Rumor Has It (30 page)

THE CAR WAS AN automatic, thankfully, otherwise Erin would have made as much of a pig's ear of driving it as Stella. As they made their way through Roxborough, it crossed her mind that maybe Stella had been lying. What if this was a trap, and she was being lured to Stella's house…

    Except it wasn't, she knew that. Stella had been telling the truth.

    God,
cancer.

    'I feel like I'm falling off a cliff in slow motion,' said Stella. 'I think I'm in shock. All the pain and cramps I've been having, I just ignored them for ages. Took more painkillers, drank more wine. I thought the reason I was feeling so awful was because my marriage was over. I mean, it stands to reason, doesn't it? Love hurts. You find out your husband's seeing someone else, so you feel like crap. I only went along to the surgery to see if Dr Harrison would prescribe me some happy pills. But because I'd lost weight he started poking and prodding me. Turn left down here, it's the house by the second lamp post, with the green front door.'

    Now that Stella had started, she was like a tap that couldn't be turned off. Erin pulled up at the curb and they climbed out of the car.

    'Then he said how about a scan to be on the safe side, so I had one done on Monday just to shut him up, then this afternoon I went back to Dr Harrison so he could finally give me my Prozac, and that's when he told me. I've got cancer. I mean, it doesn't make any sense, does it? This kind of thing doesn't happen to
me
.' Her hands shaking so badly she couldn't fit her front door key in the lock, Stella said, 'I keep wanting to wake up and have everything back to normal. It's bad enough with the cancer thing, but now you're here too, coming into my house, and that's even more surreal.'

    'Here, let me do it.' Taking over, Erin opened the door then stepped aside to allow Stella in first. Stella uttered a loud gulping sob as Bing sauntered over to her, his blue-grey furry body as sinuous as a snake. Scooping him up into her arms, she broke down completely while Bing, his lime-green eyes unconcerned, blinked impassively at Erin, as if to say, 'Oh God, what
now
?'

    That was cats for you. No doubt he was tolerating the attention and wondering what was for tea.

    An hour later, with Stella's overnight case packed, they set off for the hospital. So much for making lists to keep you in control of a situation. As Erin drove, Stella said, 'I'm scared. So scared. Is it all right to be scared?'

    'Anyone would be scared. It's normal.'

    'I want my mum.'

    'Where is she? Do you want to phone her?'

    'She's dead.' Stella wiped her face. 'But I still want her.'

    Oh God. A lump formed in Erin's own throat.

    'This really isn't supposed to happen, you know? I don't want to have cancer. I want a
baby
.'

    Feeling helpless, Erin said, 'But thousands of people have cancer and they beat it. You can still have a baby afterwards. Look at the treatments they have these days, they can cure practically anything!'

    'Who's going to look after Bing? He'll wonder where I am.'

    'I'll sort something out, I promise.' They'd reached the hospital. Erin followed the signs until they reached the entrance to the block where the wards were situated. She stopped the car and said awk wardly, 'Well, here it is.'

    Stella checked her face in the rearview mirror, wiping away smears of mascara with a tissue. Then, turning to look at Erin, she blurted out even more awkwardly, 'Will you come with me? I don't want to go in on my own.'

The hospital brought back a million memories, very few of them happy. Erin had spent weeks practically living in the chair beside her mother's bed following her initial stroke. Then after that, life had been punctuated by endless return visits to the stroke rehabilita tion unit, the physio department, outpatients. Hours of waiting and sitting and desperately trying to stay outwardly cheerful when there was nothing to be cheerful about. Endlessly attempting to conjure up yet more one-sided conversations when you'd completely run out of things to say. Tired magazines, the smell of wee, other pa tients incapable of speech wailing in frustration, getting trapped in a narrow corridor behind someone struggling along with a Zimmer frame at two meters an hour, the all-pervasive smell of disinfectant and overcooked vegetables…

    When Erin's mother had finally died, at least it had meant the interminable hospital visits were over. She'd have been happy never to clap eyes on the place again.

