The McCabe Girls Complete Collection

by Freya North

  ‘Good night out?’ the cabbie asks him chirpily, having passed comment on the weather, the traffic conditions and Ken Livingstone.

  ‘Crap,’ Matt says, glowering at his reflection in the window.

  ‘Coming home empty-handed are we?’ the cabbie chuckles. ‘Your powers of persuasion let you down tonight?’

  Matt looks up, straight into the eyes of the cabbie staring back at him from the rear-view mirror. ‘Quite the opposite,’ Matt says. ‘She was up for it. I wasn’t.’

  ‘Heart strings not plucked, then?’

  Christ will he not just shut up!

  ‘My heart’s at home,’ Matt says while wondering why he hadn’t shut up, himself.

  ‘Ah,’ the cabbie sighs, ‘so you knocked temptation back to touch. Good for you, mate.’

  ‘I had a touch,’ Matt mumbles, ‘it didn’t feel good at all.’

  ‘Precisely,’ says the cabbie, ‘so it was good for you.’

  CAT OUT OF THE BAG

  The last thing Matt felt like doing, two days later, was to go out again. However, the choke of guilt, the nauseated regret, became more severe in Fen’s presence. When he was at work, he longed to be at home, as if he imagined Fen and, to a lesser extent Cosima, suddenly unprotected without him there. When he was apart from her, he desperately needed her in sight – even if this meant apologizing to her photograph which he carried in his wallet. He stroked the image with the tip of his little finger, proclaiming to her that he’d never drink again, that he’d see no more of Jake, that he’d re-focus his eyes for Fen alone. What had happened was nothing, just stupidity; it had felt vile, a lesson had been learnt. Or so he kept telling himself. Yet in Fen’s company, he couldn’t even meet her eye, so convinced was he that he wore his sin as a sandwich board, guilt writ large all over his face. All he could do was feign tiredness as the cause for his uncommunicativeness, close himself off by watching The West Wing on DVD, while Fen made much of doing all the tidying up, all the cooking and all the laundry. When Matt did glance at her, hoping to bestow a loving, affirming smile, he found himself flinching away, as if her top was emblazoned with You fucking bastard how could you. So, though a part of Matt felt he should go home directly, to silently beg her forgiveness and declare his utter steadfastness and enduring loyalty, when Ben phoned and suggested they meet at the Mariners, Matt embraced the opportunity to be distracted from both his atonement and culpability.

  Ben had beers waiting for them.

  ‘How’s life?’ Zac asked. ‘Pip told me about Cat’s non-trip up North. Is she OK?’

  Ben took a visibly deep breath. ‘She’ll be fine,’ he said, ‘but I have to tell you both something and it’s about Django.’ Ben looked from Matt to Zac and saw the same look of surprise and enquiry. ‘He’s told me to tell you. It’s not nice. The long and short of it is he came to the hospital for some tests and he has prostate cancer.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Matt, closing his hand over his eyes.

  ‘Cancer?’ said Zac. ‘Jesus.’ Ben let the news sit with them a moment. ‘Hang on,’ said Zac, ‘he was down here? In London? When?’

  ‘The day that Cat went up to Derbyshire,’ Ben said, shaking his head. ‘Last Wednesday. I made an appointment and sent him a train ticket. It was the only way I could be sure he’d have it looked into – he wouldn’t go to his GP. And I’d noticed some signs a while ago – before all the Derek–Mother shit.’

  ‘Does Cat know now?’

  ‘No. He didn’t want anyone to know. And now he wants me to tell you. And us to tell them.’

  ‘Christ,’ Zac and Matt said in unison.

  ‘Poor sod,’ Matt said sadly. ‘What’s the prognosis?’

  ‘It’s difficult to say at this stage,’ said Ben. ‘It’s not uncommon and it’s usually very slow growing – sometimes the effect of the treatment is much worse than the symptoms of the cancer itself. Often sufferers can live out a normal lifespan. However, he has pain in his hip, leg and back which suggests it may have spread to the bone. He’s only had a physical exam and blood tests. Now he needs an ultrasound, then we’re into the territory of biopsies and scans. The results will take a while but they’ll show the grade and stage of the cancer.’

