Standing in full view of anybody who walked past, she realized that she didn’t care. Not anymore. Before she could talk herself out of it, she moved into him, wrapped her arms around his body. His head pressed against hers, and she heard him breathing deeply, sure that he was taking in the scent of her hair. “I only care about being with you,” she whispered.
Words like magic, an unexpected gift, and as she held on to him she felt his body soften against hers. For a moment it was as if he were melting into her, but then he pulled away. Despite her feelings, Elizabeth knew it was no good for them to be seen together like this. Not yet. From his actions she assumed that Tom knew it too.
“Okay, look. The sea is too rough to go now,” he said. “Tides are all wrong, you’ll end up bringing up your breakfast, and your father will have my guts. But Old Man Cressa says it’ll be a millpond later, according to the forecast for the next few days. Never usually wrong when it comes to launching the Stella to Wolf Rock. It’s due to sail on Monday.”
Dreams of their adventure came to her as she followed his gaze, roaming wild as sheep over the grassy lands that rose high above the sea. “So, you’ll take me then?”
“We’ll take the coastal path over Carn Olva.” It took all his effort to keep his smile hidden, she could see that. He was as excited as she was. “It’s no easy path, and you won’t make supper, so make sure you cover it with your father. I don’t want him knocking on my door tonight.”
“I’ll sort it all out. I’ll tell him I’m seeing Margaret. Shall we say at five p.m.?”
“No. Too late. Four p.m.” After a quick look around to check they were alone he kissed her on the cheek, and she wondered how long it would be before he kissed her differently when he had the chance. Because she wanted him to, but not under the slipway of the lifeboat station like she’d heard he had taken a few other girls. She already knew she wanted something more than that.
“I’ll see you later, then. Don’t be late.”
The distance between them grew as he made his way toward his cottage, and as she watched him walk away, she hurried a pencil from her satchel, sketching the lay of the land with Tom in the very center. It was imperative she capture that moment exactly as it was. She knew she would never want to forget it, although at the time she still had only a limited understanding as to why.
Now
Waking up in Tom’s house left Elizabeth confused and uncertain. As her eyes adjusted to the light she remembered where she was, and the ramifications of her rash decision to come to London became clear. That first morning, as she tiptoed down the stairs like a burglar, snooping around where she didn’t belong, she wondered what the hell she had done. Never in her life had she been so spontaneous before. The photographs still seemed to stare back at her, especially those of his wife with Alice, but as she made tea, the faces of his past didn’t seem quite so judgmental anymore.
Tom woke late, and they ate a quiet breakfast together that she prepared. Later, Elizabeth called Francine and asked her to feed Cookie and water her potted plants, and having those necessities taken care of helped her feel a little more relaxed. She and Tom talked about the old characters they remembered from Porthsennen, and he told her about his life as an architect. They danced around the subject of their separation, Elizabeth not mentioning it at all, and at the one time she thought Tom was going to raise it he seemed to think better of it too. Silence and space lingered between them, neither sure of the rules. So, to break the tension they shared happy stories, a version of the past in which their separation barely played a part. Most of the stories were Tom’s.
“I wish you’d tell me more about your life,” he said as the day drew to a close. “I feel like I’ve been rattling on all day.”
“Ah,” she said with a smile. “There’s not that much to tell. You know Porthsennen. Nothing much happens there.”
* * *
Alice didn’t come by that day as she’d said she would, although Tom spoke to her on the phone. Elizabeth heard him reassuring her, and it made her think of Kate. In the afternoon they took a slow walk through Hampstead Heath, watched a woman taking a swim in water that must have been freezing. Elizabeth thought about holding Tom’s hand, but somehow it felt inappropriate. Still, by the time they went to bed that night, Tom to his room and Elizabeth to hers, the effortlessness with which they once used to talk had eased back into their conversation, and when she heard him being sick in the middle of the night, she thought nothing of going to him.
