Liz set to work immediately. She contacted several small galleries in Tunbridge Wells and one agreed to look at samples of her work. If they liked it and she was prepared to fund her own show they saw no reason why she should not mount an exhibition in the autumn. She had selected ten of her favourite pictures and reckoned she could produce a further ten before her show. She had started on the design for a catalogue and had some business cards printed. She had even drafted a letter of invitation to send to a few watercolour dealers informing them of the private viewing. Her greatest achievement to date was that she had managed to keep the whole thing a secret from everybody, apart from Jenny, who seemed to know everything that was going on without being told.
When Liz finally told Mel, the reaction she received was not what she hoped for nor expected. Mel was decidedly indifferent. Her usual wild enthusiasm was painfully absent. She was not against the idea, just not interested. Worse, she did not seem to care. Liz was baffled. The venture had been Mel’s idea; at least it was Mel who had motivated her into action. Now she did not want to know. When Liz suggested that Mel should be in charge of the private view she was horrified to hear her friend announce that she would probably not be there. Liz was perplexed and mortified. She had not realized she had offended Mel so deeply, but each time she broached the subject Mel ducked out, barely offering an excuse.
Doubts began to rise once more as to Mel’s relationship with Edward. Had the attack on her inadequacy been a cleverly concocted smoke screen behind which she had been taken for a complete fool? Liz had already choked on a large portion of humble pie. She was not ready for desserts just yet, but she knew that if she wanted to keep Mel’s friendship she had to hold her tongue and let things be or bite the bullet and wait for the fireworks. There was no one to confide in. The one person she would have talked to was in the centre of the intrigue. Just as she was despairing, help came from an unexpected but close source.
Jenny had known about her mother’s plans from the off. Harriet had been so excited that she had confided in the child. She had told her that her mother was going to need her support. Jenny proved amazingly expert when it came to choosing what went into the exhibition and what was needed to supplement the existing work. She identified the prospective market, and James then researched into the estimated price her paintings could hope to achieve. Their combined resourcefulness left Liz speechless. Nothing was beyond their grasp. As James explained, it was only a mouse’s click away. While she had been busy dealing with her own problems these incredible youngsters were growing into fully functioning people with skills and talents she had not dreamed they possessed. They were also caring people who were interested in her as a person. They did not see her as just a mother; someone who washed their clothes and put food in their stomachs. When she attempted to express this pride to them, James knocked the whole thing into perspective by exclaiming that he never realized anyone actually washed his clothes. He had put it down to the soap Fairy. It was not until Jenny pointed out that James had never heard of Fairy as a washing product that Liz realized he was not being intentionally witty. He really had never considered laundry before. It simply did not feature on his agenda. There was so much she had to find out about her twins and so much for them to discover about her. She felt lucky to have been given such a fabulous chance to get to know them, but she could not help wishing Mel was sharing it too. She was missing her friend badly.
By mid-March Mel looked positively ill. “It’s cancer.” She said it without ceremony or drama. The two women were drinking coffee in the breakfast-room. Liz had managed to persuade Mel to spend some time with her. They had planned to grab some lunch out in Tunbridge Wells when Mel announced she would prefer a quiet lunch at Beckmans. Cancer! The word hit Liz in the pit of her stomach. Her coffee cup spilled over, covering the table top with a dark brown slick that dripped on to the floor. The Pote rushed to lap it up, but retreated as the hot bitter coffee burned his tongue. Questions churned through Liz’s brain, turning it to mush. Where? What sort? And, worst of all, how long? They all sounded so negative and she must be positive.
“Are they sure?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Mel had got up and was wiping the table and floor with liberal amounts of kitchen paper. She tossed the soggy mess in the bin and picked up the peeved dog. He lay in her arms like a baby, flat on his back shamelessly displaying those precious private bits he had retained. His tongue reached out to lick Mel’s hands and she buried her nose in his warm coat. “I’ve been having tests since November,” she said.
“You knew all over Christmas! Why on earth didn’t you tell me?” Liz was hurt.
