Love & The Goddess (14 page)

Two days later, I was sitting with Ella in the conservatory overlooking her tiny garden, the doors open wide allowing in the fragrance of roses, lilies and begonias.

I knew I was a bit quiet – the lump I’d found in my breast had been niggling at the back of my mind.

“Are you annoyed with me because I wasn’t keen on Ray?” Ella asked. “It’s just you seem more aloof with me than usual.”

I shook my head. “No Ella, I’ve just been a bit pre-occupied. I’m not the greatest judge of men, am I?” I curled my feet underneath me, as I cosied into a creaking wicker
chair with its comfy floral cushions.

“None of us are, but we try to help each other whenever we can and sometimes it’s easier to see a situation from the outside, rather than when you’re directly involved.”
She raised her eyebrows, stretching her nose in the process as she locked eyes with me.

“I agree.” I saw a worried expression cross her face as she turned to pick up her coffee. “What’s up with you, Ella? Are you all right?”

“Aah, I’ve my own troubles with the business lately. I bust my ass on the Geneva conference and yet the company has gone back to using an organiser in Dublin. I’ve always
battled being in the wrong location but when times were good it didn’t matter much.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry to hear that, Ella. You were getting on great. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing for the moment. But I have something else to tell you.” She placed her hand under her chin and sucked in her cheeks.

“Go on,” I said.

“I mentioned my sister’s friend Jennie to you before – the girl who’s been internet dating on and off for the past three years?” When I nodded, she continued,
“Now you know I’m wary of Lorna because she’s lethal for chat and gossip …” It was true, I had only met her sister Lorna a few times but she’d been full of news
on every occasion. She gossiped so much, she’d been in court for slander yet she had a wide circle of friends who found her highly entertaining. Ella was continuing, “She knows what
every person in the city has for breakfast, yet people confide in her like she’s the soul of honour and discretion. I tell her nothing, absolutely nothing, of my business or anyone
else’s, least of all that of my close friends.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Ella?” Had Lorna some information about Trevor? A shiver coursed up my spine.

“Well, I know Lorna loves Jennie’s dating gossip, so I asked her yesterday had Jennie ever dated Ray.” Taking in my shocked expression, she said hastily, “No, hold on,
Kate. Your name was never mentioned. Anyway she told me ‘Jennie said he was a bollocks’. Excuse the French.”

“Ah look!” I began, as I hurriedly uncurled my feet from underneath me. I really didn’t want to hear anything against Ray.

“No. Let me finish please, Kate.” Ella spoke in an authoritative tone. “Apparently Jennie was dating him and he started coming on to a friend of hers who was also on the site.
Now he didn’t know this other woman was a friend of Jennie’s. Anyway they decided to set him up and her friend went along to meet him the morning after he’d been with Jennie the
night before. When Jennie tackled him on it he said, ‘So? We’d never agreed we were in an exclusive relationship. What’s your problem?’ Like you, she said he was pathetic in
the sack. I don’t like telling you this Kate, lovey. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said. But my voice jarred as I felt a lump in my throat. I reached for the glass of water in front of me. I thought for a moment. “Ella, I didn’t want to hear
that, but in some strange way it makes sense. Yesterday, I had a strange phone call with him where I suspected he was with another woman. He was in a mad rush and sounded like he was trying to
brush me off. It’s as if I’ve been refusing to listen to my gut once again. I’ve been pumping up my ego with flights of fantasy instead. I haven’t looked at that site for
the last ten days because I thought I’d found Mr Perfect. Do you mind if we check online right now?”

“Of course not. I’ll be right back.”

Ella returned with her laptop, placing it on the coffee table in front of me. Kneeling down on the floor, I logged onto the site and went straight to “
Elmtree
”. He was online.
I checked through the rest of his profile, sensing something had changed. “Oh, Ella. I’ve never used the word before in my life but it’s a
bollocks
he is!”

“What’s wrong?”

“He was only a standard member before! But look at the date on his profile! Since he started dating me, he’s upgraded to premium membership! Now he can be contacted by any girl just
on for a quick internet browse! And I assumed he was so into me he would deactivate his profile! Instead, he upgrades.” I stood up, hands on hips. “Bollocks… Bollocks…
Bollocks
. Ray is a
bollocks!
All men are the same and I need to avoid them like the plague.” Then, calmed by the sight of the shrubs in the garden dancing in the late afternoon
breeze, I inhaled deeply and turned to face a bemused Ella. “D’you know something? I’ve just made the connection between the name Ray and ‘
elmtree’
. Slippery
elm tree. That’s what he is. And he’s also a slimy ray fish. He’s a slippery slimy bollocks. Now, I’m glad I got that off my chest.” And I grabbed a handful of cashew
nuts from the tray in front of me and collapsed back into the wicker chair. It creaked and sighed beneath me.

“Kate, men like him usually hate women and they make a mission out of driving us crazy. I bet he has problems with his mammy and his ex. That’s why he’s a selfish lover. Though
he doesn’t merit being called a lover, judging by the reports and it seems he hasn’t the ability to ever be any better. As for you, stop being so hard on yourself. You’re still
vulnerable, lovey.”

“Yeah, Ella. Dunno anything about the mammy, but I do know he hates his ex with a passion. Do you know I’m kind of relieved in some strange way. I was losing the run of myself. I was
trying to force something to happen because in some strange way I found being with him consoling. It reminded me of being with Trevor. It’s about time I gave this dating business a rest.
I’ll just keep my little on-line friendship with the artist, and ditch the rest. I need a holiday. I might join James in August.”

