by kendra Smith
‘I think I should be asking you that question, don’t you?’ I stir some sugar into my coffee. I am fizzing inside. I need to keep calm to understand and I certainly don’t want Tyler storming out of here until he has explained. ‘How long have you known? Known that he was your father?’
‘Look, Mum, Daniel came round a few weeks ago when you were out and said he needed to talk to me. He was here for about an hour – explaining it all. I was pretty shocked. I really was. But part of me, a small part of me—’ he scratches his head ‘—wanted to listen. Wanted to feel part of something – you know, like part of something bigger. I mean a dad, it’s like, big, Mum.’ As he says it, there are tears in his eyes. I take sip of hot coffee, trying to reconcile all the feelings erupting in my heart.
‘Then he told me all about his photography.’ Tyler shrugs and lets out a deep breath. ‘Look, he said he wanted to talk to you first, that he owed that to you, but that you’d texted saying you didn’t want to see him. He didn’t want me to say anything, said something like he didn’t want you to feel obliged to him or something, that he’d help me with my portfolio. I’ve been to his house a couple of times. He just said, Let’s get on with it and not involve your mum; it will be a nice secret. He’s really helped me, Mum. He’s got loads of photo-editing kit and my stuff looks amazing now. I—’
A nice secret. How cosy. I can’t help it, but part of me feels furious. How dare he? How dare Daniel just lie to me? So him and his girlfriend and Tyler will make up – what do they call it now – a fucking blended family, will they?
‘Why aren’t you pleased, Mum?’
‘Because you’ve both lied to me,’ I say feeling drained. ‘I’ve been wondering about Daniel, wondering what I should do, how I will cope; I’ve been worried about you, spending all that time in your room – out God knows where, because you don’t tell me – and all the while you’ve been with Daniel, lovely little father and son get-together?’ I practically spit the last bit out. I know it’s wrong. I know Tyler has a right to a dad, but I’m just so confused.
‘But you lied to me – and Daniel, Mum! You never told me about Daniel and about Lucy.’ Tyler pushes his chair back and folds his arms. His mouth is twitching and I stare at the scar just above his eye. This is true and so much harsher coming from Tyler.
‘I felt I was doing the right thing, Tyler,’ I say quietly. The wind’s gone out of my sails. I don’t know what else to say. Tyler’s right. He did have a right to know.
‘I didn’t know where Daniel was, Tyler, all those years ago. I didn’t know Daniel was the “Daniel” we know now. I didn’t know him. To me, all I knew was that someone’s husband abandoned me – in grief, that’s fair enough,’ I say shaking my head, ‘and he told me not to keep the baby. But I did,’ I say gently and reach out and touch his knee. ‘And I’m so glad I did.’ I squeeze his leg. ‘But see it from my point of view, will you? What was the point of telling you about your dad when I had no idea where he was, he thought you didn’t exist and I needed to get on with my life. And it wasn’t easy, Tyler, on my own,’ I say, pulling my dressing gown around me. ‘But I wanted to give you the best I could, which is why I do what I do: the cleaning jobs, the loan sharks, all of it – staying in this house because it’s familiar to you, even though I could rent a bit cheaper a few roads down in the estate.’
‘But didn’t I have a right to know who my father was, even if you didn’t know where he was?’ Tyler’s dark lashes brush his cheeks as he looks down at his coffee.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Daniel wanted nothing to do with a baby all those years ago. How was I to know that would all change when he came back into our lives?’ Waltzed back from his amazing time in another country and set my heart on fire, when he realised he had a son. My son.
‘When he realised I had been the surrogate, he didn’t say anything – anything, that’s the bit I can’t understand.’
‘Look, you need to talk to him, Mum, let him explain,’ Tyler says, getting up. ‘He’s been really good to me, helped me with all my portfolio like I said. Kind of like, well, an uncle or – like, I guess a dad would, I suppose – and I stand a very good chance now, my tutor said – I’ve only got one more bit to do to complete it.’
A dad. I wince, feeling uncharitable that I’m jealous of someone else’s relationship with Tyler, but I am, especially with how Daniel’s done this: found out, seen Tyler behind my back, got a girlfriend. I shudder.