“Because first there was all that business with David and Sue, then there was my unholy row with the sacred Brenda. Then what with the damned recession and Bob’s business taking a nose-dive, well… and actually this was to do with me, not you.” Mel was rocking the dog as if it were a sleeping child. She nuzzled his fur again. “I love that biscuity smell. It’s like toast. Poor old Pote, he must be getting on now. Sometimes I wish I’d had a baby.”
“He’s nearly ten, but I wish you’d told me sooner. I’m your friend Mel.”
“I know. But I had to deal with this. I didn’t want to confuse things by having to deal with other people’s reactions too. It’s been hard enough coping with my own.”
“I’m not ‘other people’. I’m me.” Liz’s hurt came through loud and clear.
“That’s exactly what I mean. This is about me. It’s my problem. I had to decide when and if I was ready to share it. Nothing was definite before. The first biopsies were inconclusive. Why should a whole bunch of people worry about nothing? Anyway, I’m telling you now because now I know what I’m facing, and I need your support.” Mel smiled.
Liz was a good friend, but she tended to judge everything from her own narrow standpoint. Her view of life radiated from that central fixed position. It never occurred to her that perspectives change radically with a shift of vantage point, informed by observation, reflection and the exchange of ideas. Liz was a great jumper to conclusions. She got up and walked over to Mel. She wanted to find something clever and profound to say to show that she understood, but she could not. She felt rage and impotency. So instead she wrapped her arms around her friend and the two women held each other close. “You’ll be fine,” Liz said, but behind Mel she sensed a tall figure in a long black cloak staring back at her with tears in its shrouded eyes.
Mel’s cancer was in her left breast. She had already had a lumpectomy and this procedure had revealed a malignant tumour requiring further, urgent surgery. This was to be followed up with radiotherapy and possible chemo. She told Liz that she was booked in for the following day and would probably be in hospital for five or six days, maximum.
“I’m a tough old bird, you know,” laughed Mel.
“I know, but… oh, Mel, I don’t know what to say.”
“My guardian angel is feeling very positive so don’t worry. I want a daily supply of expensive chocolates, and balloons. They don’t let you have flowers, the rotten sods. So I’ll have those when I get out, bucket loads of exotic blooms. I’ve bought the most gorgeous silk pyjamas and dressing-gown, so I’ll be wowing them in Maidstone hospital and if I don’t catch some god-awful bug I shall be out demanding champagne before you even miss me.” Mel was rummaging in the kitchen fridge. “Where does your mean bastard of a husband hide the booze?”
“In the drinks fridge, as you should know!” said Liz. “What happened between you and Brenda? I must have missed that. What happened? What are you looking for?”
“Champagne.” Mel’s hunt had proved productive and she was removing the wire from a bottle of Moet as she spoke. “Let’s celebrate. I have no intention of dying just yet.” She laughed as the bubbles forced the wine to shoot out of the bottle into the waiting glass. “Cheers. No, don’t say anything else. I shall be fine.”
Liz raised her glass. They each took a healthy swig before Mel refilled their glasses.
“So what happened with Brenda?” Liz hoped a change of subject would lighten things. She was in a state of shock, but did not want to pursue the matter against Mel’s wishes.
“The blessed Brenda! Oh, it was only a minor bust up. She started off on one of her bloody crusades. You know, all that guff in the Bible about the witch of Endor? She’s convinced I’m in league with the devil and should be burned as a heretic. It‘s my own fault; I can’t resist riling her. She’s so bloody pious. Donald had been asking me how business was and I happened to mention that the spirits were quiet at the moment. I wasn’t going to explain that I’ve had to stop all that malarkey for now, but she wouldn’t let it go. ‘If the dead want to be contacted they don’t need a medium…’ well, you know the speeches as well as I do. I told her I hadn’t expected the Spanish Inquisition and she said…this is Brenda, remember: severe lack of humour. She said: ‘Well, it might have done you some good!’ Honest to God, the woman’s a lunatic.”
