Skin Deep
Authors: Helen Libby
Skin Deep
by
Helen Libby
Copyright
© Helen Libby, 2016
All
Rights Reserved
This
book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to
actual
persons living or
dead is purely coincidental.
For my sister, Anne.
X
Table of Contents
One
I bury my face
amongst the pale pink roses and cream freesias, inhaling the sweet scent; I
wish Will would buy me flowers. Sighing, I bind the stems with ribbon the exact
shade of the roses. I cast a critical eye over the large bouquet; it’s perfect.
I can’t resist another sniff and I laugh as the feathery fern tickles my nose.
Just one last thing to do; I attach the card to the cellophane.
To my darling wife, Caroline.
Thank you for 40 wonderful years.
All my love, now and forever, Neil xxxx
How amazing is that? My heart
pangs every time I read it.
Lucky Caroline.
Will
has
this theory that because I’m surrounded by flowers all
day, I must get sick of seeing them. As if! I adore flowers – all those
different colours, shapes and smells; the details on the petals.
I carefully place the bouquet in
the cool room,
then
dash back through to the workroom.
Grabbing the brush, I turn up the radio and attack the floor. Swivelling my
hips in time to the music, sweeping the floor takes a lot longer than it ought
to.
‘Gemma!’
I jump. It’s my boss, Marie,
calling from the shop.
‘Turn the radio down.’
With hot cheeks I finish the
tidying rather more sedately. From the workbench I salvage what I can of
leftover ribbon, and using a dustpan and brush I sweep up discarded leaves and
stems and dash outside to the gardening waste bin.
Whilst I’m scrubbing my hands
prior to getting started on a wedding order, Marie pops her dark curly head
through the doorway. ‘Put the kettle on, Gemma. I’m closing up – I’ll be
through soon.’
Glancing at my watch I’m
surprised to see
it’s
6pm. We’re working late tonight.
It’s such a big order that I reckon we’ll have to come in early tomorrow
morning as well in order to finish it, but it will be worth it. I never tire of
putting together a bouquet or a table decoration. And the look on the bride’s
face when she sees her bouquet? I get a lump in my throat every time.
Two hours later and it’s time to
go home. I check my mobile on the way to the car and see there’s one missed
call from Will. I call him and immediately wish I hadn’t because he asks me to
pick up some pizzas for the lads. I groan; that’s the third time this week that
Will’s mates have been round at ours. They’re harmless, though somewhat
annoying. I know I should say something to Will, but I don’t want to be a
killjoy.
The A5 is quiet all the way from
Chester to Mold, and I’m soon driving along the row of terraced houses which
make up Churchill Street. For once I’m able to park right outside my house. The
sound of rowdy laughter greets me as I struggle to open the front door with my
cargo of pizzas.
‘Hi Blondie.’
Will ruffles my chin-length bob,
plants a kiss on my forehead and whisks the pizzas away from me.
I leave my bag and coat in the
narrow hall and head for the kitchen, passing through the living room en-route.
Daz, Gaz and Kev are sprawled on the floor, cans of lager in hand. There’s a
football match on the enormous flat-screen TV is displaying some football
match. I smile at them all.
‘Hiya.’
Three grunts.
‘So how was your day?’
Will
gets
some plates out of the cupboard.
‘The usual.
There’s
some post over there for you.’
‘How was your day, Gemma?’ I
mutter.
Will
rolls
his eyes. ‘How was your day?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
I turn to the small pile of mail
on the worktop. On the top is a letter from the Maelor Hospital in Wrexham. I
went to see my GP recently about a mole on my leg. I’ve had it for years. When
I first noticed it had grown I didn’t think much of it, but thought I should
get it checked out to be on the safe side. I was convinced it would be benign,
but my GP suspects its melanoma; she’s referred me to a dermatologist. The
letter tells me I have an appointment in a fortnight’s time.
‘How many slices of pizza do you
want, Gem?’
‘Hmm…
Sorry
what?’
I look up. ‘Oh, none for me thanks. I’m not hungry.’ I feel a bit
sick. Somehow seeing the details of the appointment in black and white makes me
realise just how serious this could be.
‘Sure?’
I wave the plate away.
‘What’s that?’ Will gestures to
the letter.
I turn to him, stuffing the
letter back in its envelope.
‘W…what?
This?
Oh, it’s just
junk
.’ I feel
bad keeping it from him, but there’s no point in worrying him unnecessarily.
There’s a chance the mole won’t turn out to be melanoma. Maybe my GP is being
over-cautious. ‘I’m tired. I think I’ll have a read in bed.’
Will
shrugs
.
‘Suit yourself.’
‘Night,’ I say to Will’s cronies
and go upstairs. I don’t take long in the bathroom and I’m soon propped up in
bed with a copy of
Grazia
magazine on
my lap. I try to read, but I can’t concentrate, so I pull out my laptop from
underneath the bed.
I don’t know much
about skin cancer; you don’t hear about it as much as you do about, say, breast
cancer, so I’m shocked to read that rates of malignant melanoma are rising
faster than any other type of common cancer in the UK. T
here are different stages. I look
up the details of an excision biopsy, which is what I’ll be having. If the mole
is found to be cancerous, then I’ll need to have more skin removed, maybe even
a skin graft . . . My stomach churns and I shut down the laptop. Sometimes you
can have too much information.
