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As we walk into the hospital, I feel lightheaded. ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’
‘Let’s see what they have to say,’ she says quietly. But I can sense her unease growing, like mine is.
What follows is surreal. The scan and the kindness of the nurses, the normalising, almost as though it’s something everyone does. When I ask Rae to see the consultant with me, the gravity of the situation chills me. It’s the consultant’s words; their impact, as though I’ve been punched. It’s as I’ve been dreading. The treatment isn’t working. The tumours are back.
26
RAE
Meanwhile, life resumes a reality I can only describe as uneasy, one that’s dominated by what Marnie faces. She talks about her options – eventually deciding on further surgery, and as she waits, life slows down until it seems to come to a standstill.
One afternoon, for the first time in a while, Ernest comes into the shop. ‘Afternoon, young Rae.’ He touches his hand to an imaginary cap.
‘Hello, Ernest.’ I smile. ‘How are you?’
‘Not too bad.’ As he looks around the shop, the door jingles and a woman comes in.
She smiles. ‘Ah, hello, Rae.’ Her smile turns to a look of complete surprise. ‘Goodness. Ernest? What are you doing here?’
Recognising Jack’s neighbour, Gertie, I reassure her. ‘Ernest often comes in, don’t you?’ Frowning, I’ve forgotten to ask. ‘Did you manage to contact your son? David, isn’t it?’
His eyes are watery, the faintest of smiles crossing his face. ‘Bless you. I did. Yesterday, I think…’
The door jingles again and this time a younger woman comes in. ‘Ernest? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ She stops as she notices Gertie. ‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Elizabeth. No need to ask what you’re up to,’ she says drily.
Ignoring her mother, Elizabeth turns to me. ‘I’m sorry about this.’
I smile at her. ‘There’s no need. Ernest knows he’s welcome in here – don’t you, Ernest?’
As the old man blinks vaguely, Elizabeth takes his arm and leads him towards the door. ‘You have to stop wandering off like this.’
There’s an odd look on Gertie’s face as the door closes behind them.
‘She’s your daughter?’ There’s obviously no love lost between them.
But it’s as if she hasn’t heard. ‘She was married to Ernest’s son. David died fifteen years ago – a random heart attack. Ernest was devastated when it happened – we all were, but I don’t think Ernest ever got over it. No-one saw him for some time. I’ve never heard him even mention David’s name – until now.’
While Marnie navigates this latest stage of her illness, I make it my mission to bring beauty into her life – flowers, music, tasty food when she has an appetite. Books, of course. And dreams, because what is life without them?
Sitting in her kitchen, clearly Forrest has the same idea. There are flowers everywhere. Opening the double doors to let the breeze drift in, I slice up a homemade carrot cake.
Marnie dreams, predictably, of far-off places. ‘I started making a list of places I love,’ she says. ‘So far, it’s Crete andItaly. I want to see Venice, Rome, Sorrento… I’ve been to them all before, but I want to go back.’
I listen, hoping, willing her to get well enough to visit them all. ‘I went to Tuscany once,’ I tell her. ‘It would have been lovely if I hadn’t gone with a dickhead boyfriend.’
‘Gareth?’ Her eyebrows rise.
‘Need you ask?’ I say slightly sardonically. It’s not like I’ve had a whole string of them.
‘He sounds like a tosser,’ she mutters Marnie-like, under her breath.
After work, I often come home to find Birdy and Marnie lying at either end of the sofa, their feet overlapping, comfortable in the silence between them. But there are times silence speaks louder than words can.
Underneath, the reality of her illness hangs over her, the headaches a double whammy, symptomatic of the tumours being back, as well as a common side-effect of the treatment, because the brain swells.
There are times I feel the weight of her fear tangibly; the days she searches the internet for examples of women who’ve defied the odds. But relatively speaking, they’re few, while for everyone else, the facts are sobering.
