by Susan Lewis
Then came the shock of discovering that many of their friends and neighbours seemed to think there was no smoke without fire. Other rumours started that had no basis in fact, but that didn’t seem to matter. He could hardly believe that people he’d known for years, who’d socialised with him and Jenny, whose children had played with his, were prepared to doubt him.
So he’d turned his back on teaching altogether and on the town he, Jenny and the children had lived in all their lives, and moved them all south to Kesterly. Graeme had offered him a job on interviewing him, and in spite of knowing his story Graeme’s family had taken him and his family to their hearts.
‘Is that you, Dad?’ Matt asked, pushing open the door to Jess’s room.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ Blake replied, knowing, feeling, Matt’s moment of blind hope that Jess had come back.
Clocking his father’s distress Matt hung his head and Blake went to embrace him. They stood together, silently, painfully, asking themselves the same questions over and over – was she still alive? What more could they do? Who was holding her, if she was being held? Where was her body if someone had killed her?
‘Any news from Andee Lawrence?’ Matt asked as they started down the stairs together.
‘When I spoke to her earlier,’ Blake replied, ‘she was still waiting for some information she’s asked for from the Met.’
‘Have you told her you thought you saw Tyler Bennett?’
‘Yes, I have.’ Blake was checking a text on his mobile. It was from Graeme about a card-table delivery they were expecting tomorrow.
‘I don’t get it, if it is Tyler Bennett,’ Matt said, going into the kitchen. ‘It’s not his MO to stalk. He intimidates, bullies, beats people up, threatens them with knives, he doesn’t lurk about like a closet psycho on turf he doesn’t know, because there’s nothing closet about that tosser, apart from his gayness.’
Whether Bennett really was a closet gay, Blake had no idea, nor did he care. All he knew was that, like Matt, he was having a hard time working out why Bennett might have gone to the bother of tracking him to Kesterly.
It wasn’t that Rowzee had been expecting anything different. Ever since she’d first gone to the doctor, several months ago, she’d had a feeling the outcome wasn’t going to be good. Because of how often the headaches were recurring, especially in the mornings, and the odd little blackouts – absence attacks she now knew they were called – she’d been sent off to see a specialist at the Kesterly Infirmary. In turn he’d recommended she see a colleague of his at St Mary’s in London. So, off she’d popped for a biopsy, telling her family she was meeting some old friends to catch a couple of shows and do a spot of shopping. She hadn’t enjoyed the procedure much, but who would enjoy having a drill buzzing through their skull?
Anyway, there had been so many comings and goings over it all that she’d lost track now of how many tests, inconclusive results and call-backs she’d been through. Throughout it all a horrible sixth sense had kept on warning her that the outcome wasn’t going to be good, so as though to wrong-foot it, or to show it who was in charge, she’d started looking into a one-way trip to a Swiss clinic.
That was all very well when the threat was still fiction; now the worst had been confirmed she was in a state of total shock, fear and disbelief.
‘I’m really sorry, Mrs C,’ her doctor Jilly had said yesterday evening, ‘but this tumour in your brain is a secondary cancer.’
‘Secondary?’ Rowzee had echoed, stunned. ‘So where’s the primary?’
‘We don’t know that yet, but it’s showing as a melanoma and obviously we’ll be trying to find the source. What’s important for now is that the tumour we know about is treated.’
Rowzee stiffened. ‘But it’s a secondary, so that means there’s no cure?’
Jilly didn’t deny it, but she did go on to say quite a lot of things Rowzee hadn’t fully taken in. Something about checking for moles to find the primary, further tests, different treatments . . .
Having no idea how she’d got through the night without alerting Pamela’s suspicions, or without going to pieces, Rowzee had started today by summoning every last acting skill she possessed to help her go forward. She still wasn’t sure what her plan was – Dignitas would obviously have to play a part at some point, though she hadn’t gone back to their website yet. In truth she could hardly even think about them without wanting to sob like a child and beg God to turn it all into a horrible dream she could wake up from.
