by Shari Low
Dan interrupted my thoughts by clearing his throat. ‘Okay, I have something to say.’ Oh God, he was going to finish it now. Noooo. Not now. Later. In private. His next words made me wonder if he was reading my mind.
‘I was going to do this later, when Lu and I were alone, but I suppose we all spend so much time together this makes more sense.’
No it doesn’t. It really doesn’t. My thoughts went unspoken. It was like watching a car crash about to unfold and being unable to scream a warning.
‘The thing is… Lu and I have been together for three years now and it’s never been easy.’
My eyes flicked to Lulu, who was watching him intently, her face giving nothing away. I knew her so well. She’d never, ever show that something was hurting or scaring her.
I shot a warning glare at Dan. Don’t do this. Don’t break up with her. Don’t humiliate her like this.
He suddenly stood up, sending his chair toppling backwards. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t say it, so he was leaving. It was probably for the best. They could talk later, when they were both ready, sort it out in private and find a way to move on as friends.
But he didn’t walk away. He came round to Lu’s side of the table, dropped on one knee, pulled a tiny box from the pocket of his trousers and popped it open to reveal a huge, round solitaire diamond.
‘Lu, I love you. You drive me insane, but I absolutely could not live without you. Marry me.’
Oh. Fuck. Oh. Fuck. Oh. Fuck.
I could feel panic rising. Why was there never a fire alarm when you needed it? Or a shark? Or anything that would head off the moment when my best friend told the man she was cheating on that she couldn’t possibly marry him because she was a screwed-up mess?
Lulu opened her mouth, tried to form words, taking what seemed like a lifetime to co-ordinate her brain with her vocal cords.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. Oh dear god, yes? Yes? Just when I thought this couldn’t get any bloody worse, she said yes to the poor guy she’d been unfaithful to for years?
Shark! Shark!
17
2015
Two Go To The Hospital
The forced joviality was almost more heartbreaking than our honest emotions, but we all went along with it because it was the only way to deal with this.
‘Right, Beth, have you got your bag and your scooter and your private jet?’ Lulu asked.
Beth guffawed with laughter. ‘Auntie Lulu, I don’t take a private jet to school!’
‘You don’t? Oh. Well we’ll just have to take my car then I suppose. Right, say goodbye to mum and let’s go.’
I was beyond grateful to Lulu for keeping everything upbeat for Beth, who was now waiting for me, arms wide open. I kneeled down to give her a huge hug and if she noticed that I hung on longer than usual, she didn’t say. She was almost out the door, when she turned back with an afterthought of, ‘Will daddy be back with his new head when I get home?’
‘Not today, honey,’ I managed, fighting to hold it together. ‘Another few days.’
‘Can you ask him to hurry up? I miss him.’
‘I will.’ He only went in last night, to prepare for the op today, and she was missing him already. I knew how she felt.
Lulu looked back at me with such a tortured expression that I almost broke.
‘Here’s your lunch, sweetie,’ Rosie said, handing over Beth’s Frozen lunch box.
‘Right, come on, Beth O’Flynn,’ Lulu chirped, ‘Our private jet is waiting.’
‘It’s not a private jet!’ Beth giggled before skipping out the door.
I exhaled, holding on to the kitchen table for support. Don’t crumble. Keep it together.
Telling Beth had been horrific on the inside, flippant on the outside. We’d told her in as casual a way as possible that daddy had a lump in his head and the doctor had to take it off. That was it. Nothing more.
‘Like when I fell over my roller skates?’
‘Yes, just like that,’ I told her. ‘Only this lump is on the inside, so the doctors have to do an operation that will leave daddy with a big bandage around his head afterwards. He’ll look like a mummy from Scooby Doo.’
At this point, Colm had pretended to transform into a zombie and chased her round the room, to her screaming delight.
Telling Rosie, Dan, and Lulu had been tough too. No cartoon dog could soften the blow. The night before last, Beth had gone for a sleepover at her friend Marcy’s house. I’d asked Rosie and Jack round on the pretence of a mid-week catch up, but Jack was working, so Rosie had come on her own.
