I figure that’s all right, just a friendly thing to do. Plus, I want to hear what the surgeon found. I don’t bother putting my phone away as the minute I send the text I see the dots that indicate he’s writing. Of course he is. I can’t think of a single time that Rory has kept me waiting, not once.
He’s shown me that decent, caring and honourable men do exist. Even though I can’t have Rory – and I know I can’t – he’s helped me make this monumental step on a path to a healthy adult future.
Luisa will be made up when I tell her that bit.
Which I won’t do until Rory has left the country again. I love my friend but I don’t trust her not to meddle. She won’t be able to help herself. And for Rory’s sake I need to let him concentrate on his mum right now. Not deal with the embarrassment of having Luisa try to fix him up with her loony friend who is so far from his type that it’s laughable. Jess and I are incomparable. It would be like putting Cousin Itt in a room next to Gigi Hadid and asking someone to choose who to date.
Bing.
Mum is doing well, thanks. The surgery was a complete success. It’s such a relief although tbh I’ve not processed it properly yet, and I’m not sure she has. It’s almost as if she’s waiting for someone to say, we’re really sorry Mrs Walters but there’s been a mix-up. The consultant did say that it seems that there has been no spread to the lymph nodes, which I was really worried about, and she has booked Mum in for a full mastectomy in January along with reconstructive surgery. Mum’s so positive usually but the thought of a mastectomy has knocked her and she’s finding it hard to process. But no chemo, no radiotherapy needed and a final operation will mean there is no way it can reoccur in this breast. So fingers crossed, a brilliant outcome.
I can only imagine how hard that must be to process, the mastectomy thing. That on a rational level you know it’s the right thing to do, sensible, but on an emotional level it must be hard. Must be. Maybe I can visit over Christmas and see if she wants to chat.
Bing.
Oh, and she’s still talking about you and how on earth you got into that building and got her chocolates delivered. She’s got a friend coming over this evening with her bag so she’s overjoyed that her secret is safe another year.
I answer immediately.
I can’t tell you that. I’d love to, trust. I think you’d giggle. But I just can’t.
That’s what I was afraid of.
As I read his words I can hear his laugh, see the crinkle of his eyes. Jesus Christ. I have it bad.
The phone rings and I hit the green button quickly, images of Rory still flashing through my mind and I assume it’s him.
It isn’t. A split second after I hit answer I realise it says Dad on the screen.
‘Nice of you to check in and see how I’m doing, Belle.’
‘Oh, hi, Dad. Good to hear from you. You sound well. How’s things going?’
My heart is racing as I try to keep my voice jovial, as I prepare for the inevitable imminent attack. I feel a sudden need for a cigarette. How does his voice trigger such a physical reaction? Still? Thirty bloody one!
‘Well, I’m home. Getting ready for a booze-free Christmas. Waiting to be wrapped in the warmth of my loving family.’ Sobriety hasn’t dimmed his sarcasm.
‘Ah, okay. It will be lovely to see you.’ The lie falls from my lips. For someone who struggles to lie most of the time – it makes no sense to me – it seems that as a defence mechanism when speaking to my father then I have no qualms about mendacity. That or my willingness to please, to gain his approval, trumps my desire for complete honesty.
‘You could have seen me at any time. I was in Bristol for the past week.’ It has started.
‘And I would have loved to, Dad, but I’ve been working. Really hard. Otherwise I would have done. Did Mum and Rose come over?’
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why do I veer from protecting myself to baiting him? I know that Rose won’t have visited.
‘Of course your mother did, and Rose is very busy, you know. She can hardly leave Jack and come racing down, the work they do does make a significant impact on society.’ Society, eh? Maybe he has learnt something from all the therapy.
‘I’ve spent the last week working full-time in schools across the city as well as running two part-time jobs, Dad.’ Surely he can see how hard I am trying to make things work? That I’ve been properly professional. That I’m right to be proud of what I’ve achieved this month, that after years and years of prep I’ve managed to make some money from my Shakespeare work.
‘Pffft!’ Okay, maybe not. Suddenly, even though I’m now bang outside of SweetMart, my desire to buy him a delicious range of unusual spices and herbs has dipped somewhat.
‘Tis a night of revels, the gallants desire it!
December Twenty-third.
Rory.
‘No one throws a party like Luisa, prepare yourself!’ Belle laughs as we pull up outside Luisa’s front door. The sage green door clad in a wreath feels welcoming to me now and I have a secret weapon at my side. I turn and smile back at it. Her.
