‘Do you want me to stay, darling? I’ll cancel everything,’ he said.
‘No, I’ll be fine. You go to work.’
‘Why don’t you ring the doctor now?’
‘He said to wait two weeks. There’s nothing he can do until the results come through.’
‘I’ll call you straight after my meeting.’
Denise could feel his hot breath as he spoke into her hair. She felt safe in his arms. He stood back and reached for her hands, holding them both.
‘Take it easy, I love you.’ He kissed her softly on her forehead, his face drawn with worry.
‘You too. I’ll be fine. See you later.’
She waved him goodbye, blowing kisses as he walked down the path to his car. Her smile faded when she closed the front door.
Balancing two cereal bowls, spoons and mugs, Denise dodged toy cars on the floor and placed the items in the sink. If she made a list, she could keep herself busy all day. If she didn’t stop, she might not think about it too much. She glanced up and looked out of the window. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze as greenfinches and blue tits pecked at the seeds that the boys had topped up yesterday evening.
She thought back over the last week and wondered how her life had been turned upside down so abruptly. It was as if something had picked up her ordered life and scattered it on the floor. Perhaps she was worrying needlessly, after all—
Denise froze.
She gripped the edge of the sink. Another bird had settled on the fence. She instantly felt the hairs on her arms stand up. She held her breath, her hand moving slowly to her mouth. This bird reminded her of the doctor’s prophetic words; words that made this moment, terrifying. Despite her body shaking, her thoughts wandered back to the idyllic family day out the previous week, where it had all begun.
‘Come on, slow coach. We’re nearly there.’ Denise was panting as she spoke.
Sam was lagging behind. With his head bowed, he pushed his chubby hands onto his bare scuffed knees with each laborious step he had taken up Parliament Hill. Simon was a little way ahead with their elder son, Peter. It was a Sunday afternoon on a warm sunny blue-skied day and the melody of an ice cream van tinkled up the hill.
Denise was always happiest when surrounded by her family. That day, they’d been exploring Hampstead Heath. Living close by meant that over the years they’d already discovered most of its wonderful secrets. Hidden glens, ponds obscured by leafy willows, crooked trees for small boys to climb and, best of all, the stunning expansive views from the top of Parliament Hill. The boys loved visiting the adventure playground and watching the entertainers, clowns, puppets and magicians. Fairs visited on summer bank holidays and Simon took them fishing on the calm lakes. When each summer was almost over and the hint of autumn floated in the breeze, they’d pick a basket of blackberries to freeze and cook throughout the winter months. It was a wonderful place to people-watch, fly kites, share picnics or just to wander and talk.
An excited yell from the top of the hill drew Denise’s attention upwards. She shielded her eyes and laughed when she saw Simon and Peter waving their arms above their heads, having reached the summit. She stopped and waited until Sam caught up.
‘Mummy, can we have an ice cream when we go back down?’
‘Of course, but let’s play king of the castle and sit on the top of the hill first.’
‘Can we sit on our favourite bench?’
‘If it’s free we can.’
Denise had held out her hand to her youngest son, which he grasped.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Can I have a piggyback?’
She chuckled. ‘Mummy is very old and doesn’t have your young legs. I can’t carry a little boy as well.’
‘I’m not little. I’m four.’
‘Compared to Mummy and Daddy, you’re little.’
‘And Peter?’
‘Yes, and Peter.’
‘Mummy?’
Denise was panting. ‘Yes’
‘How old are you?’
‘Hmm, well you shouldn’t really ask a lady how old she is, but because I know you can keep a secret, I’m thirty-two.’
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, Sam.’
‘If you’re thirty-two and Uncle Daniel is your twin, then he is thirty-two too!’ Sam giggled and repeated, ‘Thirty-two too, two too.’
‘That’s right. There are no flies on you, are there?’
Sam had looked at his arms and bent double to survey his legs. ‘No.’
‘No, it means… never mind. Look, we’ve made it.’
