NO.
She forced herself not to overreact, or at least not to show it on her face. But her hand reached out for Tara’s.
Oblivious to the hot water needling her skin in the shower that morning, Tara had stood numbed and terrorised by the lump she’d just discovered in her armpit. She pressed it. It didn’t hurt, and it wasn’t a large lump. Maybe it’s just a swollen gland. Maybe I’m just a bit run down. It might not be… she couldn’t even bring herself to finish the thought with cancer.
Tara had turned off the shower and leant her head against the glass door, trying to stop the creeping panic from overwhelming her. Somehow, she had to pull herself together enough to get Monnie up, make her some breakfast and get her to school, without letting her know there was anything wrong. She’d dressed, with shaking hands, barely noticing what she’d put on, and then slipped softy into Monnie’s room. The sun, filtering in through the yellow cotton curtains, had filled the room with a soft golden light. Tara had stood for a moment, gazing at her sleeping daughter, her little chest rising and falling with each soft breath, so small and vulnerable underneath a yellow quilt covered in rainbows and unicorns. Please don’t take me from her, please, she’s too little. Then she’d wrenched open the curtains, letting the brightness of the early autumn day flood in. She’d swallowed hard and said brightly, ‘Good morning, Monnie-Moo!’
Straight after the school run Tara had come home, called in sick, and phoned the doctors’ surgery to ask for an appointment that day.
‘Is it an emergency?’ the receptionist had quizzed.
‘Yes.’
‘If it’s an emergency you should go to A&E.’
‘It’s not that sort of an emergency.’
‘Can you tell me what the problem is?’ queried the receptionist.
Just right now, you’re the problem Tara had thought, but she’d bitten her tongue, having had run-ins with this particular Rottweiler before.
‘If you tell me what the condition is, then I can decide whether or not it’s an emergency,’ the receptionist had insisted.
Tara had lost it. ‘If it’s any business of yours, which I don’t think it is, I have a lump in my armpit which may or may not be breast cancer, and since my mother died of breast cancer four years ago, and since these things can be genetic, I would like to see a doctor today because if it is cancer, then the sooner it is diagnosed the better chance I have of surviving it, and I have a little girl who needs me. She’s only nine, and so I really, really don’t want to die.’ Stopping only to take breath, she’d added, ‘If you don’t give me an appointment today, I’ll come down there and sit in the waiting room and scream and scream and scream until I see a doctor.’
There was a stunned silence before the receptionist had said, ‘The doctor can see you at 11.45.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tara before she had rung off. Shaking violently she’d sunk to the floor and had given into the tears and the terror.
‘What did the GP say?’ asked Charley, spooning sugar into Tara’s tea before putting the mug into her friend’s hands.
‘She says it might be fine. Might be nothing to worry about…’ Tara’s face contorted with fear, and Charley knew Tara couldn’t believe that, and much as she desperately wanted to, neither could she. Because they both knew that finding a lump was how it had started with Kim. Exactly how it had started. The doctor had referred Kim for tests almost immediately, but even then it was too late, and the last few weeks of Kim’s life had been reduced to waiting. Waiting for more tests, waiting for results, waiting for doctors, waiting for chemo, waiting for a bed. And then, towards the end, there was only waiting. Cruel, heartbreaking waiting. Waiting for it to be over.
The fear that something might happen to Tara, that someone else would be taken from her, clutched at Charley. Her heart felt tight, it was hard to breathe and she couldn’t trust herself to speak.
‘She’s sending me for tests. Will you come with me?’
‘What about Baz?’
‘I haven’t told him.’
Charley frowned. ‘Why not?’
Tara shrugged. ‘I don’t want him to let it slip to Monnie. And don’t tell the others, Charley. Please. I don’t want a fuss.’
Charley promised. Momentarily she found herself hoping the pub would be understanding and would give her time off if necessary, then she told herself she’d go anyway, even if they bloody well fired her.
They spent the next couple of hours curled up on Tara’s sofa, watching ridiculous rom-coms, too frightened about what lay ahead to want to talk about it. Charley left when it was time for Tara to pick up Monnie. She cried so hard on the way home she could barely see to drive.
Funnily enough, Charley hadn’t really warmed to Tara when they’d first met. She was a bit too gobby for Charley’s taste. They’d met at a Zumba class on a Wednesday evening, not long after Charley had moved to Bristol. It wasn’t really Charley’s thing, but Josh played five-a-side footy every Wednesday and she was left on her own.
‘Join an exercise class,’ Josh had said. ‘Make some friends.’
So she’d signed up for Zumba. It was either that or Spin, and given the sweat-drenched agony the Spin trainer clearly put his class through, Zumba was definitely the lesser of two evils. Or it would have been, had it not been the apparent intention of the Zumba teacher to dance them all to death.
‘Come on people. Put some fizz in it!’ she’d exclaim, as thirty exhausted people, Charley included, tried to Swing their Salsa, Make with the Merengue, Pump their Reggaetón and Get Down with the Cumbia.
‘Smile! You know you’re loving it!’
‘No, we’re not!’ Tara had cried. ‘It’s agony!’
‘Come on folks, keep up! It’s not that hard!’
‘Yes, it sodding is!’ Tara had contradicted. And, getting a laugh from the class, she’d
