Tuesday, after the appointment, she’d pop round at dinnertime and tell her. Sit her down and have a good chat once she knew what the plan was.
Eileen snapped open a packet of crackers and tipped them onto a plate, her movements slow and measured. She looked tired. Drawn. Old, actually, in a huggable, grandmother kind of way. ‘Thanks for hosting this today, Mum. You’re a star.’
‘Don’t be silly, I’m your mother. I wouldn’t dream of letting you have it anywhere else.’ She balled her hands into fists and there was the glimmer of tears in her eyes. ‘I do wish your dad was here to give you away. He’d be so proud.’
‘I know. I miss him, too. Lissa was only teasing, you know. She doesn’t really think you need another man in your life.’
Eileen sat across the well-worn pine table that Charlotte had spent hours doing her homework on while her mother had kneaded, rolled and sieved, making dinners and packed lunches and snacks. They’d blown out countless birthday candles here.
When she was eight, her parents had sat her down at this very table and told her about the reality of her birth and reassured her that she was loved more than enough, more than any child could be loved, even though she was adopted. Emphasising, unconvincingly, that she’d been chosen, rather than given away.
The next evening they’d all sat here again and Charlotte had watched them recoil in horror as she recounted that, at school, Michael Maloney had said, if she’d been adopted, then her parents could also give her back any time too. That they should have, because she looked stupid with her crazy frizzy hair and too-pale freckly skin, and no wonder her real mother hadn’t wanted her. That if she was chosen, she could be un-chosen too.
She’d discovered that day that she had to be very careful what she told her parents. Because she didn’t want to make her father so angry, and her mother cry so hard, ever again. She didn’t want them threatening to phone the school to bring that boy down a peg or two. She didn’t want to upset them or rock the boat.
Because, what if Michael Maloney had been right? What if they did decide to un-choose her? What would happen to her then? Would the woman who’d given birth to her still not want her? Who would?
She ran her hands over the old knotted pine, feeling the indentations in the wood, like tiny chinks in her heart, of memories, moments this table had borne witness to over two decades of family life.
Eileen sighed. ‘You know, the older I get, the more I find it hard to deal with change. I didn’t think I’d be like that. I always thought I’d be more bring it on. But I like my life, Charlotte. I love having you round the corner. I love my routine, my yoga classes and my embroidery. I have enough, you know? I don’t feel like I’m missing out, not much. I do get a bit lonely at times, but that passes when I think about washing a man’s socks and having to compromise. It’s not what Melissa would call exciting, but I’ve had enough of that, thank you very much.’
Finding her husband stone-cold dead on the kitchen floor and suddenly being a single parent with an eleven-year-old child had been hard on her. ‘I think she just wants you to have fun, that’s all, Mum.’
‘I know. And I do. Watching you grow up has been all the fun I need. And… you never know, there may be grandchildren soon to help me fill my time. I mean… you and Ben are thinking of it, aren’t you?’ The tired eyes looked lovingly at her. ‘I know I shouldn’t ask. All the magazines are full of women complaining that family ask them when they’re going to have babies and say it puts more pressure on. So I’m sorry if it’s rude, but you don’t want to be getting to your forties and having a newborn to look after like I did. That’s… well, you weren’t difficult, not at all. But it was a challenge.’
A challenge. Charlotte’s heart pinged. Would it have been a challenge if she’d been Eileen’s natural-born daughter? Or did unconditional, blood-ties love mean the difficulties of child rearing were laughed off as just little bumps in the parenting road? Charlotte had no doubt her mother loved her, but sometimes she wondered how it could be possible to love an adopted child as much as one you shared DNA with.
And having babies? Charlotte couldn’t have this conversation. After Tuesday, perhaps, but right now she was having a hard time imagining fitting into her wedding dress without boobs, never mind babies. ‘We’re building the business and all our money is going on the wedding. Besides, I’m way too young to be thinking about babies, Mum.’