  Matt and Zac sat silent and shocked. ‘I can’t believe this,’ Matt said with audible alarm.

  ‘What treatment will he have?’ Zac said.

  ‘It depends on what the tests reveal,’ Ben said. ‘It’s not my area. But I know around one in twelve men are diagnosed with this illness. He may have had it for years – it tends to be without symptoms in the early stages.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Matt rued again. ‘What are we going to do about the girls?’

  ‘I have no sodding idea,’ Ben sighed, ‘which is why I thought we should meet. Cat is up and down at the moment.’

  ‘Fen too,’ said Matt.

  ‘And Pip,’ said Zac.

  ‘Is he OK?’ Zac asked. ‘You know, psychologically?’

  Ben smiled sadly. ‘Beneath the neckerchief and dodgy trousers, there’s an ill man of seventy-five. And unfortunately, the tests are pretty unpleasant.’

  ‘Is he coming back down for the tests?’ Zac asked. ‘Perhaps we could arrange for him to see the girls then?’

  ‘He’s been referred to his local oncology department,’ Ben said.

  ‘He needs support,’ Matt said, ‘he needs his girls.’

  ‘So what are we going to do about them?’ Zac asked. ‘I could tell Pip,’ he offered, ‘then she could tell the others? She’s suggested to them that the three of them should go up to Derbyshire soon, anyway.’

  Matt nodded but Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I know their traditional dynamic is to look to Pip for advice – but that dynamic was turned on its head by the mother showing up and the Derek business and the whole parentage thing. I speak for Cat, of course,’ said Ben, ‘because I think somewhere, deep down, she just can’t help fearing that she’s slightly less of a sister to your two than they are to each other.’

  ‘Which is horse shit,’ Matt assured him, backed up by Zac raising his glass.

  ‘I know that,’ said Ben. ‘It’s stupid, I know, but it’s where her mind is at just now.’

  ‘They should know at the same time,’ Zac said. ‘I could do a dinner gathering and we could tell them all together.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Matt said. ‘It’s going to be such a massive thing – we don’t know how they’ll react individually. And then there’s Cosima – if we’re round at yours, Fen will have half her mind on how the baby is.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Ben, ‘and I think Cat might feel a bit compromised – like we’ve engineered a situation. She’s very particular about her comfort zone at the moment – even if it is behind the closed doors of our rental place in Clapham.’

  ‘The thing is, we are going to need to engineer it,’ said Zac.

  ‘Meticulously,’ Matt agreed.

  The three men sipped their beer contemplatively, half their thoughts directed to Django, half to their girls. ‘I reckon we tell them separately but at the same time,’ said Ben. ‘We agree on a time, and specific information – perhaps down to the very wording.’

  Matt and Zac nodded in agreement. ‘I think we also let them know that we met to discuss this,’ said Matt, ‘that it’s what Django wants. And that they’re each hearing the news at the same time in the same way.’

  ‘OK,’ said Zac, ‘this is good. We also need to decide which order they’ll phone each other. I know it sounds contrived but our McCabe girls have a tendency to leap on their emotional high horses and bolt. We can’t have them all in a scatter – they’re going to need each other.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Matt and Ben.

  ‘You find in traumatic situations, those involved need assistance in deciding what to do and how to do it,’ said Ben. ‘Cat is still insecure, somewhere, about the dynamic between her and her sisters. Perhaps she should make the first call. I’ll have her phone Pip – and
then Pip can phone Fen?’

  Matt and Zac nod. They’ve gone off their beer.

  ‘This is crap news,’ Matt said forlornly. ‘Really horrible.’

  ‘It’ll be the making or the breaking of them,’ Zac agreed.

  ‘As a family,’ defined Ben, ‘as well as individually.’

  They dreaded being grilled by the girls when they arrived home because it had been settled that nothing would be said until 9 p.m. the following evening when the situation would be revealed according to the information advised by Ben, the precise wording honed by the three of them.

  When Zac arrived home, Pip was watching a cable health channel about having babies, but she zapped over to E4 hurriedly.