Simon had an arm draped around his elder son’s shoulders.
‘Hello, you two,’ said Denise.
‘Beat you,’ Peter teased.
‘Mum is very old and has thirty-two legs,’ said Sam. ‘No, I mean her legs are thirty-two and old, so I had to stay with her.’
Simon laughed and kissed her cheek. ‘Sexiest old legs I’ve ever seen,’ he’d whispered, tapping her bottom.
The four of them lived in a town house at the end of a tree-lined street. It would have been far beyond their means if it hadn’t been for the death of Denise’s parents six years ago. They’d left the bulk of their estate to her and Daniel. Daniel loved The Rookery and didn’t want to sell, whereas she was already married and living in London. She’d happily signed her half of the family home over to Daniel and with the proceeds, plus the equity they’d made on their previous property in a cheaper area of London, they’d bought their present house near Hampstead. Now her days were filled with housework, taxiing, childcare and coffee mornings with friends. Simon had been promoted to a senior level in the advertising company and enjoyed his work, so life was good. Nowadays she remembered her parents with a sad smile and fond memories, rather than tears.
‘Look, they’re leaving,’ Peter shouted. He ran to a newly-vacated wooden bench on the brow of the hill. They all followed him and sat down facing the breathtaking panorama. The city’s beauty silenced them all. Denise always read the view like a book, looking from left to right, taking in the familiar and much-loved sight before her. The rooftops of adjacent Highgate were bathed in the sunshine. Scanning right she saw St Paul’s majestic dome, Docklands and the O2. Her gaze lingered on the London Eye that looked like a discarded bike wheel, turning lazily on its axis.
‘I can see the BT Tower, see.’ Peter pointed and they’d all looked past his finger towards the tower.
‘I watched ET, didn’t I, Mummy?’ said Sam.
Peter guffawed, bending forwards and holding his stomach. ‘You think it’s the ET Tower, you baby!’
Sam had lowered his head and sulked. ‘I’m not a baby. I’m four.’
‘ET, phone home,’ Peter squeaked, in his best alien voice.
Sam’s lips twitched as he tried to suppress a giggle.
‘Sam, do you know where ET comes from?’ Peter asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
‘No.’
‘Uranus.’
‘Where’s your anus, Mummy?’
‘Never mind.’ She looked at her seven-year-old son. He’d reached the age when toilet humour beat any other joke. ‘Behave, Peter. Let’s just enjoy the peace for a few minutes and then we’ll find the ice cream van.’
‘But he’s pointing at me and laughing,’ whined Sam.
Denise looked at Peter with raised eyebrows.
‘But, Mummy,’ said Sam. ‘Where’s your—’
Peter hadn’t been able to hold his sniggering any longer and exploded with laughter, rolling sideways onto the bench clutching his stomach.
‘Okay, enough now. As ET said – be good,’ Simon ordered, his mouth twitching to prevent a grin.
In the kitchen, Denise blinked out of her reverie. She realised she’d been smiling as she’d replayed the family’s conversation in her mind. Her smile disappeared. The sun slipped behind a single white cloud, muting the colours of the bird that had transfixed her. With a sudden movement it flew
onto the grass. She jumped, then staring at it as it ruffled its feathers, her thoughts returned to the harrowing events of the previous Sunday.
It had taken a shockingly short time since returning from their idyllic day out on Hampstead Heath, for Denise’s happy, organised life, to turn upside down. After the boys had been bathed and their knees had been scrubbed clean of grass stains, she’d taken a long hot shower. She sang beneath the deluge of water as the rose-scented bubbles decorated her skin. Her mind had been full of their day out, her family, the bottle of wine she would shortly share with Simon and the bar of Galaxy chocolate secreted away from her sons.