For no particular reason she’d brought herself to the Seafront Café this afternoon, where she now sat drinking a cup of tea while gazing absently out at the glorious summer day. She was reflecting on what bad luck it was that her cancer had started out life as a melanoma when her sun-worshipping days were decades behind her. Was it possible it had flared into early action during those crazy times when she’d coated herself in olive oil to catch as many rays as the hot sun could provide? It was scary indeed to think that the slow burn might have been going on all these years without any bleeding or unsightly moles to give itself away. Of course, she could be wrong, it might have started much later, but even so, it had managed to secrete itself away somewhere around her body and they still didn’t know where it was – apart from in her brain, of course.
Apparently she was lucky not to have suffered more severe symptoms by now such as seizures (the absence attacks were a mild form of seizure), loss of balance and cognitive confusion . . . She couldn’t remember what else, but not to worry, she had it all to look forward to, and Jilly would no doubt provide reminders if she asked. She remembered Jilly telling her that the neurosurgeon’s team were working on a treatment plan for her, even though it had already been decided that the tumour was inoperable. So what she was most likely facing was a dose of radiotherapy and maybe chemo further down the line, by which time there was every chance she’d be gaga.
Jilly hadn’t actually said that, of course, but Rowzee wasn’t stupid, she knew what ‘a certain degree of mental incapacitation’ meant, most of her year nine students would know that, some even had it. Even if she wasn’t completely doolally, she was likely to have speech difficulties, hearing and sight impairment, and her motor skills were also going to suffer. Once again Jilly hadn’t gone into that sort of detail, Rowzee had found it all online last night before Pamela had come home from one of her mysterious dates.
So she was going to die. (She had to say it to herself like that, because beating around the bush wasn’t going to get her anywhere.) Anyway, everyone was going to die, sooner or later. However, for her it was definitely going to be sooner – in fact much sooner than the medical team knew. This was because, once she’d summoned the courage, she was fully intending to contact Dignitas and take matters into her own hands. After all, what was the point of dragging this out, getting her head fried and zapped and whatever else they were planning, making her family miserable and scared, putting them to the trouble of ferrying her about for treatments she didn’t want to have when they had their own lives to be getting on with? And she didn’t even want to think about the kind of a nurse Pamela would make, giving injections and changing pooey pads. She’d do it, of course, and with a great deal of love, because Rowzee didn’t doubt for a minute that Pamela loved her, but fear of losing Rowzee would be certain to turn Pamela into a jabbering monster.
Besides, she didn’t want to get in the way of Pamela’s Internet dating. (Rowzee didn’t actually know for certain it was happening yet, but given the evidence so far she’d stake what was the rest of her life on it.) It would be a great weight off her mind if Pamela were to meet a lovely man of around sixty, with a lively sense of humour and very thick skin, to enjoy her twilight years with.
Bill Simmonds was just that man, if only Pamela could see it.
Pulling her notebook and cup of tea closer, Rowzee began jotting down reminders – forgetfulness was one of her symptoms, so she’d just bought this rather smart leather-bound book as her aide-memoire. After writing ‘
Open Pamela’s eyes to Bill’ she turned her thoughts to Graeme.
Of course, he was a very capable man with a successful business, a healthy outlook on the world and, at forty-eight, plenty of years left in his allotted span. He certainly wouldn’t want her worrying about him. In fact, it would probably make him quite cross, but for her own sake, if not for his, she’d like to see him settled with a lovely, deserving woman before she, Rowzee, turned up her toes. Andee Lawrence would fit the bill perfectly if she weren’t married to someone else. Such a pity that, because when Rowzee had first heard about Graeme’s relationship with the detective, as Andee had been back then, she’d had very high hopes of it. After all, he was a bit of a detective himself, searching out antiques for clients and putting together the history of the piece or pieces. So they had that in common; they also spoke the same language, which wasn’t to be sneezed at, they lived in the same town and their children were around the same age. Added to that Rowzee couldn’t imagine Andee, or indeed any woman, not loving the idea of spending time in Italy over the coming years with someone as splendid as Graeme. He’d promised to take Rowzee and Pamela to stay at his villa when it was fully renovated – they’d seen the ramshackle place it was now when he’d flown them over for a viewing, followed by a fortnight’s holiday in a lovely hotel. It saddened Rowzee immensely to think that she probably wasn’t going to see the finished version, but she tried bolstering herself with the reminder that in the grand scheme of things it was hardly important.