‘I know. I just don’t want you to miss out on one of the most rewarding things in life. We left it too late and when we tried it just didn’t happen. We were lucky to get you. A lot of people said forty-two was too old for us to get a baby, and they wanted us to have a four-year-old or something. Which would have been fine, of course, but then you came along and it was… well, it was a miracle.’ There was an uncharacteristic sniffle and then a smile. ‘The challenge was me being so set in my ways by the time you arrived, if I’m honest. Look, grab that plate and let’s go through and find out what they’re doing. If we’re not careful we’ll be on some naked cruise to Mykonos.’
‘I don’t think there are naked cruises to Mykonos. At least, I hope not.’
‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t find a man with a body like this bared to all and sundry.’ Eileen straightened her cream blouse and ran her hands over her straight navy trousers. With her neat silver bob and thin frame she put a lot of other women her age to shame. She had long legs and a slim build she didn’t have to work hard for, unlike Charlotte, who had always found maintaining a dancer’s build hard work.
When she was younger she used to wish that, just by living with this tall, slender woman, she’d somehow absorb some of those genes. She didn’t want her own genetic pale-blue eyes and that stupid frizzy, mousy hair; she wanted her adoptive mother’s deep-chocolate eyes and the rich, dark, straight mane. But no amount of wishing got her her dream. Just straighteners, a lot of hair dye and a heck of a lot of exercise.
‘Don’t be daft – you’re gorgeous, Mum. And maybe a romance is just what you need. Oh…’ There was a vibration in Charlotte’s back pocket. She pulled out her phone. ‘Hang on, it’s Ben. Probably wondering what’s for dinner or which room to attack with the paintbrush next. Now, there’s romance for you.’
‘Oh… something’s fallen out of your pocket. Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’ Eileen waved at her to carry on the phone conversation, and bent to pick up the paper, completely missing the sudden panic Charlotte knew was in her eyes. Not hearing the rush of breath or the thump in her daughter’s tight chest. ‘What’s this? Dr Montford? What’s… oh? A doctor? Charlotte, are you okay?’
For a brief second Charlotte saw fear in her mum’s eyes. She took a breath, the habitual alarm rising in her chest as her mind scrambled to find ways to appease her. Usually, playing down the severity of a situation tended to work. ‘I’ve got to go, Ben. Sorry. Later. Mum… it’s…’
Laughter floated to them from the open door. Something about a male stripper and matching T-shirts, and Charlotte suddenly wished they’d all go home. Which felt unbearably selfish considering they were all here to make her transition from single to married a memorable one. And she loved each of them dearly. Just… the timing really wasn’t working.
Charlotte sat back down at the table and motioned for her mum to sit again too. She took the paper from her trembling, liver-spotted hands and folded it. ‘I was going to tell you… honestly, Mum. Just not today. Not with all this going on. I wanted us to have some time to talk it all through. I’ve… well, I’ve found a lump in my breast and I need to get it checked out.’
More raucous laughter, and now music. Charlotte imagined the girls dancing and singing with no idea about the fallout in the kitchen.
‘A lump. I see.’ Again, Eileen ran her palms down her thighs, choosing her words. Measuring her emotions. Always, she was the invested, interested parent using difficult situations as learning opportunities, protecting her child from heartache – it worked both ways, it seemed. Tiptoeing around each other, taking ca
re not to offend or upset or hurt. But this time, Charlotte knew, her mum was out of her depth. Eileen slid her hand over Charlotte’s, unease turning to fierce protection. ‘I’ll come with you to the doctor’s. If… that’s what you want? Or is Ben going to go with you?’
‘He has to work.’
‘Or Lissa? I’m sure you’d prefer her…?’ There was a break in her mum’s voice and Charlotte felt it resonate deep in her heart. Because yes, given a choice, she would usually have chosen her best friend over her mother. It was easier that way.
Ben had said he’d phone in sick and they’d argued and she’d told him she was a grown-up and could manage by herself. She hadn’t told Lissa yet and there was the issue of the classes to cover and, while she could go on her own, Charlotte suddenly felt the need for her mum’s support. ‘I’d like you to come, if that’s okay? Please.’
Eileen breathed out heavily and swiped the back of her hand over her forehead. ‘Of course. You know that. Anything.’