I look at the mole. Surely this
innocuous brown lump isn’t life-threatening?
I
mustn’t think too far ahead.
I turn off the lamp
on the bedside cabinet. Submerged under the duvet, I curl into the foetal
position. I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to get much sleep tonight. Roll on
two weeks’ time. I want to know what I’m dealing with.
I’m experimenting with a design
for a hand-tied bouquet, trying not to think about my upcoming hospital
appointment, when I become aware of someone standing in front of me. I look up
and, wow! I drop my pencil. He takes my breath away. The vision of gorgeousness
is smiling at me. He’s got pale green eyes and chin-length, light brown wavy
hair.
He peers at my name badge.
‘Hi, Gemma.’
I stand tall and beam up at him.
‘Hi, how can I help you?’ He smiles at me, and there’s a long silence. My mouth
starts to ache.
He blinks. ‘Erm…I’d like a
bouquet for my brother and sister-in-law. They’ve just had a baby.’
‘Well, you’ve come to the right
place.’ I cringe.
Silly!
‘Do you know
what you want?’
‘I’ll be guided by you. I haven’t
got a clue about flowers.’
I laugh and relax a little. ‘What
did they have?’
‘Sorry?’ His forehead creases.
‘The baby.
Is it a boy or a girl?’
‘Oh! It’s a boy - my nephew.’
‘Congratulations, Uncle . . .’
Underhand I know. I’m desperate to know his name.
‘Thanks. Leo. Uncle Leo, that’s
me.’ He beams.
I smile. Leo, his name is Leo. I
give myself a little shake - it’s time for action. I leave the counter and head
towards the many flowers available for selection. ‘Hmm . . . I’m thinking
germini, freesias,
alstroemeria
and spray
chrysanthemums.’ I point out the flowers to him along the way. The white and
blue combination would be perfect, along with some foliage. I turn to him, keen
for his approval. ‘What do you think?’
‘It all sounds great. Can you
deliver it?’
‘Of course.
Will it be to the hospital or to
their home?’
He hesitates.
‘To
the hospital.
They’re in the Countess of Chester. I think they’re being
discharged tomorrow.’
‘That’s fine. I can make the
bouquet up and deliver it later today.’ I’m on my way back to the counter when
I stop and turn back to him. He almost bumps into me.
‘How about I arrange it in a
small vase? That means your sister-in-law can easily take it home with her
tomorrow.’
‘Sounds good.’
We smile at each other. I can’t
seem to tear my gaze away from his eyes. I have never had this reaction to a
man before, not even when I first met Will. I start.
Will, your boyfriend, remember him?
I look away and dart behind
the counter. ‘I just need to take some details.’
Leo pays, his fingers touching
mine briefly as he puts some notes in my hand. I feel a buzz of energy. Did he
feel it too? He writes a card to accompany the flowers, gives me the ward
details, and then he just stands there. ‘Is there anything else I can help you
with?’ I don’t want him to go.
Leo drums his fingers on the
counter. ‘So that will be delivered today?’
‘Yes, this afternoon.’
‘Right, well, thanks for all your
help.’ He backs away slowly, towards the exit. His smile doesn’t falter and I
smile right back, admiring the view.
Once he’s gone I rush into the
workroom and head for the sink to splash my cheeks with cold water. What is
wrong with me? I feel like such a cow. I think about Will. We’re doing okay, so
why did Leo have such an effect on me? It doesn’t matter - I’ll never see him
again. The thought disappoints me though. Feeling even guiltier, I set to work
on his order.
***
My trainers squeak along the
hospital corridors. Clutching the vase and its contents tightly, I head towards
the maternity ward. I speak to the nurse at the desk and am directed to Mrs.
Morgan, Leo’s sister-in-law. She’s holding her son, gazing at him with such
rapture. I hover, and eventually she looks up, smiling.
‘Hello,’ she says softly.
‘Hi. Mrs. Morgan?’ She nods.
‘These are for you.’ I hand over
the flowers.
‘Oh!
how
lovely.’ She takes the card. ‘They’re from Leo, how sweet of him.’
I glance at the baby. He’s
cute.
She buries her nose amongst the
flowers briefly. ‘These are beautiful. Did you arrange them? You’re very
talented. Thank you so much.’
‘I’m glad you like them, but
don’t thank me, thank your brother-in-law.’
Your gorgeous brother-in-law.
I back away. ‘Congratulations by the
way.’ I nod at Joe.
I’m grinning as I bounce back
along the corridor. I love delivering bouquets to people, being able to witness
their delight.
In the car park I stop in my
tracks as I spot Leo. His six-foot plus frame isn’t hard to miss. He’s heading
towards the entrance; he’ll see me soon. My heart beats faster and faster. I’m
torn between running away and staying put, but I can’t face speaking to him.
There’s nothing else for it; I dash back inside the hospital and into the small
shop. I pull out a magazine and wait, holding my breath. I soon see him
striding past. Finally, I can breathe again. Why does this guy, someone I
hardly know, make me feel this way, like a teenager with a crush? Will and I
are settled and that’s that. But maybe being settled isn’t enough, a
treacherous voice inside me whispers. I groan, dismissing the thought. Haven’t
I got enough on my plate at the moment? My health should be – is – my top
priority.