We’d also lied to both Lulu and Dan to get them in the same room, inviting them round separately. They had been completely avoiding each other since the last fight over Dan calling in the lawyers. Married for years, then nothing. No contact. No dialogue. She was still living in their home and he was still in our garage. They’d just cut each other out of their lives altogether. I couldn’t get my head around their actions at all.
No surprise then that when Lulu walked in and saw us, Rosie and Dan already there, I could see she thought it was some kind of marriage guidance intervention. I only wished it was.
‘I’m not staying here if…’
I cut her off. ‘Don’t, Lu. Just sit down.’ Something in my voice must have shocked her enough to comply.
‘Is it the Bracal Tech contract? Did we not get it?’
‘We haven’t heard yet,’ Colm said, before taking a deep breath.
Colm and I had agreed that he would say the words, and I was grateful because I wasn’t sure I could do it. Typically, he’d gone right for it, making it sound totally flippant.
‘Right. You know these headaches? Well, turns out I have a brain tumour. They’re operating on Monday to take it out. It’ll probably be benign and I’ll be fine, so I’m not worried.’
I let the ‘probably be benign’ go. This was his story to tell it in whatever way he wanted. He’d be fine. He would. And if that’s what he wanted to say, then I wasn’t going to contradict with anything that would shake his confidence. I just wish I felt it too.
There were questions. Lots of them. And tears. Rosie’s ran down her face, Lulu wiped hers away, mine were blinked back. Dan just sat, stunned, pale, speechless, before kicking in to practical mode. ‘Right, what can we do? What do you need?’
Colm shook his head. ‘Nothing, mate.’
‘Maybe just some help with Beth,’ I’d added. Lulu and Rosie immediately worked out a schedule of drop-offs, pick-ups and play dates that would keep her so occupied she wouldn’t even notice, much less be affected by, the fact that daddy wasn’t there.
Logistics sorted. I just wished there was such a painless solution that would mend Colm’s damaged head and my broken heart.
‘What about the twins?’ Rosie had asked. ‘Have you told them?’
Colm spoke up again. ‘No. They’re away on that exchange visit in France. Eight weeks. So I’m not telling them until they get back and it’s all over. They don’t need to be worrying about this.’
We’d debated that one long into the night, and I wasn’t 100% sure we were doing the right thing, but I just hoped they’d understand our actions came from a good place. Davie and Joe had been looking forward to this trip for so long. Two months in Paris, between their first and second year at university, helping out teaching English at a camp. They’d only been there for a couple of weeks but we’d been getting daily texts and calls telling us how much they were loving it. Neither of us wanted to take that away from them, to end an incredible experience. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be upset that we hadn’t told. They’d grown into great kids – mature and funny, with Colm’s sense of adventure. I couldn’t stand the thought of causing them heartache.
‘And just so you know, I’m not telling my mam or my brother either. Since my mam’s stroke last year, she’s not been well and, Jesus, this could kill her.’
Whenever he spoke about his family, his Irish accent got stronger.
‘So t
here it is. Brain tumour. Out Monday. Over and done and back on my feet within a week,’ he summarized. ‘Right, who wants a beer? If I’m going to have a headache, I may as well make it a hangover.’
Wide-eyed and stunned, the others had gone along with it, somehow managing to change the subject and carry on with a night that descended into stories and laughter and ended with drunk singing at 3 a.m. Even Lulu and Dan managed to keep it civilised.
Optimism and denial, mixed with friends and craic. The Colm O’Flynn technique for surviving a brain tumour.
When we woke up in the morning, heads predictably sore, I’d tried to talk to him. The practical side in me – the one that ran this house, this family, my business, the one that made all the decisions, sorted the problems and made sure that everyone was where they needed to be, the one that took care of everyone – that one needed to talk, to process, to make plans. None of those functions came under Colm’s remit in our day-to-day lives, but surely these were exceptional circumstances? In the last couple of days I’d read loads of stuff online about people’s reactions to life-risking surgery. According to most of the accounts, they got their affairs in order. Talked to everyone they loved. Wrote letters of forgiveness or acceptance. Tried to come to terms with what was happening.
