by Fox Brison
Looking at her pout I’d say it was the latter on this occasion.
“She’s my aunty too cos she loves my Aunty Skye,” Jamie said matter of factly. It was incredibly cool how completely innocent kids were, untouched by the hand of judgmental pricks and self-righteous arses. If only that innocence could travel through life with us.
Sadly, that was one piece of baggage very few people managed to shoulder.
“Fine I’ll be Kane,” Jack finally conceded. He picked the Tottenham number ten because Andy, for his sins, supported the North London club.
Before long, Malky, Jamie, Jack and Sally were charging along the beach like headless chickens; Natalie may have been their aunty, but none of them had inherited her skills with a football. I leant back, my hands buried in the cold sand, and appreciated everything I had in my life. I seldom took the time to smell the roses, or in this case the salty air, but today was one of those occasions when it was hard not to.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this contented, Skye,” Sara said.
“That’s because I never have been,” I admitted as Jamie made a crunching tackle on Malky. “Jay, go easy,” I yelled. Malky jumped straight back up and raced after his big brother with renewed determination. Ah. Sibling rivalry. “Honestly, I’m surprised Angie isn’t down in casualty every five minutes with those two.”
“Kids are a lot harder to break than you think. Speaking of which, have you and Natalie discussed having a family yet?”
“Whoa there tiger! Where’d that come from? Has Natalie said something to you?” I started feeling panicky. Kids? I mean Natalie would be a great mum, but me? You know how some parents start an college fund… well I’d have to start a therapy fund my child.
“No, nothing. It’s just you’re both so great with your nieces and nephews, I wondered if it was something you’d considered.”
Yes I’m great with them because I can hand them back the next morning and spend the rest of the week in recovery.
“Not really, although we had dinner with Michael and Tara on Thursday and they announced they were expecting their first.” I dug my fingers into the sand and lifted a handful of fine grains, letting it run slowly through my fingertips. It was a mental sand timer; when the last speck fell back to earth I spoke again. “It was strange. I’d never felt it before but… well… I did get a lurch in my stomach. I put it down to the wine, but maybe…”
“Maybe?”
“I possibly felt a wee bit broody.”
“That’s your biological clock ticking,” Sara said shrewdly.
“My biologic…” I shook my head. “What are you talking about? I’m only twenty-nine. The average age for a first time mum is thirty.”
“You’d better get a move on Grandma,” Sara laughed. “You’re the big three-oh my god next year!”
“You’ll be there before me!” I reminded her cheekily. “C’mon,” I pulled her to her feet, feeling a tad uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken, “let’s go and work off that third bacon roll you scoffed this morning.”
Using seaweed for goalposts, Sara and I took up our positions. I was on Sara’s kids’ team and she was in goal for Malky and Jamie. We had a whale of a time teasing Sara who couldn’t save a word document or catch a cold – and she was a PE teacher! I think she might have been exaggerating her incompetence, at least I hoped she was, or the next generation of sports stars wouldn’t be coming from Seahouses, that’s for sure. Me, on the other hand? Well I was pretty decent thanks to my numerous practise session with Natalie, Brooke and Abby.
Jack and Sally were on the attack, and I took my eye off the game for a brief instant when the sun broke through the cloud. The shaft of pale yellow light hit the dunes and it looked like I’d added a sepia filter to my own eye. The grasses danced in the gentle breeze casting snaking shadows wavering over the sand.
I couldn’t help but think what a picturesque setting this scene would make for a romantic liaison in my next book. Raising my left arm, I shielded my eyes and began memorising the scents, the colours and sounds. I was spellbound as the images flickered in my mind’s eye…
My inspiration was fractured into a million pieces by a sudden, and excruciating, pain.
I immediately cried out and bent over, taking several deep breaths which didn’t help at all. “Jamie for god’s sake didn’t I tell you to go easy!” I lashed out. Worried and upset, everyone gathered round me. “If that had hit me in the face it could have broken my nose.”