‘Thank you.’ Charlotte felt a rush of relief, wishing she’d shared this news with her before. They’d never particularly clashed, but there hadn’t been those moments of intense intimacy Charlotte had heard about between mothers and daughters; sharing clothes and confidences.
There’d been a line somewhere, spinning off, she now thought, from Michael Maloney’s childish comments and her own immature reaction; cemented by an episode in her awkward teens when someone asked her why her real mother had given her away. Which had made her question all over again whether Eileen was her real mother at all, even though she did real-mother things every day.
It was a line that made Charlotte feel a little distanced from her parents. Distanced a little from everyone if she was honest. As if tiptoeing was always the way to go… always keeping real feelings locked in to save hurting someone else, to save rejection.
Being given away did that to people sometimes, she’d read. Gave them a feeling they didn’t quite belong anywhere. But she knew she belonged here, didn’t she?
Knowing and feeling were two different things.
Charlotte squeezed her mum’s hand. ‘Thank you. Safety in numbers and all that.’
Eileen smiled. Another one of those brave smiles Charlotte kept on seeing. ‘These things are always scary, love. But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Just a cyst or something. Lots of women have lumpy breasts.’
Just hearing this gave her hope. ‘That’s what I keep telling myself. And Ben. That’s what we keep saying.’
‘Hey, you two, what happened to the dips?’ Lissa burst into the kitchen. ‘I’m starving. Oh. Are you both okay? You look upset, Eileen. Was it me? Was it what I said? Because I was only joking. I know John was your one and only for ever. I was just pulling your leg about finding a man.’
Finding a smile, Eileen stood and picked up the plate of vegetables. She had her don’t mess with me teacher voice on. ‘Don’t be silly, Melissa. I know you were just playing. Charlotte and I were just going through a few things, that’s all. We got distracted…’ To everyone else Eileen probably looked her usual self, but Charlotte could see the way her mum bit down on her lip, the hitch in her shoulders as she gave herself a silent talking to, and then the shaking off of emotion, bringing herself into party mode again. Or, as much as she could muster under the circumstances. There was a moment when she caught Charlotte’s eye and there was a flicker of anxiety there, then it was gone, replaced by a determination that everything was going to be okay. That she would make it so. ‘Right, where are we going for this hen party? Have you girls got any further with our plans? Please don’t tell me it’s a naked cruise to Mykonos?’
‘Hey! Everyone!’ Lissa bustled back into the lounge, her voice loaded with Prosecco. ‘Eileen’s got this stellar idea about a cruise…’
Allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts Charlotte put the paper back in her pocket. She didn’t know if she could share her mum’s optimism. But she had to try.
Chapter Three
Charlotte scanned Dr Montford’s face for giveaway clues as the medic examined first her left breast, then her right. Then back to the left, concentrating on the area Charlotte had shown her.
‘It’s quite bruised,’ the doctor said. ‘Do you keep checking it? Prodding it?’
‘Yes.’ Charlotte’s voice was so small, her throat tight with fear. She coughed, tried to stop the drumming in her ears. Of course she’d kept on checking it, hoping that this time she wouldn’t find it. ‘Yes. I can’t help it.’
‘Well, you’re going to make it sore. I understand why you’d do it, but try not to prod too much. In fact, I’d suggest you keep your hands off it completely until we get it checked out.’ Dr Montford smiled warmly, infusing her voice with a kindness Charlotte hoped wasn’t pity. It was probably something she’d learned in her training; lower the voice and it keeps the hideous blow from being too sharp and blunt. That was how it felt: a sharp sting of panic and the bluntness of realising her own mortality. I’m not finished yet. I have so much more to do.
In her dancing she’d always pushed her body to its limits, enjoying the challenge and the strength and the way she felt extending herself. But maybe she wasn’t infallible after all. Maybe there was a limit and this was it? It was only a lump but it felt as if she’d been knocked sideways – her overactive imagination stripping joy and replacing it with panic. Scary how one thing could change your perspective.