  ‘How was your evening?’ she asked casually, reducing the volume.

  ‘Fine,’ Zac said, ‘but you carry on. I have a little work to do.’ And he disappeared with his laptop to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling winded and sad.

  Matt came home to find Fen already asleep. He spooned up gently against her and mouthed ‘Sorry’ over and over again into her hair.

  ‘You reek of booze,’ she muttered sleepily, hitching her shoulder up a little to block him out.

  Cat was full of beans when Ben returned because Jeremy was leaving to run the Basingstoke branch of Dovidels and had intimated to Cat that she should apply for his post.

  ‘Everything’s looking up,’ Cat exclaimed, giving him a hug.

  THE TEN O’CLOCK NEWS

  Fen’s morning started very well indeed. It was warm enough to dress Cosima in a broderie anglaise sundress with matching puffy knickers and frilled cloche hat which Matt’s mother had bought her. The baby looked adorable and her matchless beauty in her mother’s eyes made the day seem even more balmy. There were new gurgles, from which Fen could deduce a private language of sorts and she conversed with her daughter enthusiastically, not caring how daft she might sound. Cosima was also trying out a commando slither pre-crawl and Fen could not be more proud had her baby stood up and danced a jig. Strolling along to Musical Minis, chortling to Cosima in gobbledygook, pointing out the red letter-box, the nice mister postman and the big yellow truck, Fen felt her mobile phone vibrate through a message. She retrieved it from the back pocket of her jeans, the pair she’d been able finally to fit back into today, oh joyous day, for the first time, not minding that they felt comfortably snug.

  Hi f – drinx 2nite? Al

  Feeling comfortingly smug, Fen spent the next half-hour composing various answers whilst singing the tunes at Musical Minis by rote. Her walk home had her weigh up which order was best – phone Pip to check babysitting was possible, or text Al first to accept and then work through babysitting options later. Her sense of maternal duty was far stronger than her sense of adventure so she called Pip first.

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem at all,’ said Pip.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind coming to mine, though?’ Fen double-checked. ‘I’ll be able to give Cosima her supper but then you’ll be in charge of bath, bottle, bed.’

  ‘No probs,’ said Pip, ‘we’ll flood the house, drink the fridge dry and have a pillow fight. Who’s this friend?’

  ‘Oh, just Al – we meet up every now and then.’

  ‘Have I met her?’ Pip asked.

  Fen realized that if she denied Al a gender, she could further avoid revealing her agenda to Pip. ‘Probably,’ she said casually. ‘Thanks – you’re the best auntie in the world.’

  ‘You mean the best auntie north of the river,’ Pip laughed. ‘Have you spoken to Auntie Cat?’

  ‘Yes, we had a chat yesterday when the boys were out,’ said Fen.

  ‘I think she sounds a bit brighter,’ said Pip.

  ‘I agree,’ Fen agreed.

  ‘We really should think about making a trip home,’ said Pip, ‘the three of us together.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Fen. ‘Tell us when.’

  The morning had not been going well for Matt and just before lunch-time, it became worse. The network at the office was still down, the art editor had thrown up in the corridor, the printers were breathing down Matt’s neck and the news about Django was playing on his mind. So when he saw it was Fen bleeping through a text message, what he really hoped for was the tonic of sweet nothings. After all, it had been her speciality in their courtship days – daft e-mails and cute texts and the occasional soppy card sent by snail-mail to work. Old-fashioned and romantic was the girl he’d fallen for. He had to admit, sadly, that since having Cosima, if texts came from Fen at all, they were usually asking what time he’d be back and could he detour via Marx+Sparx. What Matt needed just then was a thnkng of u F xxx. What he read was something else.

  havng drinx w/ old pal Al this pm – wont b late. Pip bb-sittng – don’t rush! F x

  Matt swivelled in his chair and racked his memory for an old pal called Al. Then he re-read the message and wondered why just the one kiss. Then he thought, Shit! she can’t – not tonight, sorry Al – and he phoned Zac directly.

  ‘Slight problem,’ he said to Zac. ‘Fen’s organized a drink with some old friend and has roped Pip in to babysit until I’m back.’