“I’m sorry Aunty Skye,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it.” His voice was so small and trembling with emotion I instantly grabbed him into a hug, and winced again as his head hit the same spot as the ball.
“I know you didn’t, son, I shouldn’t have snapped.” I put on a fake happy face to cheer him up. “Didn’t your dad ever tell you what a big wuss I am?” It worked and he brightened. “How about I take you to Maccy D’s for lunch before you go home to say sorry for shouting?”
“Yay!” both boys yelled together. Sara didn’t say a word but I saw her eyeing me suspiciously and whilst it was easy to distract a couple of kids, she wouldn’t be fobbed off as easily.
Chapter 23
Skye
Mystic Skye right; Sara returned alone later that evening. “So what’s going on?” she asked forthrightly. The tide was in so I couldn’t escape her interrogation, an interrogation I wasn’t remotely ready for.
Or an explanation I was petrified to give.
The incident with Jamie, I reluctantly accepted, was more to do with shock that the lump was still there, rather than the shock and pain of the ball hitting me. It hadn’t bothered me up until that point; heck even when Nat and I fooled around I didn’t experience any discomfort, and not to put too fine a point on it Natalie was definitely a breast woman.
It’s strange. I’m an intelligent woman, relatively renowned in my field, yet when it comes to matters of health, and particularly damned scary matters of health, I avoid thinking and dealing with it like the plague. Why? It’s hard to say. Possibly it stemmed from the fact my mam died so unexpectedly, or maybe it was down to watching my father slip away in the sterile darkness of a hospital room.
Loss terrified me.
“Aren’t you and Andy supposed to be having a quiet night in?” I tried for a subtle change of subject. I’d spent all afternoon dreading this. Not Sara coming back to the cottage, nor her inquisition. No, I was dreading having to acknowledge something I’d spent that last two weeks quite happily ignoring.
“We can have a quiet night in anytime. So are you going to tell me what happened earlier? I’ve never seen you shout at the kids, ever. And certainly not over a football hitting you.”
“I know, but I think the twenty chicken nuggets and chocolate milkshake on the way home made up for it. Tea?” I attempted another diversionary tactic. I hadn’t given up hope I might be able to wriggle my way out of this.
“No, I don’t want a cup of tea. I want you to be straight with me.” I raised my eyebrows and we both laughed. “You know what I mean. Is it Nat? Has my baby sister gone and done something totally idiotic again? I promise she’s on her last life with me.”
“No, it’s not Nat. We’ve never been better which is why this sucks.”
“Jesus, Skye, have you cheated on her!”
“Wait, what? How does me losing my temper with Jamie equate to me cheating on Nat? Don’t be daft.” Sara’s speculations were growing more ridiculous by the second and from her determined expression, she wasn’t going to let it go, leaving me little choice but to come clean. “I think… well… I found a lump. On my breast. Well more like under my armpit. To the side kind of.” Sara appeared blurred even though I was wearing my glasses. I removed them and wiped ineffectually at my watery eyes.
Within my jumble of words, she had gleaned enough to reassemble a couple of important sentences which allowed her to say quietly, “When?”
“A couple of weeks ag
o.”
“What did the doctor say?” Not wanting to spook me she kept her tone even, but she couldn’t mask the fear in her eyes. It’s one of those things all women have in common; no matter our race, sexuality, age… the mention of a lump on the breast raises a lump in the throat and anxiety levels tenfold. We all know what it could mean, we all know the words that we don’t say to anyone but ourselves in the dead of the night.
“Skye? Doctor?” she repeated.
“I haven’t been yet.” I answered softly but it echoed with the report of a twelve gun salute.
“Christ, Skye, why have you left it so long? What does Nat say about it all? I can’t believe she’s letting you go back to Boston alone!”
“I haven’t told her and neither will you. And I don’t want anyone else to know either, for that matter.”
“Skye-”
“I mean it, Sara. I’ll tell Nat once I find out exactly what’s going on.”