What was very important was how she moved forward from here, and since the Dignitas brochure was already saved (unread) in a secret file on her computer, she should probably start giving some thought to her will. It should all be very straightforward – the house to Pamela, who would of course make sure it was passed on to Katie and Lucie when she fell off her perch (so many euphemisms for dying, and she expected she was going to learn a lot more before she bought the farm, ha ha). Victor’s desk to Graeme, according to Victor’s wishes, and all royalties from Victor’s books to Katie and Lucie, again Victor’s wishes. Rowzee’s investments, jewellery and cash in the bank would also go to the girls, and various other bits and pieces to dear friends such as Gina Stamfield, Charles’s wife.
That was how it should go; however nothing was ever quite as straightforward as a person would like it to be, and this was no exception, because she felt duty bound to sort out Victor’s unfinished business before she hopped the twig. She’d better make a note of that too lest she should forget.
‘Victor’s unfinished business’, she wrote.
‘Rowzee?’
Rowzee blinked and looked up. She’d been so absorbed in her little world that she’d completely forgotten she was at the Seafront Café.
‘Andee,’ she exclaimed, shocked, confused, as if she were in a dream, but finally managing to put on one of her brightest smiles. ‘How lovely to see you. Do you have time for a cuppa?’
‘As a matter of fact I have,’ Andee replied, sliding into the opposite bench. She peered at Rowzee closely. ‘How are you?’ she asked carefully.
Feigning surprise Rowzee cried, ‘Me? I’m fighting fit, top form, never felt better.’ She was overdoing it, needed to calm down. ‘And how are you?’ she asked gently.
‘I’m fine,’ Andee assured her. ‘I was passing and saw you in the window and thought, wouldn’t it be lovely if you were looking for company.’
Imagining herself through Andee’s eyes (blotchy face, hair on end), Rowzee the actress declared, delightedly, ‘I certainly am, and we’ve got the place more or less to ourselves, thanks to the sun coming out at last. Everyone’s on the beach I expect, and who can blame them? My oh my, all the rain we’ve had these past few days. Let’s hope that’s it now for the rest of the summer.’
‘Indeed. Peppermint tea,’ Andee told the waitress.
‘And a cake?’ Rowzee suggested mischievously.
Andee looked about to say no, but thrilled Rowzee to bits when she offered to share one.
‘Oh yes!’ Rowzee enthused. ‘You choose.’
‘Coffee and walnut?’
‘Perfect.’
As the waitress disappeared, Rowzee leaned forward and spoke quietly, in spite of there being no one close enough to overhear. ‘This is quite a coincidence,’ she confided, ‘because I was just thinking about you.’
Andee’s eyebrows rose. ‘What can I have done to deserve such an honour?’ she asked drily.
Realising she couldn’t spill out the truth without embarrassing them both, Rowzee quickly rethought. ‘I was wondering,’ she said, ‘if you’ve been able to give Blake any news.’
Sighing, Andee said, ‘I’m still waiting for a couple of calls. Hopefully I’ll have more to tell him then. Can I take it you know Jessica’s mother?’
‘Oh yes, we got to know the whole family quite well very soon after they moved here. Jenny used to help out in the shop from time to time. She was a quiet little thing, even then – what happened up north, I’m sure you know about that, had affected her badly. She told me once that it was the way some of their friends had reacted that had hurt the most. She felt betrayed, she said, and horribly belittled and didn’t feel she could trust anyone afterwards. And she was angry with Blake for getting them into such an impossible situation, even though she knew it wasn’t his fault.’
‘Did she ever believe the boy’s claims?’ Andee ventured.