    Anyway. Different ward, different staff, different patient now. Only the chairs remained the same. Erin sat on one—molded plastic, bright orange, bum-numbingly uncomfortable—and a young blonde nurse perched on the other while Stella occupied the bed. The nurse was filling out the information page of Stella's notes in careful loopy handwriting. Verrrry sloooowly indeeeed.

    'Now, religion?'

    'None,' said Stella.

    'OK. Shall we just put Church of England then?' It took her thirty seconds to write it. 'That's great. And who's your next of kin?'

    Stella was busy rolling and unrolling the edge of the hospital sheet between her fingers. She looked as if she was struggling to hold back tears.

    'Mum? Dad?' the nurse prompted helpfully. 'Brother or sister?'

    'I don't have any relatives.' As the rolling quickened, Stella glanced over at Erin and said brusquely, 'Can she put you down?'

    The little nurse's tone was soothing. 'That's fine. Who
are
you?'

    'She's my husband's girlfriend,' said Stella.

    'Oh! Well, shouldn't he be your next of kin?'

    'I don't know. He doesn't give a stuff about me. And he's rubbish at hospitals anyway.' Shaking her head, Stella said, 'Put Erin's name down. How long am I going to be in for?'

    'Ooh well, that's all down to the doctors, isn't it?' The nurse had a cozy, avoid-awkward-questions-at-all-costs manner and a comfort ing smile. 'Dr Wilson will be along soon to take a look at you.'

    Stella's tone was curt. 'And I need some more painkillers.'

    'No problem. We'll sort that out for you too.'

    Outside the hospital, Erin sat on a sunny bench and, knees juddering, tried Fergus's mobile again. This time he answered. 'Hi, angel, how's it going with the packing?' It was so odd to hear his voice sounding cheery and normal. 'Listen, do you have a three-pin adaptor, because I can't find mine—'

    'Fergus, hang on, something's happened.' Too late, Erin realized she hadn't rehearsed what to say. 'It's about Stella.'

    'Oh God, what's she done now? Right, that's it, I've had enough. Where are you?'

    'I'm at the hospital.'

    '
What?
Jesus, are you hurt? Did she attack you?'

    'She's ill, Fergus. She didn't attack me. She's been admitted for tests.'

    Clearly baffled, Fergus said, 'OK. But I don't get it, what are
you
doing there?'

Back on the ward, the orange and blue curtains had been drawn around Stella's bed. Then they were pulled back with a flourish and a tall, rather good-looking man emerged, white coat flying. Spotting Erin hovering, he pointed and said, 'Stella's friend?'

    Of all the things she'd never imagined hearing herself described as. Erin nodded, dry-mouthed, and he beckoned her to follow him. 'Let's have a quick chat, shall we, while Stella's having her bloods taken. I'm Dr Wilson.'

    He led her out of the ward, down a corridor, and into a small windowless office lined with textbooks and files, offered her a seat, sat down opposite her, and said, 'Well, I won't beat about the bush. Your friend Stella is going to need all your support. I'm very sorry, and of course we still have needle biopsies to carry out this afternoon, but from the MRI scan, the cancer appears to be significantly ad vanced. You're going to have to be strong too. I'm so sorry, I know this is a shock for you.'

    Erin felt as if she were watching herself on TV. As if she'd somehow inadvertently ended up in an episode of
Casualty
. Now didn't seem an appropriate time to tell him that, actually, she wasn't Stella's friend at all, and what's more, she really needed to get home and finish her holiday packing.

    'But you can treat it.' Unable to meet the doctor's gaze, she looked at his long, clever fingers instead.

    'We'll check out every option, of course. But I have to warn you that it's not looking good. At all, I'm afraid. The cancer has metastasized. The scan shows evidence of spread to the bowel, the lungs, and the liver. It's a very aggressive form.'

    Well, someone like Stella was hardly likely to have a shy retiring cancer, were they? Erin took a tissue from the box in front of her on the desk and wiped her perspiring palms. Horrible, shameful, unworthy thoughts were jostling for pole position in her brain. Because of course she felt desperately sorry for Stella, but Stella in turn had made her life a misery… and what about Venice and the fourteenth-century palazzo with the fabulous roof garden and unri valled views over the Grand Canal?

    Oh God. Liver. Bowel. Lungs.
Aggressive.

    She felt sick.

