“Oh yes, my darling Thomas, today and any chemo day after.” Annie swooned at her romantic proposal and reached her hand out in true royal style as if awaiting a kiss from her betrothed. He pressed his lips to her skin, then stood and lowered himself into a dramatic bow, revelling in the loud celebration whooping out in response to his Oscar performance.
For a moment I’d forgotten I had poison that was intent on killing me rushing through this body; for a moment I felt joy infiltrating the darkness. A fresh desire to beat this thing rose in me. Turns out I didn’t need a smoking-hot friend with a joint after all.
“Thank you,” I said when silence returned.
“What for, Hollywood?” Tracey asked.
“For making this whole thing feel okay. For making me look forward to coming here to see you all even though it’s scary as hell. For allowing me to turn up all dressed up and acting like a crazy person.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Sammie said. “Avery, do you have any idea how good you’ve made me feel? Cancer has stolen the last six months of my life. My friends don’t know how to talk to me anymore. My parents treat me like I’m a china doll and will break at the slightest touch. My boyfriend couldn’t handle me being sick and buggered off – which, of course, I understand. I lost my job, my energy and my will. I came in here with women twice my age – no offence.” She glanced at Annie and Tracey.
“None taken,” they replied in unison.
I brushed tears from my cheeks.
“I’m eighteen years old, for God’s sake, in the prime of my life. This is the time when I should be looking in the mirror and loving what I see instead of refusing to look at my reflection. I should be out with my friends, going to concerts and clubs. But I lost myself in the cancer. I didn’t even talk to anyone before you came. I just put my headphones on and looked out the window trying not to cry the whole time.”
“It’s true,” Annie offered. “We didn’t know how to reach her.”
The tightening in my chest was making it harder and harder to breathe.
“There was nothing you could have said, Annie. But then you, Miss Fancy Pants, came in with your beautiful clothes and those crazy sexy shoes and your face made up to the nines, and you made me laugh. And then you did that stupid catwalk and I felt something for the first time in months. I felt alive. You made me want to shake my bald head in the wind and say, ‘to hell with it’. So, thank you, Avery Bishop. Thank you!”
“Amen to that,” a few voices rang out from around the room. I sat there in stunned silence, tears streaming from my eyes. You did good Avery. You did good.
“That means more than you could ever know, Sammie.”
Thomas made his way around the room, checking lines, bags and data, and surprising everyone with his hidden talents with beauty products.
“Have any of you ever invited someone to come in here with you?” I asked.
Patricia, the lady seated next to Tracey, answered. “My husband came in for the first round, but it was more important for him to work with us being down to one income.”
“Tracey’s got a smoking-hot toy boy who visits sometimes,” Sammie announced.
“Oh, you noticed, did you?” Tracey said in jest.
“Hard not to.”
“A smoking-hot toy boy, Tracey? You've been holding out on us,” I added.
“He’s no such thing. He’s my best friend’s son. He works in the hospital and likes to check up on me once in a while.”
“Is he single?” Sammie leant in. She wasn’t the only one invested in the answer. I smiled, enjoying the camaraderie.
“As a matter of fact, ladies, the last time we spoke, he’d met someone and was rather smitten.”
“Well, that just killed the fantasy,” Sammie huffed, reclining back in her chair.
“What about you, Avery? Have you got anyone coming in?” Patricia asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I haven’t told anyone.”
Thomas lowered my newly polished nails to my thigh and raised his eyes to mine. “Avery, you can’t do this on your own.”
My stomach dropped when I saw his pained expression. “I’m not alone; I have you guys.”
“We’re not enough, Avery,” Annie said. “We’re not with you in the middle of night when the grief is overwhelming, or when you’re so sick you can’t get off the toilet floor. Or when you’re so lonely and broken you wish you could just fall asleep and never wake up.”
Tracey reached over to clasp Annie’s hand when her voice faltered. “She’s right. It’s wonderful that we can banter and support each other in here, but there’s a life outside those doors, and it’s not all stilettos and lippy. When it gets ugly, and it will, you’ll need people who are willing to turn up and get messy.”
I felt as though I’d been run over by a bus.
“Have you seriously not told anyone, Avery?” Sammie asked.
“I told my brother last night, but he lives in Kenya … so there’s not much he can do.”
“Is he coming home?” Tom asked, finishing off my left hand.
“He’s trying to work it out. This hasn’t been home for him for seven years, so it's complicated, and he won’t be able to stay. He runs a surgical clinic with his wife – they need him.”
“You need him,” Tracey said gently.
“I know.”
“What about your parents, friends, workmates, or a man?” Patricia asked.
I shook my head. “A part of me wants people to know, but then I don’t want to let cancer ruin everything. Like Sammie said before – people treat you differently when they know.”
“I did say that, and I hate it,” Sammie said. “But I couldn’t do this without them. It’s too hard … too lonely.”
“But how do I tell them I have cancer? How do I tell them I could die, and then expect them to let me keep living the life that I love?”