“Skye, sweetie, you need to tell her. She’ll be devastated if-”
“If what? For God’s sake Sara,” I interrupted angrily, “this is my decision, not yours. Natalie has so much on her plate at the minute, new team, trying to secure her England place. She doesn’t need my pile of steaming crap added to it!”
“It’s your decision, but I think you’re being incredibly selfish.”
“Wow. Okay. Judgemental much?” I said incredulously and tutted. “Selfish? You didn’t see my father ravaged by cancer in the hospital, unable to open his eyes, barely able to breathe. Do you want Natalie to go through that? And trust me when I say it would be a million times worse because she loves me far more than I ever cared for the man who beat me down with his words and fists until I was a shadow of a person!” My voice grew in volume until I was practically shouting. I drew in a lungful of air and let it hiss slowly between pursed lips, calming myself before the next onslaught of emotions threatened to engulf me.
“It’s totally different,” Sara objected strenuously.
“No, it really isn’t.” I wasn’t willing to allow Natalie to witness me weaken to the point where I couldn’t even make it to the bathroom myself. “It really, really isn’t, Sara,” I whispered.
“Look, this is all a moot point anyway,” she conceded. “Until we’ve been to the doctor, we won’t know what we’re dealing with.”
“We?”
“Yes, we. If you won’t tell Natalie, you’re stuck with me, and I won’t take no for an answer. Right?”
“Right.” Wrong. But I kept that to myself because I was tiring of the argument. Sara couldn’t see my side and I refused to see hers.
“First things first. We have to make an appointment to see your G.P. Christ, when do you fly out?”
“Tuesday,” I said starkly.
“So it’ll have to be tomorrow.”
I hated that she kept using we; this was happening to me. My brain was desperately seeking ways to keep Sara at arm’s length. “He’s in Durham, I might not be able-”
“Damn it, Skye, stop making excuses and make the bloody appointment. Now.”
“Sara, it’s Sunday evening.” The words were a desolate whisper.
“Then first thing tomorrow. I’ll take the day off.”
“Sara, I’m a big girl, you don’t have to come. It must be manic at school with Christmas coming up and the inspection-”
“Yes, I do need to,” she insisted. “The inspection is finished and stuff the play rehearsal. You’ve had to face so much in your life alone, but you have to understand, Skye, you’re not alone anymore.” She held me and I began to cry. I cried for everything I’d missed out on in the ten years my family and I were estranged because of bigotry and fear, and I cried for what I now had.
I also cried for my future, a future that might be stolen away from me.
***
The following morning I showered and bravely stroked under my arm. It was still there, lurking, a will’o the wisp trapping unwary travellers.
Is it bigger? Shit. Have I left it too long? Or was my mind playing tricks on me.
Sliding down the tiles I sat on my haunches until Sara knocked on the door. Gritting my teeth, I braced myself for the day.
I had to be strong, if not for myself, for Nat.
Chapter 24
Skye
Doctor’s surgeries are depressing at the best of times, breeding grounds for germs and pathetic looking patients put on mute. You may have guessed they weren’t high on my ‘favourite places in the world to be’ list and you’d be right.
As regular as the pendulum of a grandfather clock, my mind was swinging from one emotion to another… tick… angry… tock… frightened… tick…. angry… tock... frightened…
Sara squeezed my hand when the receptionist called my name and I stood on rubbery legs. “I told you, Skye, you aren’t going through this alone.” I opened my mouth to protest, but was subjected to her patented angry teacher glare and was too drained to argue.
Doctor Osman was what you might call an old fashioned doctor. He was gradually heading towards retirement, but was caring and a good listener and had been my GP since I was an eighteen year old fresher at Durham University. “My goodness, Ms Donaghie, you look positively peaky. Is it the flu again?” he said with a smile of familiarity.
Which made the whole thing a million times worse. “No… I …” I choked on the words. “I…”
“Skye felt a lump on her breast, Doctor,” Sara took over.
“And you are?” Dr Osman tilted his head.
“I’m Skye’s sister in law.”
“And when did you first notice the lump, Ms Donaghie?”