“What would I do without you here?” he asked as she helped him back into bed.
“You seem to have done all right for the last fifty years,” she joked, trying to make light of it.
“I don’t know about that,” he said as he turned over to get comfortable, his face away from hers. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
* * *
The warm morning was uncharacteristic for early September, the hospital waiting room stifling. The nurse’s shoes clicked in time with the clock on the wall, her feet striking a confident note as she paced up the corridor. Unnatural light stung Tom’s eyes, so he let his lids rest shut. Elizabeth watched as the nurse drew her finger down the list of names, each one a patient, each one here for the same and yet altogether different reasons. The nurse gazed out into the waiting room, her smile neat but somehow not in the least bit friendly.
“Mr. Kerridge?” she called into the crowd of expectant faces. A man stood up with the assistance of a young woman at his side. Her hair was long, blond, and bothered at her eyes; her bangs had drooped in the heat. Elizabeth wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for the fact that the man with her had lost his hair, a side effect of treatment, she guessed as they disappeared through a door. For the tenth time in as many minutes she read the sign. oncology outpatients.
“How long have we been waiting now?” Tom asked as the doors swung closed. “I’ve seen two go in since we arrived.”
“I doubt that,” she said. “You’ve had your eyes shut since the moment you sat down.” Elizabeth drew her sleeve back from her wrist. “It’s only just eleven, and our appointment isn’t for another ten minutes.”
“My backside hurts.” Tom sighed. “I can’t sit here all day. I’m not young like I used to be.” Tom was thinner than he looked in even the most recent of photographs on his living room walls, and she’d noticed that he could barely keep his trousers up, even with a belt.
“Why don’t you go for a walk or something?”
“With this thing?” He held up the walking stick he had taken to using, gave it a strong tap against the floor. “I can’t be bothered.”
It was as if somebody had flicked a switch that sent him into old age. Add to that the vomiting and insomnia, and Elizabeth could understand his falling asleep in a waiting room. Her hand reached for his without a second thought; how quickly things had changed.
“What about Alice—where is she?” They had spent a lot of time talking about Alice and looking at his old photographs yesterday.
“She couldn’t get out of work, but she’ll meet us at home,” he said. “Anyway, what about your daughter? What did you say her name was?”
“Kate. After my mother.”
“What’s she like?”
Her breath shook as she thought of where to begin. “Well, she’s a live one, I’ll give you that. Married now, two little lads. They are beautiful boys, really, they are. She works as an engineer. Big builds, that sort of thing. Does quite well, I believe.”
“Very nice.”
“Loves to travel too. Trekked through South America, did that Picchu thing in Peru.”
“That what?”
“Or was it Paraguay? I can’t remember. I’ve got a picture of it at home. It’s quite famous.” Memories came to her of Kate’s youth, things she wanted to share, but where should she even begin? “You know what kids are like nowadays, they have all these ideas and go off and do it all. Nothing stops them.”
“Not like us.”
“No,” she said, hit by a wave of sadness. “Different generations. To them, anything is possible.”
“I bet you’re a fantastic mother.” Was she? She had put Kate first in many respects, there at every event, giving her everything she could. Tears at the graduation, then at her wedding, and when her two grandsons were born. Never once had she feared Kate would get into any trouble, or that she wouldn’t reach to her for help. That’s what had made Kate’s decision to exclude her even harder to bear. But she hadn’t given up on a reunion yet, and never would.
“Mr. Hale?” Neither of them had seen the nurse approach, but as soon as she heard the name Elizabeth was up on her feet, helping Tom to find his balance. It was a different nurse, and she was smiling, holding the door open. Older than the first, plump about the waist. “Sorry to have kept you, my love,” she said as she touched Tom on the arm. Elizabeth liked her straightaway. “I’m Lynn. Head through to that first room on the right. We’ll get you weighed and ready for Dr. Dawkins.”