“You just say the words and hope they’ll support you,” someone answered. I’m not sure who – I was too focused on the words I would say next.
“But would they? I don’t have a job where I can take my eye off the ball. For some of my clients, it’s literally life and death. I can handle the nausea, the vomiting, the unknown, but could they? I couldn’t handle losing my job because they didn’t think I was capable. Or having them treat me with kid gloves.” I didn’t notice when the tears started, but they were coming hard and fast now. “I don’t want to lose this life I love earlier than I have to.”
“We get it,” Annie said. “It’s one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do, but you do have to.”
My whole body sighed. She was right.
“Maybe you’ll find yourself a smoking-hot toy boy like Tracey. Your own Prince Charming to distract you from all this.” Sammie jiggled her brows. A perfect segue.
Prince Harry.
“I did meet someone a few weeks ago. And let me tell you, he was a prince of a man, but—”
“No buts,” Sammie interjected. “Just the good stuff – tell us.”
I laughed, then offered a few fun details to lighten the mood. It reminded me Harry wasn’t just an object of my imagination; he was a real man, out there somewhere. Maybe another impromptu stroll through the park was in order.
13
Seven days passed before I’d built up the courage to tell Sally. She’d hoped the schedule changes, nausea and frequent trips to the bathroom meant I was growing a human. If only. The news, that could only be described as the opposite of what she’d hoped for, wound its batting arm and slammed into her heart. There were tears.
She wrapped me in her arms and promised to be my person, my confidante, my secret-keeper, and best of all, the hope-wielding princess warrior at my side. Yes, she used those exact words.
Then she wiped her tears, strode over to pick up the phone on my desk, and made an appointment with my personal psychologist. If she hadn’t been right, and if it hadn’t been an important part of my p
rofessional responsibility, I may have stopped her, but it was all of those things, and it was high time I stopped hiding.
“This is a nice surprise,” I announced, as Stuart and Jasmine wandered into my office hand in hand. I lowered myself to my seat and watched them.
Stuart laid his hand palm up on Jasmine’s leg as soon as they sat. Her face was alive with contentment as she laced her fingers in his.
Wow! “It looks as though you’ve been doing your homework.”
Their expressions needed no translation. “You’ve had sex.” Maybe I should have framed it as a question, or perhaps kept the observation to myself, but since intimacy had been a major hurdle in their relationship, this was something worth celebrating.
I caught the gleam in Jasmine’s eye before Stuart’s cheeks flamed.
“We couldn’t help it,” she admitted.
“Well, that’s fantastic. I was a bit concerned when you cancelled last week, but I can see a significant change in you both. What are you doing differently?”
“We’re taking one day at a time, trying not to put too much pressure on ourselves.”
I nodded. “What does that look like, day to day?”
“Stuart's been coming home sober.” Jasmine laid her palm on her husband’s chest.
Stuart’s brows bounced. Subtle pride – the good kind.
“And since he hasn’t been dealing with nasty hangovers, he’s been more patient with the kids.”
I nodded. “Nice work, Stuart. What about you Jasmine? Have you been doing anything different?”
She glanced at Stuart. “I’ve been trying not to be such a judgmental cow.”
That’s the way Jaz, just like that. “Has she succeeded, Stuart?”
“Just like everything, there’s still room for improvement.” He captured Jasmine’s hand in his when she slapped his chest playfully.
“Hey … honest much?”
“That’s what we’re here for isn’t it?”
Jaz shook her head with feigned offence, which egged him on. “And she’s not beating me as much either.”
He had such a straight face that I had to bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
“If you keep that up, I might just start.”
Stuart slid his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her against his side.
“I feel like I’m getting a glimpse of the real Stuart and Jasmine. I like it.”
“Me too,” Jasmine agreed, dropping her cheek to Stuart’s shoulder. “I guess stress just got the better of us.”
I nodded. “So, where to from here? Do you feel able to continue on your own, or would you like to keep working together?” I asked. Two good weeks does not a healthy marriage make.
“We’ve talked about it and we’d like to keep going with the sessions. We don’t want to lose what we’ve gained or fall back into old habits when life gets a bit hard.” Jasmine said.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” I admitted. “Now that you seem to have the touching homework under control,” I teased, “have you heard of The Five Love Languages?”
They shook their heads.
I picked up the two copies I’d placed on my desk and handed them out.
“What's this about?” Stuart asked, looking sceptical.
“Essentially, we humans are complex creatures – no two are the same. That applies to our marriages and relationships with others too. We all receive and give love in different ways.”
Jasmine nodded her agreement, and Stuart stared at me with a blank expression.
“Stuart, have you ever come home with a bunch of flowers or a gift for Jasmine and later on she complains that you never tell her you love her?”
“All the time.”
Jasmine grimaced.
“How does it make you feel?”
“Rejected, useless, under-appreciated.” Ouch.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that, Stuart. Well, in truth, maybe I did sometimes. I’m sorry.”
Stuart reached down and laced his fingers in hers. “So, what’s that got to do with this book?”