“I… I…” I faltered and hung my head. The tears I’d fought so valiantly to hold at bay were charging down my nose and dripping onto the carpet.
“A couple of weeks ago,” Sara again spoke for me. For the first time since she ‘proposed’ accompanying me, I was relieved. If she wasn’t here I’d have had to write everything down. Not even a gallon of water could have eased my parched throat, and the lump half way between my mouth and stomach, which had been my constant companion for the last twenty four hours, was now the size of Ayre’s Rock.
“Okay, well let’s take a look, shall we? Skye, can you go behind the curtain and remove your shirt for me please? I’ll call the nurse.”
I was aware this was a protection for both of us, but I was already scared and uncomfortable without adding another spectator to the mix. “You don’t have to bother the nurse, Doctor, I don’t mind if you don’t.” Truth was I was desperate for this to be over as quickly as possible, protocol be damned.
Actually, what I really wanted was to close my eyes and open them again to find myself in Natalie’s arms, all of this nothing but a horrible nightmare.
“Is it okay if Sara stays?” I finally found a pale imitation of my voice hiding in the corner behind a wall built of fear insulated with trepidation.
“That’s fine with me. Sara?” Dr Osman looked towards my best friend.
“I’m going nowhere,” she replied resolutely. I had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t just referring to this precise moment in time.
The doctor began his examination and I froze, only moving robotically when he directed me to change positions. I couldn’t tell you how long it lasted; one minute I was slowly removing my shirt and the next I was back in my chair waiting expectantly. It was as if a hypnotist clicked his fingers and I was transported back to the room after doing something really idiotic.
Like playing chicken with my health.
“I’m going to refer you,” he began and I took a swift intake of air. And another. Soon I could hardly breath, each short gasp barely inhaling enough oxygen to sustain a shrew. Dr Osman quickly rounded his desk. “Okay, Skye, look at me and focus. Breathe in as slowly, deeply and gently as you can, through your nose. That’s it.” I struggled to follow his instructions. “Now breathe out again slowly, deeply and gently through your mouth. Well done, you’re doing great. That’s it
. Out and in. Now this time I want you to count to five with me as you breath in… ready… one… two… three… four… five…” we repeated this a couple of times and my heart rate began to slow.
“Ms Donaghie… Skye,” he said when he returned to his seat, “I can’t be sure what the lump is, but what I can tell you is statistically 80% of those found on the breast are benign and not what instigated your panic attack, yes?” I nodded. “Good. I’m going to send you for a diagnostic mammogram but in the meantime I don’t want you to worry and end up making yourself ill. Is there any history of breast cancer in your family? Or any type of cancer?” I remained silent. It wasn’t that I couldn’t answer his question, I could, but I was fixed in denial and was steadily drifting towards catatonic.
“Skye’s father had lung cancer. Her mother died of an aneurism,” Sara replied for me.
“What about aunts? Uncles?”
Sara looked at me and the coward that was my voice deserted me once again.
“Her grandfather had cancer of the bowel.” Her recollection of my family’s medical history was seriously impressive, but then she had been standing tall next me as I suffered the slings and arrows of my family’s ill health.
“Was that on the father’s side as well?”
“Yes.”
“Ms Donaghie, do you have private health insurance?” I shook my head, numbly. This was real. This was so fucking real and I didn’t know what to do or say. Six stages of grief? Little Miss Pessimist hurriedly bypassed one and two and was already racing towards stages three and four.
“Doctor, how long will the appointment take? Skye works in Boston and would need to organise time off.”
“It won’t be for a few weeks,” he said. “They usually give you a month’s notice. Would you be able to come back for the test?” Again all I could do was nod. “That should be fine. I can’t see it being much before February. Things are still backed up after the cyber attack last May. The introduction of new systems has seriously affected waiting times.” He scribbled something onto a piece of paper and glanced back up at me. “In the meantime don’t worry. I’m not going to blind you with science because I don’t think you’ll take it in. And I’ll also give you the same advice I give to all my patients. Stay off the internet. You’ll only worry yourself to death.”