    Really, what choice did she have?

'Cancel?' Fergus, who knew how much she'd been looking forward to it, looked at Erin as if she were mad. 'Stella's ill, so you seriously want to cancel
our holiday
?'

    They were outside the hospital. Erin clutched his hands;
want
didn't come into it. 'We have to. She's got no one else. I was with her this afternoon when she phoned a couple of her girlfriends. Deedee and Kirsten?'

    Fergus's lip curled. 'Right, I know them.'

    'Yes, well. They're too busy to come and visit her. Turns out that Deedee's put on a couple of pounds lately so she daren't miss her evening session at the gym. Kirsten's really busy at work and has to supervise the team fitting her new kitchen. And Amy's found herself a new man. So that's nice for her.' It was all Erin had been able to do to stop herself snatching the hospital phone from Stella's thin, French-manicured hand and yelling at the so-called friends to get off their selfish bony backsides and get down here
now.

    'Look, I'm shocked too. But this is our holiday. And Stella's always been vile to you.' Fergus frowned, bemused by her sudden change of attitude; after Erin's phone call, he'd driven straight over to the hospital. His stomach was rumbling and he was shattered. Stella had always been such a drama queen, the chances were that it would turn out to be something minor and easily treatable. He was touched by Erin's concern—crikey, how many women would do what she'd done after the way Stella had treated her?—but there was no need to go this far. 'Look, it's fantastic of you to offer, but it'll be fine. We'll only be away for a week. If she's still in here, we'll come and visit. But you never know, she might not be. She could be back home by then!'

    But Erin didn't look relieved. Her face was drawn and pale, her whole body rigid. 'The consultant spoke to me. The cancer's really bad, Fergus.' Her voice cracking, she said, 'It's
everywhere.'

TALK ABOUT BEING THROWN in at the deep end. What had sounded so simple and straightforward the other day when Erin had run through what she'd need to learn, now seemed alarmingly compli cated. With Erin staying at the hospital with Stella, Kaye had found herself thrust into the job a day early and—as it turned out—woe fully unprepared. By midday, she had already managed to mortally offend a bossy middle-aged woman by not offering as much for her mannish tweed trousers as the woman felt they deserved.

    '
How
much? That's not enough!' Her bushy eyebrows had prac tically quivered with indignation. 'I paid ninety pounds for those!'

    In Savile Row, at a guess. The trousers were horrible. Nobody in their right mind would want to buy them. Kaye, watching as the woman stomped out of the shop, realized that Erin must be more skilled in the art of rejection, whereas she belonged more in the Simon Cowell camp. Maybe learning how to be a tad more diplo matic wouldn't go amiss.

    God, but it was so hard not to offend people when they were trying on outfits that didn't suit them, or were blind to the faults of their own castoffs. By lunchtime, she had upset four more custom ers. When Tilly came through the door at one thirty she greeted her with relief.

    'Hi! You look fantastic!'

    Tilly gave her an odd look. 'I've been using a floor-sander. I'm covered in dust.'

    'Oh, but I love your T-shirt! And your jeans fit you so
well
, although with a figure like that, you'd look great in anything! And the color of your top really sets off your eyes.'

    'You're starting to scare me,' said Tilly. 'Is this one of those hidden camera shows?'

    Kaye pulled a face. 'I'm practicing being nice. Paying compli ments. Customers don't like it if they try something on and you tell them it makes them look like a hippo.'

    'You have to say it in a nice way. Erin's great at that. She's honest but tactful.'

    'Well, I'm not. If anyone else brings in stuff to sell, that's it. From now on, I'm going to tell them to leave it here for Erin to price.'

    Tilly exhaled. 'I can't believe she's not going to Venice. Cancelling like that at the last minute.'

    Kaye nodded in sympathy and handed her the key to Stella's house. 'I can't believe we're all taking it in turns to look after Scary Stella's cat.' Since Bing was so pampered, it had been decided that he should stay in his own home. Four or five times each day, one of them would drop in to check on him, keep him fed and watered and make sure his litter tray was scrupulously clean. Because Bing was Stella's baby, her number one priority, and keeping him in familiar surroundings was what she'd decreed he'd like best.