Page 55 of While I’m Still Here

One eyebrow rises again. “No. I just really enjoy support groups.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It's so dry, so completely at odds with his serious face, that it catches me off guard. “You're taking the piss.”

“Only slightly.”

My eyes betray me and drop straight to his chest. Marcus notices. “Subtle.”

“Sorry.”

“You don't have to apologise.”

“I didn't know men could get breast cancer.”

Something changes in his face then. “Neither did I.”

The simplicity of the answer makes me stop stirring my tea. “Really?”

“Really. Which is part of the problem.” Marcus leans back against the edge of the table, apparently deciding that if I'm going to ask questions, he may as well answer them. “Everyone has breast tissue. Men have much less, so breast cancer in men is rare, but it happens. I found a lump and ignored it because breast cancer wasn't even on the list of things I thought it could be.”

“You ignored a lump?”

“I was thirty-six, healthy and male. It didn't hurt. I assumed it was a cyst or something equally uninteresting.”

“For how long?”

His mouth tightens slightly. “Four months.”

I stare at him. “Marcus.”

“Yes.”

“Four fucking months?”

“I'm aware this was not my finest decision.”

“You fucking idiot.”

The corner of his mouth moves. “Thank you. My oncologist was slightly more nice about it.”

I take a sip of tea, mostly because I need a second to absorb the fact that this man found a lump in his chest and still didn't consider breast cancer because nobody had ever told him he should. “What happened?”

“I eventually went to my GP because it hadn't gone away. After that, things moved quickly.” He looks down briefly at his mug, then continues. “Mastectomy. Chemotherapy. Radiotherapy. Hormone treatment afterwards.”

The word mastectomy makes my attention snag. I don't ask about it. Not yet. But I will because I’m a nosy cow. Instead, I look around the room. Every leaflet I can see has a woman on it. Every little illustrated body on the noticeboard is female. The room itself isn't excluding Marcus, but suddenly I understand why he looks so conspicuous inside it.

“Is that why you come here?”

Marcus follows my gaze. “Not exactly.”

“You enjoy the cupcakes?”

“I hate the cupcakes.”

“The pink?”

“I fucking despise the pink,” he grunts.

I turn back to him. It's the first time I've heard him swear, and for some reason, it makes me smile. “So why come?”