her. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Jules wished Molly better luck as she was called in for her consultation. ‘I’ll be here when you come out,’ she assured the other woman. And why wouldn’t she? Her biopsy—a core biopsy this time, just for something completely different—wasn’t scheduled until later this morning and the only other thing she had to do was unpack her bag again.

  She went outside, sat on a garden wall, and waited while the phone rang on an island two hours off the coast. ‘It’s me, Mum,’ Jules said, dropping her head into her free hand when Pru picked up and talking over her before she could ask. ‘Look, it turns out I’m not coming home today.’

  She heard her mother’s intake of air, could all but see her hand fluttering to her chest. ‘The lump?’

  ‘Is benign. But they’ve found something else they want to check out.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘They called them calcifications. They could be nothing, they say, or they could be something. They’re doing another biopsy today.’

  ‘Oh, Jules. And you there all by yourself.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ she lied, swallowing hard as she turned her head towards the sky. ‘How’s it going? How’s Della?’

  ‘She’s good. But she was so looking forward to you coming home today.’

  Jules bit her lip to stop herself from shedding the tears that were right there, pricking at her eyes. ‘Can you put her on?’

  ‘Is that wise?’ her mother asked. ‘She’ll be upset.’

  Jules rapidly blinked. Della wouldn’t be the only one. ‘Look, Mum, she’s going to find out sooner or later that I’m not coming home. I’d like to be the one to tell her.’

  Pru huffed agreement down the line, and a few seconds later Jules heard her daughter’s voice.

  ‘Mummy! Nana and me are going to meet you at the pwane!’

  Jules’s heart squeezed tight as she tried to find words her daughter would understand to explain that she wasn’t coming home today but she’d have lots of presents for her when she did. Of course, no amount of future presents was going to make up for immediate disappointment, so the conversation ended in tears, on both sides of the ocean. Somehow her mother managed to prise the phone away from her wailing granddaughter to say goodbye.

  Jules could tell Pru was annoyed with her. ‘Are you okay, Mum?’

  ‘Nothing a stiff drink wouldn’t fix,’ Pru snapped.

  ‘Mum!’ Jules growled.

  ‘Forget it, I was kidding. Now you go and get yourself fixed up and be home as soon as you can. We’re fine here.’

  Jules dredged up a smile of
relief from the bottom of a tank that was running on empty. ‘Thanks. I will.’

  She’d been back in the waiting room ten minutes when Molly emerged with red-rimmed eyes. ‘It’s a cyst,’ Molly said, when Jules had found them both a settee to share away from other ears. ‘But it’s a complex one and so they recommended surgery.’

  Jules squeezed her new friend’s hand. ‘God, I never knew such things existed.’

  ‘Same here. We’re all getting an education this week, whether we want it or not.’ Molly dragged in a breath and swiped a hand at the tracks of her tears. Tears of relief, Jules now knew. ‘But that should be the end of it hopefully, so I said yes. They’ve put me on a surgical list for Tuesday and I should be okay to go home the day after.’

  Jules nodded as her phone buzzed. The summons to her second biopsy. Her stomach flipped. They sure weren’t wasting any time. ‘Here I go again.’

  ‘Back on that bloody roundabout,’ said Molly as the pair quickly hugged. ‘Here’s hoping it flings you off somewhere you want to be this time.’

  How many different ways could you stick a needle in a breast to pull something out? Jules pondered this question as she lay perfectly still on her side with one breast stuck between the plates of another machine while a needle pumped up and down through the hole the doctor’s scalpel had made in her (thankfully numbed) breast. It was akin to being stitched up by her grandmother’s old treadle sewing machine.

  ‘Just a little while longer,’ the nurse sitting at her head and squeezing Jules’s shoulder said when the needle stopped thrusting. ‘We’re almost done, but we just have to make sure we’ve got enough of the calcifications for pathology.’

  ‘We’re good,’ someone called beyond the range of Jules’s vision.

  ‘You can release the prisoner?’ Jules asked hopefully.

  ‘As soon as we place a tiny marker at the spot. Just in case anyone needs to find it again. Once that goes in, you’ll be free to go.’