What measure of time does it take to alter your life? It took one second to change Denise’s. She’d felt it as she’d rinsed the bubbles from her breasts. A lump. It felt like a pea, fresh from the freezer. Hard and round. She remembered her heart crashing against her ribs while she rinsed her hair. She remembered trembling in the heat of the shower. After stepping out of the cubicle, she wrapped a large bath towel around her body and sat on the edge of the bath. She looked down at the patterns on the floor, watching water drip from her hair and splatter on the marble tiles. The tiles had patterns in them; swirls that contorted into hideous faces. She stood up. As if in a trance, she walked to the mirror. She wiped the condensation and let her towel fall. Denise looked at her body and felt her breast again. She closed her eyes as if to protect herself. The lump was still there. It hadn’t been a mistake. She looked up at the reflection of her face. An older, paler version of herself looked back.
That evening passed in a blur of fake smiles and laughter for the boys. Of course she’d told Simon and he’d helped her get through the night with reassuring words and loving touches. The old adage was true, she thought, as she lay in bed that night. You never know what’s around the corner.
Monday morning arrived after a sleepless night and Denise telephoned the surgery as soon as it had opened. Within an hour she’d been sitting in the waiting room, her stomach churning beneath her folded arms. After an agonisingly long ten minutes, she was buzzed through to see her doctor. Dr Gray sat at his desk reading, but turned to peer over his glasses when she closed the door behind her. Having explained her concern, Denise was asked to remove her blouse and bra behind a modesty curtain surrounding a narrow bed.
‘I’m ready,’ she mumbled.
Dr Gray, a tall, big-boned man, pulled aside the curtain and examined her. He stopped on the lump, pressing and manipulating it.
‘Right oh! Get dressed, Mrs Harby and we’ll have a word.’
Denise got dressed and Dr Gray indicated for her to sit down.
‘You do have a small lump, but given your age, it’s probably nothing to worry about. It’s not unusual to feel lumps and bumps at different times of the month and they nearly always disappear. Hormones or lack of hormones have a lot to answer for. Now, if you still feel worried and it hasn’t gone in a fortnight, make another appointment and I’ll refer you to the Breast Clinic for a more detailed examination and scan. You have to remember, there are more sparrows in the sky than parrots.’ He’d laughed and said goodbye.
‘More sparrows in the sky than parrots,’ she repeated to herself, five minutes later as she climbed back into her car. It was obviously meant to reassure her in a crass, arrogant kind of way. He was letting her know that she probably didn’t have anything exotic or unusual, just a normal temporary lump caused by hormonal changes. But she hadn’t found him funny or reassuring in any way.
Today, one week after visiting her doctor, Denise looked back at the bird that was sitting on her lawn.
It was a parrot.
Chapter Nine
Tess and Blake were sitting on the sofa watching the ten o’clock news. Tess was still reeling from having recently received the news from Blake that his test results had confirmed the doctor’s initial thoughts. She’d felt incredibly guilty for having doubted him and now wanted to support him in any way she could, despite his protestations. The programme they were watching was reporting on NHS cuts, including care for cancer patients. The presenter looked straight in to the camera and Tess felt as if she were talking directly to her.
‘Record numbers of patients are not getting vital cancer care on time because NHS England performance against waiting time targets has fallen to its lowest ever level, according to official figures. Hospitals are increasingly having to force patients to wait for care because they cannot keep up with the growing numbers being referred by GPs who fear they have the disease.’
‘It’s awful having to wait,’ said Tess. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Not too bad, just a bit tired.’
‘I want to come with you for your next appointment.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘I just want to let you know that I’m here for you. I want to give you more support. I don’t want you to have to go through this alone.’
‘I know you want to help, but I cope better when I’m on my own.’
‘I wouldn’t come in to the hospital consultations, if you didn’t want me to. I’d just sit in the waiting room and be company on the journey to and from your appointments.’
‘You’re lovely and you’re doing just the right thing for me already.’
‘Like what? I don’t even know much about what’s going on, let alone doing anything to help.’
‘You’re kidding! You’re doing so much. Just knowing you’re here and you love me is all I need. So many girlfriends would have cut and run at the prospect of a sick partner, but you didn’t. You’re an amazing support.’