They paused for a while to giggle at Brenda’s expense. It was good to be relaxed again, enjoying one another’s company.
“What you said before, Mel… did you really want children?”
“No way, I can’t stand the little buggers!”
“Seriously? You’d have made super parents. Why didn’t you have any?”
“I couldn’t, simple as that.”
“Did you want a family?”
“I suppose so, but we have to accept what is given and it obviously wasn’t meant. Bob never seemed to mind so it’s worked out OK in the end. How about you? Do you want more?”
“Gosh. I don’t know. I took it for granted that I would have kids. Do I want more? Yes. I hadn’t thought about it but, yes. I do want another one. Wow. That’s a revelation, isn’t it?”
“Maybe you should tell Edward?”
“Hmm…maybe, maybe not.”
The subject hardly seemed appropriate so they reverted to picking poor Brenda to pieces.
CHAPTER 15
The waiting began. Mel had her surgery, a mastectomy and the removal of the lymph nodes from under her left arm. It was extensive and invasive, but she never complained or bemoaned her lot. Every day for two weeks she had radiotherapy, then three weeks of chemo, during which her mane of magenta hair thinned drastically. In solidarity with her new-found sisters in the oncology department she shaved off the remains of her hair and flatly refused to wear a wig. She wore her baldness with pride, only resorting to a hat when the temperature plummeted well into April. Late frosts had turned the wisteria buds to grey powder and spring nearly did not bother to appear at all it was so cold. Then suddenly it was May and the twin’s tenth birthday loomed large.
Mel was still poorly, but insistent that the twin’s tenth birthday was too important an event to be shelved because of a “bit of cancer”. Throughout the ordeal Mel was strong and defiant. She had shown Liz her scar just a few days after the amputation. Liz had mumbled something about how neat it was, but inside she was horrified. If that happened to her she would die. Her breasts were an important part of who she was as a woman. How could one ever come to terms with losing one? Edward would never cope with it, not like Bob. Edward would be repulsed. He would see her as deformed and incomplete. His instinctive reaction would be to pretend it had not happened. She could never again undress in front of him or walk around in the nude. He would see it as a thing of shame, a failure. Oh, he would never say so in as many words, but she would always know what he was thinking and have to hide herself so as not to offend or hurt him. Bob was unbelievable. He gave nothing but full support. It was obvious that he felt his wife’s pain and her loss, but that did not alter his feelings for her in any way. She was still the sexy, crazy girl he had married and nothing would change that. He adored her.
Harriet witnessed all this from her discreet distance. She was full of admiration for Mel’s courage and ability to put on such a brave face. Try as she would Liz was not capable of being as stalwart. She had been terrified at the thought of losing Mel and found it impossible to hide her emotions. Although she tried not to cry in front of Mel she was always on the brink of spilling over or just mopping up after having done so. Mel forgave her, of course, but congratulated herself on having had the foresight not to reveal too much too soon. Liz swore never to take her friendship for granted again, while Mel just swore. Old-fashioned profanities kept her going in times of crisis and the air in the hospital ward was still blue as testament to her determination to win through. Brenda turned a deaf ear to these and adopted a professional objectivity while offering up a great many Hail Mary’s to her Catholic unforgiving God.
As the late spring gave way to an early summer, life was bursting out everywhere including Mel’s head. Her new shoots were straight and silver. They lay close to her head, forming an urchin cap that suited her amazingly well. Her feisty personality bounced back with a vengeance and she embraced her renaissance with a verve that left the rest of them exhausted. Jenny was the first to remark on the new Mel and in her usual forthright way suggested it was probably the fact that she had stared death in the face and beaten him that had brought about such a splendid transformation. Of course she was right. Harriet knew that better than most, but Mel was not ignorant of the facts either. She had come close to discovering that greatest of life’s mysteries; death. She also knew that her battle was the first skirmish of what would be a long, hard war.
