Page 41 of The Summer That Changed Us

Katie looked over and smiled, looking pleased to see her. ‘Five minutes!’ she mouthed.

Robyn gave her a thumbs-up and wandered over to the rails while she waited.

‘See how you get on with that one, Mrs Craster,’ the assistant was saying to her customer, an elderly lady wearing a thick coat and bobble hat despite the warmth of the spring day.

‘I’m all fingers and thumbs, Nula,’ Mrs Craster said. ‘Albert has to do me up these days. Heaven knows what I’ll do if he goes before me.’

‘You’ve both got years left in you yet,’ Nula laughed. ‘And I’m sure he doesn’t mind lending a hand.’

‘No. How times have changed, eh, in our younger days, he used to boast he could undo it with one hand. Now he can’t do me up quick enough.’ The old lady hooted with laughter as Nula opened the door to help her out.

Robyn’s heart twisted; growing old with someone you loved was such a privilege. She wondered if Finn would still want to get into her bra when she was as old as Mrs Craster. At the moment it didn’t seem likely. He was more like Mrs Craster’s Albert: happier to see her in her clothes than out. She knew she needed to do something about that, but she didn’t know where to start.

A poster to one side of the door caught her eye and she went over to read it. It was an advertisement from a charity called Knitted Knockers. Knitted from cotton yarn, with or without nipples, and filled with soft wadding, the prostheses were available free of charge for post mastectomy or lumpectomy surgeries. Robyn smiled; they looked like knitted Belgian buns. There was even a different type especially for swimming called Aqua Knockers.

‘Fun, aren’t they?’ said a voice beside her. ‘Even though they serve a serious purpose. I’m wearing some now and I don’t think you can even tell.’

Robyn looked around to see the sales assistant turning from side to side to display her bosom, realising that she must be a survivor of breast cancer herself. Then she had a sudden bolt of recognition. ‘You were the dinner lady at my old school! Mrs Sullivan!’

Nula nodded. ‘I was. And you haven’t changed a bit.’

‘Oh, I have,’ Robyn said with feeling. Mum had been alive when she was at primary school and everything had changed since then. ‘And no, you’re right, Mrs Sullivan, you can’t tell you’re wearing them at all. They’re great.’

‘Call me Nula.’ Nula looked at the poster and back at Robyn. ‘Would you like some?’

‘Me?’ Robyn squirmed. ‘Oh no, I only came in to talk to Katie. I was just thinking it was a shame they weren’t around when my mum was alive.’

Her mum couldn’t have a reconstruction after her mastectomy because of her ongoing treatment and then her time had run out.

‘Katie won’t be long; she’s with a sales representative from a lingerie company.’ Nula’s face softened. ‘I heard about your mother, I was so sad for you when she passed away.’

Robyn was taken aback; she hadn’t known Mum knew Mrs Sullivan. But then it was a relatively small community and they’d have been around the same age.

Nula leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘She came to the school kitchens quite regularly to tell us about your latest food fads.’

‘Oh no, I’m sorry, how embarrassing!’ Robyn laughed, pressing her hands to her cheeks, but secretly she was also delighted. Her mum had no living relatives and Robyn’s supply of anecdotes about her mother was limited. ‘What sort of thing did she say?’

‘Remember when we used to give you “swimming chicken” on a Friday?’ Nula’s eyes sparkled.

‘Yes?’ Robyn laughed; she’d forgotten all about that. ‘I was always thrilled that I didn’t have to have fish like everyone else.’

‘I know.’ Nula looked at her in bemusement.

‘It was fish, wasn’t it!’ Robyn groaned when the penny finally dropped. ‘How gullible was I! Well, you’ll be pleased to know I adore it now. Good job because I married a fisherman.’

‘Finn McGill,’ Nula said, chuckling. ‘I remember him well. Lovely-looking child. Always tried to make his brother eat his cabbage for him.’

‘He’s still lovely-looking,’ said Robyn, feeling a tug at her heart. ‘And he eats everything these days and cooks it, too.’

‘Can you knit?’ Nula asked, tapping the poster.

‘Oh, er, me? No,’ she replied.

‘Shame. There are a few of us who volunteer locally and we’re always on the lookout for new recruits, we send the knockers all over the country. We’re not all good knitters, some of us are just enthusiastic, but we’re nearly all cancer survivors. No one understands you better than someone who’s been there, done that and got the T-shirt.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Robyn, thinking that it might be quite nice to talk to someone like herself. ‘People who haven’t been through it themselves want to help but often it’s hard for them to say the right thing and more often than not, when they try, they end up putting their foot in it and making it worse.’

‘Oh?’ Nula was looking at her with her head on one side, like a little inquisitive bird. ‘You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.’