He nodded, stopping a few steps from me and turning round. “Rose’s surgeon. Her new one. The old one’s retiring, which is a bit of a pain, but the new one – the one who’ll carry out the surgery – will do it.”
“I’m sorry. I think I’ve missed a key bit of information here.” The world was spinning and I had nothing to hold on to. Rose was Seph’s step-daughter, twelve years old and bright and brilliant. She hung around our office more than any of the other kids, partly because she was older, but also because her mum worked there as well as Seph and it was on her way home from school. She’d sometimes hide in my office to do her homework and help herself to the snacks I hid in there just for her.
Seph took a long, slow breath. “Callum and Wren know, but Georgia didn’t want to tell anyone at work yet because Rose didn’t want people to know. She doesn’t want a fuss made and she knows what you’re all like, so don’t be pissed off that you don’t already know.”
“I’m on worst-case scenarios right now so start talking.” Else I was going to tackle him to the ground, which wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interests.
“It isn’t life threatening as long as it’s treated. Which it will be in five weeks so she’ll miss the start of school, which she’s not happy about.” He managed a smile. “She was getting really breathless, weirdly so, a few weeks ago so we took her to a doctor’s. They picked up on heart arrhythmia, so we went to a cardiologist and it turns out she has an atrial septal defect, which is basically a hole in the heart. It isn’t huge but it’s not small enough to just monitor it, so she’s scheduled for cardiac catheterisation.”
“Is that where they do the surgery through a vein in your leg?” I was no medic but I read a lot of shit on the internet.
“Yeah, it’s mad how they do it. Georgia researched surgeons and she wanted this bloke who’s retiring, so we’ve got his nephew, who’s apparently better. We saw the old surgeon this week who was going on about his nephew moving here and described the house he was hoping to buy and it sounded just like ours.” Seph ran a hand through his hair. “Mum and Dad don’t know about Rose, so I’m going to tell everyone today.”
“Good. And no one will fuss over her if she doesn’t want that.” My eyes felt hot and I blinked back tears which rarely fell, unless it was something to do with the kids. I had countless nieces and nephews as well as my own boy and girl, plus the children of the cousins we were closest to and I’d happily go to prison for any of them. Or give them an organ, my blood – whatever they needed.
“She won’t want that. You’ll have to pretend not to know. But she is going to be okay, we know that, and we know the operation will be fine.” He spoke to the air rather than me, as if he was telling himself.
I knew that no operation was failsafe. There was risk with the anaesthetic, risk of infection, risk it wouldn’t work. If I was Seph I’d be a nervous wreck rocking in a corner, and later I’d probably be doing just that, even though Rose was my niece and not my daughter.
“It will.” I paused, taking a deep breath of my own. “Are you okay?”
He looked at me with eyes that hadn’t seemed that fearful since he was seven and a boy at school was picking on him. I’d sorted that easily. This wouldn’t be the same although if I could I would.
“No, but I can’t let Georgia know that.” He stared at the floor. “She’s worried but she’s trying to hide it from Rose, who knowsanyway because Rose always knows everything. Georgia’s not sleeping well, she’s really out of sorts even though we’ve been told the same from three different doctors that Rose will be okay. They’re going to check the other kids in case it’s genetic, and Georgia’s worried about the others needing surgery, plus then we’ve had all the stuff about whether it’s from Rose’s dad and should she get in touch with him. Yeah, it’s been fun.”
“You’ve been okay at work.”
Seph nodded. “I’ve needed an escape, but apart from that you haven’t seen either of us for the last two weeks.”
He was right and I hadn’t noticed. “I wished you’d said.”
“I probably would’ve if Georgia hadn’t been so against it. And she’s not thinking straight.” He slapped my back, a little harder than brotherly. “We should get walking. Game face on.”
“Promise me you’ll tell the rest of us after Mum and Dad have announced they’ve spent the inheritance on a trip to the moon or something.” I slapped him back, but not as hard, then pulled him into me for a hug.
“I will. Georgia knows I’m telling everyone.” He pushed me away. “Did you wash properly because you still stink.”
I sniffed my armpits. “I smell amazing. What the fuck are you talking about?”
We congregated on the landing of the second floor, which had been the shared space for me, Jackson and Callum. It was the space where I’d had my first blow job, although no one actually knew that. Claire’s little legend about who my first time was with was nothing more than a story spread by a girl she knew, and I’d left it at that, even though it did my reputation no favours.
It was also the space where plenty more memories had been made, right from when we were in single digits of age and had just moved to the city, the house in Oxford not a great space forus for a period and we’d needed to be closer to Dad when he was at work, It was where we’d first properly lived with Marie, and where they’d both gotten ready for their wedding.
If Seph was right, and there was always the chance that he wasn’t, then my siblings were about to launch into meltdown.
“Thank you all for cancelling your busy diaries to gather here today.” Our father, his hair now more grey than dark, and a portent to what I was going to look like in another twenty or so years, looked round at us like he was a deacon about to administer his teachings.
Jackson spluttered. “You realise we’ve all got kids. Our diaries only have work stuff and kids’ parties written in them now. And medical appointments. My chiropractor’s my Monday evening date each week.”
“You should’ve said,” Callum chirped in. “I could sort your back out. I’d take great pleasure in it.”
“You just did. That last fucking tackle’s wounded me.” Jackson rubbed at his back and looked offended.
“Language.” That was Marie.
“Pot and kettle,” I couldn’t let that one go. One of my earliest memories of Marie involved her swearing when she dropped a hairdryer on her foot.
“You could put the kettle on,” was her response. “After. We have wine and beer in the fridge for after.” She sat up a little straighter. “And champagne. We have that too.”
