Before She Was Mine (9 page)

‘Get some more practical clothes, at least.’

Liv snorted. ‘I’ll send her some muslin cloths to drape over her shoulder. Elegant they’re not, but they do the job. You know, she’s going to be in for an almighty shock.
She’s never had to care for a newborn before.’

Nor have you
, I thought, but I kept that to myself. ‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘you mustn’t let on that you know. Don’t tell a soul. She’s not announcing it
till the scan.’

‘When’s that?’

‘They do an early one at twelve weeks. And they want to do an amnio test because of her age, except she’s not entertaining that because she says it’s too big a risk and even if
there’s something wrong with the baby she wants to keep it, so there’s no point. But this is all in confidence. Don’t breathe a word to anyone, yeah?’

She pushed a strand of wet hair away from her cheek. ‘Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. It is an extraordinary move, though, isn’t it?’

‘Keeping it secret?’

‘Getting pregnant.’

I hadn’t registered it as a ‘move’. ‘I don’t know. I think it just happened.’

Liv shot me a cynical look. ‘I suspect there’s a bit more to it than that, Frey.’

I guessed what she was thinking
. Once a feckless mother, always a feckless mother. Even in these days of condoms, pills, implants, caps and coils, the woman’s incapable of controlling
her own fertility. Ridiculous. Twenty-three years on and she’s the same silly girl.

‘It’s still a happy event. I mean, babies are meant to be fun. Having a little kid around, a new member of the family. We can take it for walks along the riverbank, show it where the
otter poos.’

‘I’m sure Melody will love that.’

‘Show it the damselflies, then. It’ll be cool.’ I tried to sound enthusiastic.

‘If you say so.’

Then the pager bleeped, and all thoughts of Melody and her baby schemes fell away.

This time she let me go in with her. As soon as we saw the nurse sitting at the back of the room, I guessed what was coming.

‘It needs to come out,’ said the consultant. He was middle-aged, quietly spoken, and his manner was very matter-of-fact.

‘The first biopsy was clear,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘Yes, I appreciate that. But what matters now is that we remove the lump and possibly some of the lymph nodes too, and then we thoroughly examine the tissue we’ve taken
out.’

‘What if that doesn’t cure it?’

‘There are a number of routes. We’ll know more when we’ve operated.’

Every sentence he addressed to Liv, but she wasn’t responding. Her eyes kept flicking from one face to another, to the poster urging self-examination, to the Seurat print of a boat on a
lake.

‘How soon?’ I asked.

‘Within a fortnight. A lumpectomy’s a relatively quick, straightforward operation. You go in as a day case.’

‘Will she need chemo?’

‘We can’t say at this stage. Again it depends on what we find.’ Still Liv hadn’t uttered a word. The consultant turned and indicated the nurse behind him who stepped
forward, smiling.

‘If you have any questions,’ she said, ‘or there’s anything you’d like to talk through you can come next door, have a chat.’

I looked at Liv, but she only shook her head.

‘Or you can call me, and talk over the phone. It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?’

That last note of kindness seemed to undo Liv. She stared at the wad of pamphlets the nurse was holding out to her. ‘It’s silly, but I can’t think. I just want to go
home.’

‘Come on, then,’ I said.

I took the papers and opened the door for her. As I did so, I remembered Geraint, busy in the dining room with his urgent cataloguing of wetland leaflets, and sent a vibe of hate his way.

Then we walked out into the waiting room, and a different future.

I dropped Liv off then went straight on to the nursery because I’d told Ray that unless the appointment was massively delayed, I’d be fine for the afternoon. He was
filling a bucket under the main tap and saw me walk across the yard, but when I didn’t come over he left me alone. I knew he wouldn’t say anything to the others, either. He’s a
good boss, is Ray.

Everyone else seemed to be planting up liners in Greenhouse Four. I went into the office to collect my overalls and check the jobs list. ‘Slow-release fertiliser’, someone had
written on a Post-it and stuck it at the top of the planner. So I pulled on my gloves, took a barrow down to the store room, collected compost, spade, measuring scoop and a bucket of Osmocote, and
wheeled the lot round to the concrete mixer. I set the mixer going and hauled the compost bag onto the ground by its squashy middle. Once it was laid out flat I used my Stanley knife to slit the
polythene open.