“What are you trying to tell Jasmine when you buy her gifts?”
“That I love her, that I’m sorry for not being what she needs, that I appreciate everything she does for me and the kids.”
Jasmine brushed the tears from her cheeks and turned towards her husband. “I’m so sorry, Stuart. I didn’t know that. I thought it was because you felt guilty. I assumed you were trying to buy me off, and it made me angry.”
“I get that – I just didn’t know how to fix it.”
“Neither did I,” she whispered.
I waited until they turned back towards me.
“Jasmine, what could Stuart do to make you feel loved?”
Stuart watched his wife, hungry for the answer. It was a good sign and proof they needed to read the books they held on their laps.
“I don’t know … maybe help me around the house once in a while, help with the kids a bit more, maybe give me some time out.”
I nodded.
“Really? How does doing housework tell you that I love you?” Great question.
“I don’t know – it just does.” Jasmine paused to think and then tried again. “I guess it's the time and the effort it takes to do it, and also the fact that you’re doing something for me so I don’t have to. It relieves the pressure.”
“I’ll save a lot of money if that’s all it takes,” he joked.
“Hey, you cheapo,” Jasmine said, slapping him on the chest again.
“There she goes again with the beating …” The next words he said I couldn’t have scripted better. “… but it works – I like your hands on me.”
Jasmine leant into her husband’s embrace. “And more of that too.”
“Of what exactly?”
“I need to feel desired. I need you to tell me and show me that you still find me attractive.”
“That one’s easy.”
She slapped her hand on his to halt its advance. “Oi, not here!”
I couldn’t help laughing, amazed at their transformation.
“So, back to the book,” Jasmine said, trying to refocus her husband.
“There are five main love languages,” I summarised. “We’ve already spoken about three of them: ‘giving and receiving gifts’, ‘acts of service’ and ‘physical touch’. The other two are ‘words of affirmation’ and ‘quality time’. As I said earlier, we all give and receive love in different ways. One problem we face in relationships is we give out of our own love language instead of into our partner’s; because that’s what works for us, we assume it’ll work for them, and when it doesn’t, it’s confusing.”
“So, our homework is to read these books?” Stuart asked.
“Yes. I want you to read them independently, then work out what your love languages are and what you think each other's are, then come together and compare.”
“I can see how this could be helpful,” Jasmine said.
Stuart nodded, tapping the book on his thigh.
“Would you like to meet again in two weeks, or leave it longer?”
“Two weeks sounds good.” Stuart stood to shake my hand. “Thanks, Dr Bishop. This is really helpful.”
“It’s been my pleasure. You two have made my day.”
I saw Georgia and Ralph just before lunch. Unfortunately, there was no change. Her husband Michael, hadn’t wanted to come in and talk to the quack. ‘What the hell difference would that make?’ were his exact words.
’Cause that kind of attitude is helping your family, jerkwad. I kept those thoughts to myself. The last thing Georgia needed was another reason to resent her husband.
14
A profound sadness entered my office on Friday in the form of a girl. The echoes of her laughter were no longer evident in her eyes. There were new scars sheathed in black, silent tears and few words, but despite the weight of her hurt, Abi kept promising to turn up, and that alone relieved my heavy heart. That alone
was enough.
After her appointment, my spirit craved nourishment and release. I swung by the café at the bottom of our building, found the perfect spot next to the lake, flicked off my heels, lowered myself to the ground and raised my face to the sun.
I filled my lungs with the crisp spring air. With every breath, there was an intentional exhaling of the weight of other people’s lives, of the burdens of their pain and brokenness, of worry, of anger, of fear. It drained through my fingertips into the soil and collected on the wind.
This was my ritual. My coming back to the savannah.
My body snapped to attention when the wind gifted me the alluring and familiar scent of masculinity. Sweat, cologne, interest.
“You’re blocking my sun, Prince.”
His arm brushed mine as he sat, too close for my weakened resolve. I kept my eyes closed as a matter of dignity.
“How did you know it was me, Sandy?”
“I could smell you a mile off.”
“Should I take that as a compliment” – he inhaled his own scent with gusto – “that you already know my scent?”
“No.” A smile exposed my lie.
He pressed his shoulder to mine. I couldn’t help leaning into it. He was sitting so close I could almost taste him.
Taste. I sighed. Careful.
“What was that?” he asked, a knowing in his voice.
My eyes sprung open. “Did I say something?”
His rich laugh brought me to the brink of my own self-control. My stoic determination not to ruin this beautiful man was the only thing holding me back from taking a running leap into the abyss.
“Unfortunately, no. But it looked like something I might want to be a part of.”
“You have no idea,” I whispered into my coffee cup as I raised it to my lips.
“Oh, I think I might.”
His breath warmed my cheek. I held my breath in an attempt to avoid turning towards him and allowing it to fill me from the inside out.
Damn.
“You okay? You look … tense.” He smiled, moving back an inch to allow me a chance to breathe.
I turned to face him, challenging him to test me. I could do this all day – I am a lioness.
Then She Roars Page 5