The consultant told her the cancer had moved to her lymph nodes. So far it had not shown up anywhere else and it was possible that they had caught it in time. Mel knew she had more chemo to face, but was determined to face it alone. She had seen the drama friends had made of her plight. Their concern and misplaced good deeds made her resolve to get on with things in her own way. Even Bob did not know. Only her guides and unseen helpers were allowed this privileged information. It was to them that she turned for strength and healing. She was not going to die; not for a long time; but her life might be very different for a considerable time.
She sought counselling from a psychic medium in whose circle she had sat for many years. This now elderly woman offered Mel all the reassurance she needed. They meditated together for long quiet hours during which Mel felt safe enough to allow her spirit the freedom to release itself and lose the baggage that weighed it down to the physical world. She emerged rejuvenated and cleansed by these sessions. They gave her not only the confidence to trust in, but also the strength to return to her own psychic work, with a renewed energy and increased insight. Her body’s capacity to heal itself and the speed with which it did so astounded her doctors. By May she declared herself a cancer-free zone and defied anyone to say otherwise.
Having shed her magenta locks Mel decided to restyle herself. She became a creature of silver, adopting various shades of greys and silvery whites for her new spring wardrobe. Her jewellery was still heavy and flamboyant, the coral and jade replaced by silver and crystal. The clothes she chose wafted and drifted in chiffons and silks as she abandoned the velvets for a lighter, gossamer look. She had lost a good two stones in as many months and suddenly everything about her appeared lifted and freer. Mel had always claimed to “go-with-the-flow”, but now she embraced the current with a resolute, almost manic determination.
This year, the twins’ birthday fell on a Thursday, so it was decided to hold their party the following Saturday. In the past Mel, Sue, Brenda and Liz had helped with the children’s parties. They enjoyed sharing the planning and the execution, with the three more able caterers keeping the fourth wild card out of harm’s way. The wild card was, of course, poor Brenda. How she had become a Ward Sister was a wonder. There was nothing in the least domesticated or organized about her. She was a disaster waiting to happen and was usually assigned harmless tasks such as blowing up the balloons or folding napkins. Even then she had to be overseen with discreet diligence. “What can possibly go wrong?” was not a phrase one used around her as it tempted providence to the limit. This year everything was u
p for grabs. The circle had to be reinvented. Sue was far away in the West Country and Brenda announced rather unconvincingly that she was not sure what her schedule was. In reality she was still smarting from her contretemps with Mel.
Brenda was the only one of the group who could harbour a grudge for any length of time. She wore her Catholicism like a coat of armour. It shielded her from evil but also shut her away from the real world, predisposing her to misinterpret others’ motives and emotions. Beneath this armour-plating she was extremely soft-skinned. As a nurse she had learned the art of clinical detachment; unfortunately it had become an intrinsic part of her make-up. Her faith was important to her, but she had a tendency to take it literally. Mel said Brenda had been born into the wrong century; Mel had actually called her a leftover from the dark ages. This remark had never been forgotten, as both parties knew there was a great deal of truth in it. The difficulty was that while one found this a good thing, the other saw it as a definite flaw. Mostly they managed to contain their differences to light-hearted banter. But with such a fundamental disagreement between friends it is not surprising that every now and then jihad broke out.
Mel had no formal religion to quote from. She had been born seeing angels and spirits, a benefit or burden hard to refute. One might consider the accompanying gift of clairvoyance as delusional, but Mel’s trust in her spirit world was every bit as solid as were Brenda’s Catholic beliefs. The differences, however, were profound. Mel knew what she knew and did not rely on faith. She had no way of proving anything to anyone else and proselytizing was not her thing. If her readings gave someone the surety that their loved ones were still near and still cared, all well and good. She knew why she did what she did and the fact that it helped people in times of need was enough for her. Admittedly the church offered comfort to many, but it came with too many conditions for a free spirit like Mel. Her persuasion left no room for man-made creeds or rules. Fat bishops and dissolute clergy were not her idea of feet planted on a spiritual path, so until she met an actual saint she was content to follow her own convictions.
The Haunting of Harriet Page 18