‘So there is definitely a lump, right? It’s not my imagination?’
‘Yes, Charlotte. There is a lump and I think I can feel the edges. But there’s no swelling in your lymph nodes so that’s a good sign. Women have lumpy bits for lots of reasons. It’s not always cancer, although it is often the first thing you think of.’
Charlotte shuddered at the word. It was the first time it had been said out loud. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘I’ll do a referral and you’ll go have a mammogram – but at your age the breast is quite dense and clarity isn’t great on the films. So there’ll probably be an ultrasound too… and an appointment with a specialist. There is a protocol we follow and things move quite quickly once you’re in the system. Usually, for someone under thirty they suggest a non-urgent referral. As I can actually feel a lump I’ll see if I can hurry it along for you, but it might be a couple of weeks or so. Hop off the couch and let’s have more of a chat. I’ll check your blood pressure and ask a few routine questions.’
‘Sure. Okay.’ Charlotte slipped her top down and crept back from behind the curtain before sitting down at the desk next to her mum, who was pale and clenching her hands in her lap. They gave each other a hesitant smile and then looked at the doctor. Dr Montford was a new GP in the surgery, but Charlotte wasn’t a new patient. She’d been registered there since just after her birth. ‘You’ll have all my details on there, I think?’
‘Yes.’ The doctor scrolled down through the computer notes. ‘Aha. All seems fine. You’re on the Pill, right? No other medications?’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘How’s the Pill going for you?’
‘Fine. Really great. Pregnancy’s not an option for us at the moment. We’re just starting out, you know? Mortgaged up to the hilt and stretching ourselves quite a lot.’ Which was putting it mildly. Ben had it all worked out with a financial advisor and everything; a five-year plan of working hard to pay off as much as they could, before they contemplated a family. Their financial borrowing had been planned to precision. ‘A baby would be a disaster.’ She had another thought; so would cancer. ‘Could the lump be anything to do with the Pill?’
‘Well, the lower dose of oestrogen in the Pill you’re taking shouldn’t have any effect on susceptibility to breast cancer.’ The blood-pressure cuff squeezed tight round Charlotte’s arm, then released with a pffff. The doctor looked from Charlotte to Eileen and back again. ‘BP is fine. Is there any family history of breast cancer, though? Ovarian cancer?’
Family history. It was always this questio
n that made Charlotte’s heart bump and her stomach contract tight. It seemed so lame not to have a satisfactory answer. And she felt somewhat lacking. Who didn’t know which diseases ran in their families? Who didn’t have a clue about their genetic history? All she had was a bit of paper with the same amount of information as she’d had contact with her blood family. Nil of note. She looked down at her fingers, at her mum, who looked away, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders.
This wasn’t a subject they’d talked about since Charlotte had watched them crumble with panic at that kitchen table. More tiptoeing, more care not to upset. Even though she’d often wondered who she was, she’d never ever dared broach it with Eileen. ‘I… er… I don’t know. Is it important?’
Dr Efficiency looked up from the screen and smiled. ‘Oh? Well, family history counts for quite a lot in health. Genetics, yes? And we just don’t know the effects of the Pill on breast-cancer risk combined with a strong family history.’
‘Well, I’m adopted. I just don’t know.’ Charlotte shook her head, looking directly at the doctor, because it wasn’t something she was ashamed of, it was just what it was.
‘Is it important, though?’ It was the first time Eileen had spoken and her voice was shaky. Not something Charlotte had seen in her usually together mum. ‘We didn’t have many details, to be honest, on the adoption papers. Just a name and age of the birth mother. There were a lot of blanks.’ Blinking quickly she seemed surprised to have said so much. ‘It was all so rushed, you see. Unexpected. Lovely, of course. But we didn’t have the opportunity to ask questions. It was a long time ago.’
But Dr Montford just shook her head and smiled again. ‘It’s fine. It’s fine. Look, let’s go with what we know. You have a small lump in your breast. We don’t know what’s causing it, and right now I’m guessing it’s a cyst. Please try not to worry until after the tests.’
The Other Life of Charlotte Evans Page 3