Tom propped his stick up against the wall before stepping onto the scales to have his decreasing weight and blood pressure recorded. The effort of that alone seemed to take its toll. Another plastic chair squeaked with heat as he sat down into it, positioning his stick between his knees. Elizabeth took the chair alongside him. The plastic was hot, stuck to her legs.
“Well, you’ve lost a few kilos since your visit to the GP, Mr. Hale, at least according to our scale. Do you think you’ve lost more weight?” Lynn asked as she filled in a chart.
“What’s two kilos in old money?” he asked.
“No idea.” She laughed, and Tom rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for it, not surprising really, but Lynn took no notice. Perhaps she was used to it. Elizabeth imagined that a lot of cancer patients were like Tom, especially when they first learned of their diagnosis. It must be devastating to hear you had something growing inside you that had the capability to kill you. And as she looked at Tom then, his gray hair cropped close, his skin wrinkled and hands bony, she said a simple prayer: Please let them be wrong. Perhaps Lynn sensed her fear because right then she leaned down, touched Elizabeth on the arm.
“Dr. Dawkins will be with you in just a mo,” she said as she left, still smiling despite it all.
As she shut the door they sat for a while in silence, the only interruption the occasional sound of feet and cheerful voices in the nearby corridor. “She seemed nice,” Elizabeth said, short of something better to say.
“They all are,” Tom replied. “They have to be, don’t they?”
A moment later Dr. Dawkins came in, his head almost brushing the doorframe. Elizabeth tended to compare most doctors to her father, who by anybody’s standards would have been an anachronism should he have been there practicing today. But she recalled that he did instill a certain confidence that she would have appreciated right then. Dr. Dawkins was nothing like her father; too young, with not a wrinkle of experience in sight.
“Nice to meet you both.” Tom took his hand regardless and shook. Elizabeth did the same, noticing that he had slim hands, covered with soft skin.
“Nice to meet you too,” Elizabeth and Tom mumbled in near unison.
The chair creaked as Dr. Dawkins pulled Tom’s notes in front of him. The pages whispered their secrets as he leafed through. Elizabeth noticed Tom sitting up a little straighter. “I understand the GP has informed you about what we think is the problem.”
“Yes,” Tom muttered, his voice quiet. “She said I’ve got lung cancer,” he continued, wincing as he swallowed. “Probably.”
Dr. Dawkins left the notes and swiveled in his chair to face Tom. “Well, your X-ray and history are highly suggestive, yes. It would explain your symptoms of pain when you breathe in, and the blood you have been producing when you cough, but it’s not the only possibility. Tell me, when did that all start?”
“Couple of months ago. First time I noticed it I was on a walking holiday in the Lake District with a group I’m in.”
“And it persists, correct?”
Tom nodded.
“Well, for a start we need to get you booked in for some extra examinations such as a bronchoscopy and a CT scan. Get a closer look at the lungs.” Dr. Dawkins crossed, then uncrossed his legs. “But first off, tell me a little bit about how you’re feeling now. Are you still managing at home well enough?”
“My daughter’s been helping me, and Elizabeth too,” Tom said. “I’ve been struggling on the stairs a bit.”
“And are you keeping any food down?”
“Some of the time,” he admitted. “Less so in the last week.”
“That would explain the rapid weight loss.” Dr. Dawkins sat back in his chair, leaning against the desk. He turned to Elizabeth. “Any dizziness?”
She nodded to the stick. “He tells me that he wasn’t using this last week.” Dr. Dawkins jotted that down.
“Well, I’m keen to get things moving as quickly as we can. I don’t want us to waste any time. I have scheduled a bronchoscopy for two weeks from tomorrow, where we’ll put a little camera through the nose and down into the lungs, and we will try to get the CT scan done on the same day. You’ll be here with us overnight, and we should have you home by the following morning at the latest.”
“Okay,” said Tom. “And what then?”