So far, Colm had nipped to Tesco for a case of beer and thrown a party. There had to be more and he needed to know I was here for whatever he was truly feeling on the inside.
‘Babe, you know you don’t have to act like this is nothing. We can talk about it,’ I said.
He winced as he tried to sit up, but I wasn’t sure if that was due to the subject or the consequences of last night’s over-indulgence.
He lifted his hand and ran it down the side of my face. ‘Darlin’, there’s nothing to talk about. It’s going to be okay. I truly believe that, and you need to as well.’
There were a million things I wanted to say to that, but I didn’t. Instead, I curled into his chest and closed my eyes. He needed me to be strong. He needed me to handle this in the same way he did. He needed me to get a grip and ignore how I was feeling and make this bearable for him. He needed glib denial and surface humour. I decided that as long as we were in the same room, that’s what he’d get. And if I crumbled to my knees elsewhere, he would never know about it.
I opened my eyes and reached for the remote control. ‘Okay, in that case, let’s stay in bed all day and watch a movie. Chick flick?’
‘Nooooo.’
‘Sorry, you don’t get a choice. Only people without brain tumours get to vote.’ For him, I could play funny, no matter how much it hurt.
He was still laughing when I found a rerun of Dirty Dancing and clicked ‘play’.
‘Dear God, take me now,’ he chuckled.
That stung, but I didn’t flinch. As far as he was concerned, I was all signed up for laughs, humour, denial and optimism
I kept it going all day, even when we picked up Beth and took her out for ice cream, then an hour of riding scooters in the park. I even managed to keep it going after we’d put her to bed and Rosie arrived to sit with her so we could go in, the night before the op, as instructed. We drove all the way to the hospital, passing people heading out to bars, going for dinner, walking dogs, and the whole way, we sang along to some naff eighties rock anthem CD. Bon Jovi had never been murdered quite like that.
I smiled when the nurses welcomed Colm and talked him through the admission form. I laughed when he put on the pyjamas and slippers I’d bought the day before from Marks & Spencers. I warned him that he’d better not stay up all night chatting up the nurses, and then doled out a wail of comic outrage when the matronly nurse within earshot told us that would be fine by her.
The staff let me stay for a few hours, and when I said goodbye, I kissed him like I didn’t have a care in the world.
Laughs. Humour. Denial. Optimism… until I got back to my car, in a dark hospital car park, under a perfect full moon, and I buckled over and cried until I was hoarse.
I didn’t remember the drive home, but both Lulu and Rosie were waiting for me in the kitchen, Beth upstairs fast asleep.
I poured a mug of coffee – didn’t want to drink wine because I’d be driving again in just a few hours – and sat at the table.
For the first time I could say what I really thought, vocalize the fear that was making my chest hurt and my hands tremble. The words caught in my throat, strangling my voice, pushing a torrent of tears down my face.
‘Tell me we won’t lose him,’ I begged.
‘We fucking won’t,’ Lulu vowed, her whole body shaking with emotion and defiance, while Rosie put her head on my shoulder and we sobbed, all three of us, making a blur of promises, and pleas and assurances that weren’t ours to make until the darkness outside became light.
I went upstairs, and crawled in with Beth for the last hour before the alarm sounded, spooning her, holding her tight. She couldn’t lose her dad. I wouldn’t let that happen. I’d do anything. Say anything. Make any bargain that would keep him with us.
‘Mummy, you’re here,’ she said with a sleepy smile, turning so that her arm went round my neck and our cheeks touched. ‘Where’s daddy?’
‘He’s at the hospital, remember?’
‘Ah, I remember.’ She reached over and picked up Sully, the Monsters Inc furry creature she slept with every night.