‘I can’t help feeling he’s used me to get to you.’ I stop, I’ve said enough, and after all, Daniel is his father. However things are going to continue, I need to make sure Daniel and Tyler’s relationship is not clouded by me.
‘You’re wrong, Mum, it’s not like that.’
Tyler can’t see what Daniel’s done, that once he realised, he didn’t really care about me. I’m just his ticket to Tyler. I inwardly sigh. ‘OK, OK, maybe you’re right.’ I don’t want to argue any more.
I can’t help thinking about him and his new girlfriend. A new girlfriend and a son, just like that! Insta-family. His Christmases just got better. Him and dancing girl can salsa off into the sunset with a newly made family, can’t they? With my son. I get up and throw my coffee in the sink and stare out the window.
Just then, my phone goes and I pull it from my dressing gown pocket. It’s from Daniel.
Need to talk. Call me? D.
He probably wants to talk about Tyler, about access, about how they can sort out their new ‘blended family’ – I feel a surge of rage rise up in me and stand up and hold on to the side of the stainless steel sink. There’s a glass on the draining board from last night, a wine glass stained with a dark damson lipstick, when I’d had a drink before I went out to calm my nerves. When I was on a high thinking about Daniel. Thinking about him being there. When little ol’ Charlie thought she was off to the ball to meet her Prince Charming.
Little did she know that her Prince Charming was sleeping with someone else at the time, that he had his own agenda. That he only wanted to talk to her for the sake of their son, the son that he told her to get rid of. How can he just do that? How can he just walk into our lives and expect everything to be OK? And now him and his new girlfriend want to cosy up with my son. He’s lied to me, to Tyler, to himself. Talk?
That is the last thing I’m going to do.
82
Dawn
As she walked along the calm corridors of the private hospital, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like for prisoners on death row. Their last normal walk? Have a little think about your life, because it’s going to end as you know it, right here. Right now.
‘OK. I’m going to look at your scan and biopsy results, and in your case, Dawn—’ he smiled at her ‘—as your breast tissue is older, we need to look closely. You mustn’t worry. One option might be a lumpectomy.’ She studied his maroon tie with white polka dots – what a jolly tie for such a profession – looked at his closely shaven face and hadn’t really heard a word.
She was constantly being told ‘you mustn’t worry’. The scans, the biopsy, the websites; the problem was, she was worried to death. Cancer. The ‘C’ word. What would happen? What about her family? Seeing her children grow up? She didn’t want her life to stop now. Just when she’d got everything on track. Was she getting it all out of proportion? You’re damn right she was. Cancer. Whisper it. Or shout it. There was no sugar-coating that diagnosis. Everyone just wonders how the lottery of life will dish out the bad news and when.
Eric was speaking, and brought her out of her daydream and back to the room with his question to the consultant. ‘What exactly is that?’
‘A lumpectomy? Well, we remove the lump, but it’s important we do a wide excision; because we need to check the tissue surrounding the lump – what we are hoping for is that none of the cells in the surrounding area are affected. We will remove about one centimetre of normal tissue.’
One centimetre of normal tissue. Meanin
g that the other tissue they remove will be cancerous, that it might have spread, that it might have infected her cells elsewhere, that it might have coursed through her veins and planted itself somewhere else, to grow and thrive.
His phone bleeped and he took a short call. ‘Excuse me, I need to see to this,’ he said looking at them both. ‘I won’t be long.’ He let the door shut quietly behind him.
The room was stuffy. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She stared at a copper beech tree outside with its purple leaves fluttering in the wind. The simple beauty of it astounded her. Normally she loved the late days of September. She loved every day, she realised. She felt her throat catch as she watched a single beech leaf flutter down in the breeze. Don’t do this, Dawn, don’t feel sorry for yourself. But she couldn’t help but wonder: is that what she would be – a leaf detached from her family, her roots, from everything she’d grown, free to go? She felt a shiver go up her spine.