Tess hoped he didn’t see her blush when he mentioned cutting and running. He had no idea how close she had come to doing just that. Granted, not because of his diagnosis, but she had been seconds away from turning her back on him forever.
‘I understand that you might want to go to the hospital alone, but I need to know what’s happening. Don’t push me away.’
Blake sighed and impatiently ran his hands through his hair. ‘What do you need to know?’
Tess laid a hand on his thigh. ‘It’s only because I care. Do you have any letters from your consultant that explains exactly where the cancer is? Can you show me your X-ray? Ask if you can take a photograph of it. It’s your medical information and you’re allowed access to it if you make arrangements.’
‘How will you looking at some image help me?’
‘You’ll be sharing your problems and I’ll understand more of what you’re going through.’
Blake stood up. ‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Can we chat tomorrow? I’m going up now,’ said Blake, yawning. ‘Night.’ He leaned forwards and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.
A few hours later, Blake checked the time on his Fitbit and tried to settle back to sleep. It was 01:53. It hadn’t been an easy decision to lie to Tess. Before that meal, he’d even convinced himself that it wouldn’t be necessary; a bit like his critical illness insurance. However, for the past few weeks following his lie, he’d slept badly and was anxious when staying over at Tess’s. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her; it was just the endless questions. She was relentless. Somehow it seemed easier to live with his deceit when he didn’t have to look her in the eye, and now gnawing guilt was ensuring that sleep remained elusive. Blake turned irritably onto his stomach and made a decision. He’d pretend to be cured quickly so that he could stop lying. Perhaps he could even say that the doctor had got it wrong. No. Tess would demand to know which doctor he’d seen and storm into the surgery.
He stayed motionless while Tess changed position, waiting until her breathing returned to the slow steady rhythm of sleep. He knew what he’d do. He’d play the brave boyfriend for a couple of months while staying positive and working hard. That’d show her that he was strong and dependable. Then when they were back on an even keel, he’d say the chemotherapy had worked and dramatically recover. The lie would be history. The important thing was that they were still a couple.
Blake sat up and th
umped his pillow before turning sideways and curling into a foetal position. As he lay there, a thought occurred to him. A plan was taking form that would ease her suspicions. It could be the answer to all Tess’s questions. He’d do it tomorrow.
The next morning Blake begrudgingly fed coins into the hospital car park’s ticket machine, muttering about extortion. Having placed the ticket inside his car he strode towards the main entrance. Once inside, he studied a map of the hospital’s layout showing directions to different departments, tracing the image of corridors and clinics with his forefinger. He didn’t have far to go; just a five minute walk.
When Blake arrived at Oncology he lingered by the department’s double doors, peering through the glass partition. It smelt of disinfectant and coffee. He felt anxious, his stomach churning at the thought of waiting with sick people who were sitting on the other side of the swing doors. He pushed one side open and stepped inside.
A few faces momentarily turned towards him before looking away again. Blake chose a seat in the corner of the waiting room with his back to the wall, where he could observe without interruption. The idea he was now putting into action had occurred to him the previous night and hopefully it would get Tess off his back for a while.
Over the next forty minutes, Blake observed the comings and goings of both staff and patients. No one seemed to notice him lurking at the back of the waiting area. Some patients were being pushed in wheelchairs, some must have been inpatients because they wore dressing gowns and slippers, and the majority appeared to be either bald or wearing a scarf. This observation set his mind racing once again.
There appeared to be a set routine to the clinic where every eight minutes or so, a nurse would pick up a set of medical notes from a pile on her desk and call a patient’s name. She would then escort them through a side door and not return for a few minutes. Blake had also noticed people entering and leaving a small staffroom. Specifically, he noticed that a doctor had removed her stethoscope and left it hanging on a coat hook before leaving the department.
You've Got My Number: Warm your heart this winter with this uplifting and deliciously romantic story! Page 5