‘No, I’m sure she didn’t, nor did the children. I’m afraid I’ve come across plenty of youngsters like that over the years, and there really isn’t any controlling them. You try, of course, but at the same time you have to be very careful not to end up on the wrong side of them, as Blake found out to his cost.’
‘I guess,’ Andee said gravely, ‘that he’s lucky they didn’t attack him physically.’
Rowzee said, ‘Yes very lucky, but it still . . . It stiiiill, still . . .’ The words had got jammed.
Andee was watching her closely. ‘Rowzee, are you all right?’ she asked.
Rowzee nodded.
Andee was speaking again, but Rowzee couldn’t make out what she was saying.
Then, as though she’d risen up from under the water, everything cleared. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said breathily. ‘It was just one of my funny turns.’ She was dabbing her mouth with a napkin in case she’d dribbled.
‘But are you OK? I thought you were going to pass out on me.’
‘Or have a stroke?’ Rowzee grinned, wondering if both sides of her mouth had made it. It felt as though they had so she was going to trust to it. ‘Please don’t mention anything to Pamela or Graeme if you see them,’ she urged. ‘They’ll only worry and there’s really no need. It’s just a little dizzy spell that comes and goes.’
‘Have you seen a doctor?’
‘Yes, yes, and I’m being prescribed a course of treatment. Now, where were we? Oh yes, I was thinking to myself before you arrived what a shame it was that things didn’t work out between you and Graeme. Am I allowed to ask why that was? You strike me as being very well suited.’
The way Andee regarded her seemed slightly bemused, causing Rowzee to wonder if she’d said something awry, but in the end Andee said, ‘Martin, my children’s father, came back and I, as mothers often do, put my children’s needs first.’
Rowzee sighed as she thought of Edward and how she still longed for him to come first. ‘Oh yes, mothers often do that,’ she agreed. ‘Came back from where?’
‘The Middle East, and actually it was for his father’s funeral, not for me, although he insists it was. He’d taken some time out of our relationship. He wanted to explore another kind of world that didn’t involve being a father and live-in partner, so for two years we were left to fend for ourselves while he went off to find himself. Then he decided it was us he wanted after all, and like a fool I took him back and married him.’
Encouraged by the sound of that, Rowzee echoed, ‘Like a fool?’
‘It was the wrong thing to do, and now I’m upsetting
everyone, including myself, by trying to break away. I don’t want to be with him, but I don’t want to hurt him either.’
‘Oh dear, I can see that’s not easy. Does he know about Graeme? I mean, is there anything to know? I’m sorry if I’m being nosy, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’
Andee smiled. ‘He knows I was seeing Graeme while we were apart, but there isn’t any more than that to know now.’
Though Rowzee was sorry for Martin, the children too, because they’d obviously be upset about their parents breaking up, she couldn’t help feeling pleased for Graeme, since there could be a chance for him and Andee after all.
The question was, how could she make it happen?
‘Will you excuse me?’ Andee said as her mobile rang. ‘I ought to take this. Actually, it’s Charles, your neighbour.’
‘Oh do send him my love,’ Rowzee insisted, and waving her on she opened up her notebook, needing to record what she’d just learned to make sure she didn’t forget it.
By the time Andee’s call ended Rowzee’s book was closed and a pot of tea had arrived with a giant slice of cake and two forks. As they began tucking in, Rowzee said, ‘How is Charles? You know, we haven’t seen him since the party. Did he go back to London?’
‘No, apparently he’s in Dartmouth visiting Gina, but he’s coming back tomorrow.’
‘Dartmouth? So that’s where she is. I wonder what she’s doing there? Maybe she’s in a play. Let’s hope she comes back with Charles tomorrow, it’s been a long time since I last saw her.’
‘Me too,’ Andee responded. ‘Alayna spent some time with her back last year when she was doing some work experience at the Royal Court.’
‘Oh yes, I remember that. Gina does a lot there. It’s one of her favourite theatres. We did a play together once, you know?’