Eric squeezed her hand. She looked over at him. The lines across his forehead were even more pronounced these days. His hand seemed so warm. She put his hand to her lips and kissed it. He’d been so sweet, so caring. He’d raced home from Mrs Lawrence’s garden that day when Suzie called him from the doctor’s. He had come straight to the GP surgery where Suzie had explained everything, taken it all in, calmly drove her home. He’d dealt with the children, (spelling lists, supper, times tables, snacks, ‘How does the iron work, darling?’ – ironed school shirts, French verb test, hot chocolate), a tray supper for her in bed as she stared, wide-eyed at the wall and not touched a thing – loaded the dishwasher, dealt with teeth, bedtime stories, and came in about 10 p.m. shattered, got into bed with her, where he lay and held her hand, then fell asleep.
She hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d dozed and then woken with a start, grabbed the iPad and googled breast cancer. You could die of breast cancer, it had said. She’d snapped it shut. She couldn’t get the terrifying thoughts out of her brain.
Maybe this really was some karma being dished out to her by a god of another universe for fooling around with Rex, for playing with fire. All she wanted to do was to run home, to hide, to stay under a duvet somewhere until she was given the all-clear. Would she be given an all-clear? She grabbed a nearby magazine and started to fan herself with it. She couldn’t get the idea out of her mind that she had this coming, that she didn’t deserve to be happy. That she’d been a bad wife. She turned to look at Eric and stroked his hand. She took such comfort from his familiar face, the greying temples, his grey eyes; she wanted to unburden herself. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘For what, darling? This is hardly your fault,’ he said, his brow furrowing.
‘No, I mean, well, for everything. I thought you were, I thought…’
‘Thought what?’
‘You were having an affair. I got very stressed.’ She bit her lip.
‘Oh, darling.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘We’ve been through all this. I wasn’t, I was learning to dance – for you!’
She could feel herself redden. ‘I know that now. Oh, I’m so sorry. I just meant I suppose I was spending too much time—’ She faltered. What had she spent too much time doing? Chasing someone else’s husband? She was going to put that behind her right away.
‘Dawn, look, it’s fine; stop worrying about everyone, and stop saying you are sorry.’ Eric rubbed his thumb across her knuckles gently.
The door opened and the consultant came back into the room. He was brusque. ‘Right,’ he said sitting down and adjusting his tie. She could tell it was going to be bad news.
She’d made her mind up. ‘Just remove them!’ Dawn said quietly.
‘Sorry?’
‘Remove my breasts!’ she said it a little louder. ‘Both of them.’
‘Mrs Hughes, there is no need for that. We have looked over your ultrasound tests and your core biopsy. It looks like you do have a Phyllodes tumour, but—’
‘A tumour?’ Eric’s voice was shaky.
‘Yes, Mr Hughes, but these kinds of tumours are rarely cancerous. They are more common in women who are pre-menopausal – about 50 per cent are not cancerous. We do need, however, to remove it, as I thought. But as I explained earlier, when the surgeon removes it, he will remove some of the surrounding tissue; and when we analyse that, if it looks like we need to do more surgery because those surrounding cells are cancerous, we will tell you. But in the first instance, we need to book you in to remove that lump.’ He smiled at them. ‘Like I said before, a lumpectomy.’
He spoke as if he was talking about a bit of surgery to remove a bunion, not chopping about with Dawn’s breasts. Dawn imagined the knife cutting into her soft flesh, blood oozing out. She couldn’t take it all in: 50 per cent. The figures tumbled around in her brain. She was no mathematician – but that left 50 per cent who did have cancer.
83
Charlie
I make my way up to the fourth floor in the lift. Eric told me I’d find Dawn there between 2 and 5 p.m., visiting hours. It’s been two days since the operation and she’s feeling much better, Eric assured me, happy to have visitors and possibly home later. The lift doors open and there’s Suzie – and Jacob in a pram, a muslin covering the opening.
Suzie moves out of the way. ‘Hi.’ She smiles. ‘How are you?’ We hug each other. Something like this leaves you reeling, appreciating the good things in your life and wanting to hold on to them.
Suzie looks different; she looks – relaxed, that’s it. As she’s pushing the pram back and forth, I see that her nail polish is chipped.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘How’s Dawn?’
‘She’s being really brave, over there in ward 5.’ Suzie points to the left. Just then, there’s a whimper from the pram. ‘Better go.’ Suzie smiles, kisses me on the cheek, and presses the lift button.