“Good girl. But I’m concerned about you. You look so thin and drawn.”

“I’m still not sleeping well. I’ve lost weight from anxiety. But I’m surviving.” I smiled at her, but it was window-dressing – deep inside me a worm of worry
was uncurling itself. I continued brightly, “On top of that I just discovered a breast lump which has gotten bigger.”

“Christ almighty, Kate, get that checked out.”

“It’s probably nothing. I had one before and the doctor just removed it with a syringe. I had a mammogram done before Trevor and I split up. I’m sure the hospital would have
notified me if anything was askew.” Yet I knew my oncologist had recently emigrated to Australia and it was Trevor’s clinic which would have arranged any follow-up appointment for me
– which was why I hadn’t checked.

Ella shook her head disapprovingly. “What you’re going through is very stressful. It can have disastrous effects on your health. Collect your mammogram and get an appointment
arranged as soon as possible.”

I
squirmed at the sight of pale yellow fluid filling the syringe. But this was a routine procedure. Routine. Lots of people had breast
lumps. Despite my best efforts to push away fear, my heart galloped like a horse’s hooves and I gulped deep breaths.
Calm down,
I told myself, in an effort at positive thinking. After
all, I’d had this done by my former consultant, two years previously. “Fibrous breasts” he’d called them, saying they were “more prone to benign lumps”. Benign
was fine. Not a problem.

I suppressed a yelp as the doctor’s short doughy fingers prodded at my naked left breast. My embarrassment was heightened by the harsh glare of the spotlight – I felt I was no
glamour model, with my emaciated frame and slumped shoulders. The overhead light caused the consultant’s wheat-coloured hair to glisten and the thought flashed across my mind that he could be
sporting a toupé. He looked like one of the Munchkins in the
Wizard of Oz
. Wouldn’t it be such fun to upset his thatch? I had a childish urge to let my raised arm fall
awkwardly and give it a deliberate knock. “Ouch!” My thoughts had been rudely interrupted by the life being wrung out of my breast. He raised his head and scrunched up his face, little
piggy grey eyes sinking into fat-rimmed sockets. I said through clenched teeth, “Is the lump gone now?”

“Get dressed and we can discuss your scan.” He turned to disappear through the gap in the curtains. Why not just offer me some reassurance, I thought indignantly, hauling on my bra.
Evading questions must be a skill taught in medical school. Trevor was an expert at it. Dressed, I slipped out of the curtained changing area and approached the large mahogany desk. He gestured
towards the chair opposite him and I sat down. Holding up an iPad, he turned it sideways to show me a black and white scan. “I’m very concerned about your right breast. This is your
mammogram, Mrs Canavan. Do you see this cloudy area here?” He indicated an area with the top of his pen. I peered at it, trying to interpret the unintelligible image.

“Yes?” It came out as a squeak. I cleared my throat.

He smiled a schoolboy smile. “You appear to have an area of calcification, which is not a problem at the moment, but could be down the road.”

My heart beat faster, and my mouth grew dry. I slipped my hand to the edge of the hard plastic chair I was sitting on and held on tight. “What do you mean?”

“It can be a precursor to breast cancer which could develop within the next five years.” He delivered this terrifying news as though he were commenting on the weather. I was rigid in
my chair – barely breathing, never mind digesting the information thrown at me
.
“I need to do a biopsy under anaesthetic to thoroughly investigate this. I’m looking at a
large section here. If it is calcification, it could necessitate removal of your right breast.”

“But there’s no history of breast cancer in my family ...” This couldn’t be happening. My heart was deafening me.
How dare he look so composed?

“I just want to prepare you. It could be better to have a mastectomy than have to battle cancer in a few years, time. I can work with Doctor Reynolds, the plastic surgeon, and perform an
immediate breast reconstruction. They’re extremely successful.”

“You mean, an implant?” I didn’t want silicone inside my body. I’d read about implants and knew they could leak. I couldn’t live with the thought of having some
kind of active volcano slowly creating havoc inside me. No. No matter how much they would try to reassure me, my mind would work overtime on strange imaginings …

“In some cases, yes. Though I like to also combine natural tissue. For example I could use a length of muscle from your inner thigh for building and reshaping a new breast. If we can save
the nipple, we will. If not, the nipple shape can be later tattooed on. We can talk about this after the results from your biopsy.”

As he said goodbye, he offered me his small soft hand, which I shook, despite thinking of it as a potential weapon of destruction. At that moment I hated him, but – on automatic – I
politely thanked him and left the room with his eerie words reverberating throughout my skull.

After paying the receptionist, I walked towards my car, all the while feeling like I was in some drug-induced haze. Gory images came flooding in, of me lying on the table with not only my breast
slashed open but my thigh oozing guts and gristle as they hauled the muscle out. In all of this, the only word I liked the sound of was “tattoo”. It was odd for me to think like that. I
used to assume anyone sporting a tattoo was a renegade, someone not to be trusted. Now for some strange reason, colourful images of tattoo art presented in front of my bleary eyes. If my breast was
going to go, I would end up being some kind of freak. I’d prefer to embrace that and become an authentic freak than have a fake breast. If I was to lose a part of myself then I needed to
replace it with something better. An idea began to form – an idea I knew Trevor would hate, but which lifted my mood slightly. I could get a colourful Celtic swirl representing infinity
tattooed over my breast scar, or an exotic bird of paradise about to take flight. I could research the Book of Kells before designing my own breast and seek out the best tattoo artist in the land.
I laughed to myself. I could just imagine Ray’s face, if I’d slipped out of my camisole to reveal such a tattoo!