Crumbly peat spilled over the edges of the cut. I tugged the knife further down the length of the bag, so that the opening was wide enough for my spade. A scent of leaf mould and growing
filtered up through the cold air. I grasped the spade handle and began to shovel compost into the mixer. It’s a rhythm you get into quickly: bend, push, lever, lift, turn, tilt.

And as I dug away, it seemed to me I ran through every thought it was possible to have about breast cancer. How could they have got it wrong? How
could
they have got it wrong? Who’d
cocked up: was it the nurse, the labs, the admin? Or was it just that the cells had changed on their own? I wanted to talk about this on the way home, but Liv said it didn’t make any
difference. I thought it did, a lot. I wanted someone to be angry with. I imagined Liv with no hair, Liv on a drip, on a hospital mattress, dead.

I remembered a play on the radio I’d heard where a burial was taking place and a squirrel dropped an acorn on the coffin, and I thought how pleased Liv’s ghost would be if that
happened to her, even if the rest of us were bawling our eyes out by the graveside. I wondered what we’d say to each other if she found she was dying; what might get said at the funeral
service; whether she’d stipulate an eco-burial or not bother. How, if Liv was dead, I could finally say what I liked to Geraint, throw him out of the house, burn his mouldy old possessions.
Then I’d be left wandering between silent rooms on my own.

That image quickly became unbearable, so instead I imagined Liv being given the definitive all-clear and holding some type of celebration – a party, a hot air balloon ride. Liv with a
scar, with no breast at all, with burns and tattoos from radiotherapy, rolling up her T-shirt and looking at herself in the bedroom mirror. I thought of support groups and special padded bras and
of a magazine ad I’d seen for Macmillan Cancer Support showing a green coffee mug. There’d been a girl at school whose mum had died of breast cancer when we were only in Year 7. I still
recalled our tongue-tied horror, how we avoided her at break. What bitches we were. And I thought of a sponsored run Nicky’s solicitor colleague had taken part in last year, and how I’d
only put down two quid. Two pounds! At the time I’d been short of cash and reasoned it was good of me to give a stranger anything. Perhaps Liv was somehow paying for my heartlessness.

The mixer now being full with compost, I turned my attention to the tub of Osmocote. The lid was on tight and the sharp plastic ridge round the edge hurt my fingers as I struggled to prise it
off. My mouth was parched too – I’d wanted a drink in the hospital an hour ago but it had seemed more important to get Liv home. On and on the mixer churned and rumbled as I fed in
scoops of fertiliser, counting under my breath, and the steady rhythm of the mixing drum and my thirst and my aching arms and the smell of the wet earth were somehow a weird comfort against all the
chaos in my brain. I would carry on making compost till I dropped.

I wasn’t even aware of Christian till he was upon me.

‘Didn’t you hear us shouting?’ Then he nodded at the mixer, and laughed. ‘Stupid question.’

I reached for the off switch.

He was wearing a plain light-blue shirt and jeans, simple but somehow just right. I thought I could smell his aftershave or hair lotion, something woody, spicy.

‘Is Nicky with you?’

‘She’s just stopped off in the shop to get a drink. You look as though you’re burning up, Frey.’

I knew what state I was in, red and sweaty and smeared with dirt.

‘I’m OK. It beats going to the gym.’

‘Let me feel those biceps.’ He put his fingers against the top of my arm. ‘Ooh, yes, very impressive. Seriously solid.’

‘Seriously wrecked. I take it you’ve got the day off again?’

‘They’re editing today, so I’m not involved. Thought I’d swoop across to Chester to see whether I could persuade Nicky to come and have lunch, and she managed to wriggle
out of a whole afternoon’s work. Can you believe it? I think the boss fancies her, actually.’

‘And you’re here because—’

‘She wants inspiration for her floral displays.’

I pulled my gloves off and wiped my forehead. ‘How are the wedding plans?’

‘Insane. I’ve got weddings coming out of my ears. The whole project’s tuning into a juggernaut, with me running about a mile behind. Not that you’d better repeat that
comment to Nicky. She’d spit-roast me, or her mother would. Now they’re all locked into some dispute over bridesmaids. Little ones, not you. You’re safe.’

‘There’s a relief. What’s the issue?’

Christian snorted. ‘Mum has this distant cousin with a likely infant, but Nicky maintains she doesn’t know her from Adam and anyway she’s already too far along with the
preparations to add another dress into the mix. She’s of the opinion an extra child would make the church look untidy. So the kiddy’s out in the cold. It’s causing a spot of
tension.’