*
I can see Dawn in the far corner, by the window. The September sun is streaming in and falls across her face. Her eyes are closed; she looks peaceful. I clutch my handbag strap and move one of the plastic chairs so I can sit near her.
It’s warm in here; I unbutton my light cardigan. I recognise the curtain fabric with the faded lilac and yellow flowers on a cream background. I remember staring at those petals after my accident, my eyes going in and out of focus.
‘Hey, stranger.’ Dawn’s eyes are open and she’s whispering to me.
‘Hi!’ I smile. ‘I didn’t want to wake you up. How are you feeling?’
‘Bit sore…’
‘Can I get you anything?’
She shakes her head at me and smiles.
‘What happens now?’
‘They’ve taken the lump out,’ she says, shifting on her pillow. ‘The Phyll-whatever tumour, as well as some of the tissue around it; the next step is waiting to see if the extra tissue around it is – um, cancerous. If not, that’s fine, I’ll get signed off, but if it is—’ Her voice breaks off.
‘Oh, I see. Dawn, I’m so sorry… Hey, I brought these for you.’ I rummage in my bag and pull out a parcel of brown paper and string from my bag. ‘Brownies. Ramone dropped them by and told me to bring them to you. His “special” brownies, he said.’
‘Well let’s hope there isn’t any marijuana in there, although it would liven this place up!’
We both smile and sit in companionable silence for a while; nurses bustle around in the background and there’s a faint bleeping sound. A woman in the bed next door coughs, and presses her buzzer several times. I stand up and pull the curtain around Dawn a bit more.
‘It’s good to see you smile, Dawn. How’ve you been, you know, since the party? How was it with Suzie?’
‘She’s been amazing, actually.’ Dawn sits up a little more on her pillow, grimaces and reaches for a drink of water. ‘She’s dealt with all of this, made sure I was seen privately and she’s been on the doctors’ case. I wouldn’t have been able to go through all this without her help – and Eric, of course.’
‘And—?’ Should I mention
Rex?
‘I know what you’re thinking – well, we were both in the wrong,’ sighs Dawn. ‘I should never have spent so much time with him – but she, well—’
I say it for her: ‘Was a bit neurotic about Jacob?’ I whisper.
Dawn nods and takes another sip of water. ‘She’s admitted that now – that she didn’t have any time for Rex.’ Dawn’s gaze goes out of the window. When her eyes return to the room she looks at me. ‘Anyway, how are you? What about Daniel – and Tyler – what’s…’ She wearily leans back down on the pillow.
I don’t want to tire her out. Perhaps I should go. ‘I don’t want to see him, Dawn.’ I cross my legs and sit up on the chair. Then I stand up and pull the blue curtain around the bed a bit more. I’m full of the fidgets.
‘Are you sure?’
I sit down again. ‘Daniel lied to me,’ I whisper theatrically.
‘Lied? But, Charlie, there’s always another side to things – you should know that. He probably didn’t know what to do, didn’t want to scare you off. And you weren’t exactly honest with him, were you?’
‘Maybe.’ I shuffle in my seat. I’m feeling Dawn might be right, but I’m still angry and confused.
‘You both had secrets, Charlie. You kept the baby. He realised who you were and – for some reason – didn’t tell you. But see it from his point of view. He had a son, Charlie, his flesh and blood that he didn’t know about. For years.’
‘Yes, but now he’s been talking to Tyler behind my back – they’ve met up a few times, before and after the party, done some photography. Tyler’s even been to his place. His place, Dawn! I don’t know who to trust. I feel excluded – sort of like he hasn’t got a right to Tyler. I’m so confused.’
‘I think he does have a right, Charlie. Tyler’s his son. But that’s good that they’ve bonded, isn’t it? Surely?’
‘I suppose so,’ I sigh. ‘I’m just not sure how I feel about all this. It just seems a mess, especially with this new girlfriend on the scene.’ I don’t mean to sound bitchy, but it comes out like that. I lean back in the hospital chair and close my eyes. ‘Sorry, Dawn, I’m meant to be here cheering you up. I’m being really selfish,’ I say reaching out to hold her hand.