  ‘Damn,’ pondered Zac. ‘How can we prevent this without suspicions being raised?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Matt. ‘It’s so rare for Fen to go out anyway. Any ideas?’

  ‘I could call Pip,’ Zac said, ‘think of something that makes babysitting not possible – make her let Fen down?’

  ‘Great,’ said Matt. Then he paused. ‘No it’s not. We can’t have anything come between the sisters today – and you know their potential to strop and sulk with each other.’

  ‘God, you’re right,’ said Zac, who privately didn’t want anything to come between him and his wife at the moment either. Recently she’d been not so much distracted as frosty.

  ‘I’ll phone Ben,’ said Matt, ‘and get back to you.’

  ‘I was just about to call you,’ Ben responded calmly to Matt’s concern. ‘Panic not – Cat called to say she’s working a late shift to impress some honcho or other from head office – so let’s just change mission time to 10 o’clock?’

  ‘Twenty-two hundred hours,’ Matt said through his fist to sound like a war film fighter-pilot, ‘roger that.’

  ‘Will Fen be back by then?’ Ben asked. ‘And sober?’

  ‘Nowadays she is practically asleep by 9.30 and decrees more than two glasses of spritzer to be anathema to motherhood,’ Matt said. ‘You wait and see – Cat’ll be the same.’

  Privately, Ben hoped Cat wouldn’t keep him waiting too long on that front. ‘Listen,’ he said to Matt, ‘hope it goes well.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Matt, ‘for you, too.’

  ‘We’ll touch base later,’ Ben said.

  ‘We will,’ said Matt. He phoned Zac. ‘Sorted. We have a later kick-off set for 10 o’clock.’

  ‘Good,’ said Zac, ‘thanks for that.’

  ‘Bizarre, isn’t it,’ Matt said darkly, ‘to make light of it is the only way I can deal with it at the moment. Because actually, I’m fucking dreading it.’

  ‘Me too,’ Zac agreed. ‘God – me too.’

  ‘Speak later,’ said Matt. ‘Good luck.’

  Matt and Zac and Ben sat there, in their offices, their working day stretching ahead replete with other people’s problems. Ben had a wincing queue of twisted ankles and torn ligaments clamouring for his attention; Zac had corporate clients shirking millions of taxable pounds onto his shoulders; Matt had the irate printers and the hacking wafts of his art editor’s vomit to deal with. But it all seemed like child’s play in relation to the task and trauma of the evening to come.

  ‘She’s eaten loads,’ Fen said proudly, delighting in her sister’s obvious adoration of her daughter. Pip took Cosima from Fen and pulled what her family call her Guppy Face. Cosima glanced at her mother, as if to double-check this gurning lady was indeed funny, as if to seek parental go-ahead to chortle at this fish-faced auntie. Everything was making Fen laugh
today and she and her baby squeaked with delight as Pip ran through her entire repertoire of animal impersonations, from chameleon to tortoise to two-toed sloth.

  ‘She’s so gorgeous,’ Pip declared mistily, stroking Cosima’s silk-fine hair.

  ‘I know,’ Fen cooed, ‘she’s the best little girl in the world.’

  ‘You are so lucky,’ Pip said while giving Cosima an affectionate squeeze.

  ‘I made a list,’ Fen said, with apologetic guilt, glancing towards the sheet of paper on the kitchen table. Pip raised her eyebrow. She could see it was densely written and awash with asterisks. ‘Humour me?’ Fen implored.

  ‘If it says, Check milk temperature – I’ll be offended,’ Pip said.

  ‘Of course it says, Check milk temperature,’ Fen said, ‘and the bath temperature too—’

  ‘Use the inside of my wrist for the former, the outside of my elbow for the latter,’ Pip mocked before Fen could say just that. ‘Go and get yourself ready,’ Pip chided, ‘or you’ll be late. I think I have met Al.’

  ‘Yes?’ Fen said vaguely. ‘We’re not that close – just fun to meet for a quick drink every now and then. We’re hardly bosom buddies.’ And suddenly an image of Al getting to know her bosoms simultaneously horrified yet thrilled her and she hurried away to change.