‘Oh dear. Never mind, isn’t it traditional to have loads of rows during the lead-up?’

‘It’s only the women who are getting in a state. You girls. Flutter flutter.’

‘
I’m
not like that.’ I gave him a light punch on the shoulder to make the point.

He caught my wrist. ‘No, you’re not. That’s why we love you.’

The moment froze in sunshine and birdsong.

‘Hiya!’ It was Nicky, water bottle in hand, picking her way across the rough ground. Customers aren’t technically allowed in this part in case they come a cropper and decide to
sue.

‘All right?’ I said, pulling my hand free from her fiancé’s grasp.

She nodded, all aglow. ‘I wanted to come and look at your flowers, Frey. The florist keeps emailing these ideas at me and I don’t know what she means. Pelargoniums, hedera, what the
hell are they? I want to see for myself. Because it’s not just the bouquets, it’s the buttonholes, hair corsages, the decorations for the lychgate and church entrance and lectern and
pew ends and altar, and then all the dining tables at the reception and the guest-book table and the flowers to say thank you afterwards. It’s a lot, you know?’

Christian was chuckling. ‘Where is the woman I proposed to? She’s been swapped for this bridezilla.’

‘Get lost. Flowers are about the only thing your mum’s left me to organise.’

He put his arm across her shoulders.

‘Come on, then. Let’s get the job done. If I have to adjudicate over some plant or other, let’s not hang about. Are you coming to give us your professional advice,
Frey?’

I put on a sorrowful face. ‘Sorry, some of us have work to do. Can’t leave this or the boss’ll go nuts. I’m a slave to the machine.’ And I switched the mixer back
on to drown out any argument.

They wandered away together, walking close, brushing against each other for the pleasure of it. As they drew level with the spring bedding, Nicky pulled on Christian’s sleeve and he
stopped walking. I saw them consult together, then he lowered his face to hers and drew her into a fierce kiss. His arms were wrapped round her back, and their bodies pressed together, and her head
tipped back in a kind of surrender. How wonderful to lose yourself in a kiss like that. My own muscles reacted in sympathetic longing, and then a spike of pure jealousy passed over me, making me
flush. How long was it since anyone kissed me that way? How long since anyone kissed me, full stop? Not since the summer, and Oggy’s birthday bash in the Red Lion, when I was too drunk to
argue.

I sensed someone come up behind me, and when I turned it was Ray.

‘I could throw a bucket of cold water over them, if you want,’ he said.

‘If you would. Actually, chuck one over me while you’re at it.’

‘Don’t let the happy bastards get you down, Freya, hey? They all come to grief eventually.’

He strode away and I looked back at Christian and Nicky. They were still kissing.

There’s nowhere like your own bedroom when you’re under fire. Mine’s a pretty unremarkable space, and yet it’s amazing how much I missed it when I went
to uni. The rooms in my hall of residence had cold lino on the floor for ease of cleaning, and only a little rug instead of carpet. There weren’t enough surfaces for my clutter. Also I was
unlucky with my view, which was the canteen yard and bins. What really freaked me out, though, was the noises at night, the footsteps and coughing and drunken shrieks and snatches of music.
Sometimes there’d be sobbing. Sometimes it was me.

But when you’ve lived in a place all your life it fits you like a skin. It’s your history. Literally, because the suite itself used to be Liv’s mum’s, and is Fifties
G-Plan, and ugly chic. Some of my clothes hangers came from her house, and the glass lampshade’s hers as well. The shawl draped over the back of the chair was one of the first presents I ever
had from Melody; the ammonite I use as a door stop was found by Colin at Seatown near Lyme Regis. There are posters in this room I’ve had up since primary school – a chart of garden
birds’ eggs, a zombified Britney Spears – and dozens of photographs of Nicky and me going back ages. On the dressing table, behind the tray of make-up, is my model toadstool collection,
some of which I made myself during art lessons at school. My hair products I’ve arranged along the window sill, which means every time I open the curtains there’s a good chance
I’ll knock a tub or tin or tube onto the floor, but that’s just the way it is, the sill’s their home. My boots and trainers live in a neat row with their toes tucked under the
wardrobe. Above my headboard hangs a cross-stitch fox Nicky sewed for me, and a print of a harvest mouse I won in a nature-writing competition when I was eleven, and, from the same era, a pair of
pipe-cleaner bee antennae Liv made me wear on a Go Wild for Nature fun day.