“Well, we have a lot of options available to us, but it’s difficult for me to suggest the best way forward until I have the results. I don’t want to talk about things like surgery, or radiotherapy and chemotherapy, until after that. Let’s see what we’re dealing with for starters.”
Tom was quiet for a moment. “I’d lose my hair,” he said, turning to Elizabeth. Her friend Margaret had undergone chemotherapy last year. All she’d been able to talk about were her eyelashes, and at the time Elizabeth couldn’t understand why their absence became so important. His hand was clammy as she took it, and it didn’t feel strange or awkward, only intimate and right.
“With chemo some people do lose their hair,” Dr. Dawkins said. “But try not to worry about the unknowns just yet. First, let’s focus on getting all the diagnostic information together so we have the full picture. Is that all right?”
He nodded. “So, there’s still a chance I might not have cancer.”
The doctor licked his lips. Above them, a clock ticked on the wall. “Yes, but I think it would be very unlikely that we don’t confirm what the GP thought, Mr. Hale. Let’s focus on the test results first, eh? The nurses will get you all the information you need, and I will see you then. Unless you have any questions for me, there’s nothing more we need to cover today.”
Silence descended for a moment. Elizabeth’s eyes were beginning to hurt. All her effort was going into keeping them open so that the tears didn’t fall. “Tom?” she probed, pushing her own thoughts aside. “Anything you want to ask?” He shook his head. The doctor was still smiling in that reassuring fashion when Elizabeth turned back. “It’s a shock. We’re not sure what to ask.” One idea came to mind, but she didn’t want to ask that now. Not in front of Tom. “We will have a think and ask you when we come in for the tests.” Yesterday they had agreed that she would stay until tomorrow, get the early train back if everything was okay, but she knew already that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Then
James was in the waiting room talking to Francine, her father’s receptionist. She was a couple of years older than Elizabeth and possessed certain charms that local boys found attractive. His suit was fine, London tailoring, single breasted. Savile Row, he had told her once, as if that meant anything in Porthsennen. Francine always seemed impressed, even though Elizabeth doubted she had any more of an idea about what Savile Row meant. Francine wore dresses that showed the shape of her body, painted her lips and nails red, and coiffed her hair hanging down on her shoulder. The crown was full of volume, and it was set with so much hairspray that the whole thing barely moved. Elizabeth watched her sometimes: the way she walked, the way she crosse
d her feet. What Elizabeth wouldn’t do for some of that confidence, the guts to dress as Francine did. Dr. Davenport would never have allowed it, though, even if she could have found the courage.
The door gave off a soft clunk as Elizabeth closed it behind her and they both turned to stare at her. The sound of the ocean softened, then James removed his hat before pacing toward her.
“Where have you been?”
“I was at the coast,” she said, slipping her arms from her jacket. “What of it?”
Things had been awkward lately, and she was increasingly aware she couldn’t make eye contact with the man she was supposed to marry. Shrugging off her coat with his unsolicited help, she moved quickly toward the cabinet located to the side of reception and made herself busy with some filing.
“It’s a bit chilly for that, isn’t it?” James said, following. “What were you doing there?”
“Drawing,” she said, picking up a small pile of papers. Her father insisted that an understanding of running the practice would help in her wifely endeavors once James took the helm.
“Well, your father was looking for you. As was I. I’ve missed you.” How different his lips felt as he kissed her cheek. At twelve years her senior, he felt like an old man in comparison to Tom. He reached for the sketchbook. “Is this today’s?” he said, turning the pages. The book opened to the drawing of Tom standing on the beach. “So, who is this muse of yours?” he asked. “I haven’t got competition, have I?” His question was laced with derision, and in some way, she realized, despite his constant support for her love of painting, he was mocking her.
Or testing me? she wondered.
“Old Man Cressa,” she replied, taking the sketchbook and closing it firmly.
“Doesn’t much look like him,” Francine chipped in, snatching a glance just before Elizabeth could stop her. “Looks more like Tom Hale.”
Little Wishes Page 7