‘He should have taken Sully so he wasn’t lonely.’
A wrecking ball hit my chest and I put my teeth into my bottom lip to stop the tears. I wouldn’t cry in front of her. I wouldn’t. She wasn’t going to feel even a single tremor of this pain.
All morning I’d managed to keep it together. After Lulu and Beth headed off, I wobbled, buckled, then bit back the anguish. I had to, this time for Colm’s sake. I couldn’t go in there with a puffy face and red-rimmed eyes.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you today?’ Rosie asked for the tenth time.
I shook my head. ‘Thanks, honey, but honestly, no. They said it’ll be around four hours, so I’m just going to take a book and hang out in the waiting room.’
I appreciated that she wanted to be with me – Lulu and Dan had offered too – but I knew I’d be stronger on my own. These were our friends and they were worrying too – selfishly, I only wanted to think about Colm today, and not have to consider how anyone else was doing. Did that make me a terrible person? Maybe. But it was how I handled things best, by myself, toughing it out, a façade of confidence and calm forcing me to hold it together. At the first sign of sympathy or someone else’s pain, I knew I’d crumble.
Like the journey last night, the drive to the hospital passed in a blur, the walk to his ward the same. I felt pure relief when I walked into his room and saw him there and… I froze.
It was Colm. He was sitting on his hospital bed, in a surgical gown, his legs encased in what looked like thick white tights, but at his side was a nurse, a different one from last night, and she was just popping a razor back into a bowl of water, leaving my gorgeous, handsome husband with only a narrow strip of hair on the top of his head.
His expression was searching, trying to gauge my reaction, so I fought past the shock to make a quick recovery.
‘I think you’re too late to audition for Last of the Mohicans.’
Weak. But it was the best I could do in the circumstances. Colm immediately grinned and I saw his shoulders relax.
‘My wife,’ he explained to the nurse, who smiled warmly.
‘I’m Cass. I’ll be looking after him today. Does he have any disgusting habits?’ she asked with a wink.
‘Too many to mention. I’ll have to write them all down.’
‘Ugh, I always get those ones,’ she said, hooting with laughter as she left the room.
I kissed him for a long time, then sat on the side of the bed, my hand in his.
‘When are they coming up for you?’
‘Should be any time now. The anaesthetist has already been round for a chat and I
’ve signed a pile of forms. They said they’re taking me earlier than planned. The person that was supposed to be before me isn’t having his op now.’
We both chose not to speculate as to why that might be.
‘Ah, here you are.’ Mr Miller, the neurosurgeon came in, his manner quiet and efficient. Given the option, it was probably preferable to a surgeon who was blasé or bombastic. ‘Morning Mrs O’Flynn,’ Smiling, he gave me a brief nod. ‘Sorry to rush this man away, but his surgery has been moved up in the schedule.’
No. Don’t take him yet. Please don’t take him away. I beg you. I’ll do anything. Please give us more time.
But I said nothing. I couldn’t. If I started to plead with him, I’d never stop.
Instead, I just slipped my hand into Colm’s and stood by as the doctor spoke to him. ‘Right, Mr O’Flynn…’
‘Call me Colm,’ he said, just as he had on the day of the diagnosis.
‘Ah yes. Quite. Right, Colm, we’re just about to take you down now. Do you have any further questions?’
‘Nothing. I just hope you’ve got a steady hand today, Mr Miller.’
‘Steady as a rock,’ the surgeon replied, and I ached with gratitude that he was going along with Colm’s attitude. ‘Right then. The porters will be up in a few minutes for you and I’ll see you downstairs.’
Colm waited until we were alone. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m not worried,’ he said confidently.
We both knew I was lying, I suspected he was too.
‘I was talking to the doc last night and he said this kind of surgery can cause some personality changes. I just wanted to tell you that. You know, in case I come out of this a miserable bastard.’
I kissed his lips. ‘Can I put in requests? Can I ask him to tweak the part that controls romantic gestures and buying excessive gifts for your wife?’
