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“Of course, you will! And probably another friend of hers from Sydney too. Oh my, the bridal party will be quite large.” Mum paused. “Oh Stacey, we haven’t heard your news yet. What did the doctors say?”
Everyone went quiet, looking at me. I wiped my hands on a tea towel and slipped one hand into my pocket to squeeze my printed course results.
“Well,” I began.
My face fell. Everyone was hoping for a miracle and I didn’t have one to tell.Well, fuck.
“I’m not having any more procedures. The experimental trial didn’t work. It’s over now.” I looked down at the floor, not being able to bear their disappointment. “I can just see my GP and check in with the specialist team once a year.”
“No more procedures?” Mum whispered. “But that means … Oh, come here, my poor girl.”
Mum wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. My brothers both looked crestfallen.
I’d sucked away the hope from tonight.
“I’m sure that Amanda will pick bridesmaids’ dresses that will cover, you know, the scars.”
What?I stared at Mum in disbelief. I didn’t give a shit what Amanda was doing about bridesmaid dresses.
“I really don’t care about that, Mum,” my voice hitching. “Hadn’t even crossed my mind.”
I was finally rid of specialists thinking I wanted to have my scars restored to perfect, flawless skin, and then my own mother assumed I was upset about potential bridesmaid dresses.
“I’m sorry, love.” Mum pulled away, dejected, as she had so often looked since the fire.
No one was smiling.
I squeezed my design course results in my pocket again.Tell them now,my brain screamed.TELL THEM!
“So, you don’t need the special doctors anymore, Aunty Stacey?” Charlotte piped up.
I hadn’t seen her come in. “That’s right. I think that’s a very good thing if you ask me,” I replied, bending down. “I don’t particularly like doctors very much, the way they poke and prod me, so I don’t want to see one for a very long time.”
I straightened, addressing my family. “It’s just maintenance from now on. I’ll make do with what they have been able to do with my skin. Triple M: massage, moisture, movement.”
My brothers exchanged a look while Mum reached out to pat me on the arm, but I pulled away. Ryan mumbled a goodnight as he herded Charlotte out of the kitchen for a story before bed.
“I should get ready for bed, too! Early morning tomorrow back at work with Doc Larcombe,” I said with too much enthusiasm.
I was a coward. I squeezed my results in my pocket one more time.
Another day.
“Is Doc Larcombe back at work?” Mum asked.
“What do you mean?” I frowned.
“He’s been away from the surgery for about the same amount of time as you. Not sure what’s wrong but it was sudden.”
Doc Larcombe was my GP as well as my boss where I worked part-time as a medical receptionist andalmostqualifiedenrolled nurse for the Stanmore Medical Practice. I needed to update him about my recent specialist appointments, especially since he would be monitoring my care from now on.
“I hadn’t heard anything. Is he okay?”
“I caught up with Pam at the shops in Stanmore last week. She said she’d fill you in when you’re back tomorrow.” Mum said. “Something about not wanting to distract you on your break.”
“Oh, right.” I mumbled goodnight to everyone and went to unpack in my room.
I realised I’d completely forgot about our mail I’d retrieved that morning from our post office box in Ballydoon. I immediately took the bundle of letters to the farm office. This room has always been the farm office where stockman, bankers and merchants would settle accounts and take tea with the James Turner of the day.
