She should have listened more. Lise had tried a few times, told her she had something important to say. Kate could have called her back. She shouldn’t have dismissed her so readily, so self-importantly, assumed she was so busy shagging Steve that nothing else was happening in her life. All the while Kate had been racing round America, concerning herself with trivial, dumb, stupid, beauty things (plastic surgery, for God’s sake!), tumors had been trying to take over Lise’s beautiful, fit body, sending messages from one cell to the next, taking her over, spinning her mind out of control and sending her into some sad, black hole. Kate should have been there for that.
She gazed out of the window at street after street of suburban bliss. Lights, flickering TV screens, cars parked in drive-ways; she envied the normality of these warm, inviting homes where people didn’t appear to suffer illnesses that threatened to take them away from each other.
Lise was lying in bed propped up by enough downy pillows to feather several flocks of geese. She smiled as soon as she saw Kate and went to lift her arms to welcome her, but before she’d raised them very high, she had to rest them back on the pillows.
“Hopeless! But I’ve got Tenzin coming round in a few weeks, the martial arts guy from the gym. He’s going to get the strength back in my arms and shoulders really soon, he promises! ”
She looked the same. Not exactly the same. Her blonde hair looked dull at the roots, as if it needed a wash. She was wearing one of Steve’s shirts. Kate could just see the traces of a cotton camisole where before there would have been a push-up bra, her smooth décolleté on show. She wondered what it would look like now, underneath. Dreaded to think.
“Lise . . . I’m . . . I’m so . . .”
“Don’t even say it!” They looked at each other, Kate sitting on her bed as close as she could get to Lise without squashing her. Their eyes welled up. Seeeing each other trying so hard not to cry made them giggle.
“Don’t!” said Lise. “It hurts!” She clutched her chest. That made them laugh even more.
Steve rushed over to the bed and took Lise’s hand.
“Take it easy, babe, it’s not that funny!” He looked at Kate, smiled at her, but his eyes were sad. “Go easy on her with those jokes!” He let go of Lise’s hand. “I’ll get some takeaway for everyone, shall I? Couple of pizzas suit everyone?” He nodded his head toward the door, and Morris and Darleen obediently took their cue.
“We’ll come and help you, love. The car’s out the front,” said Darleen. They had stayed standing near the door, jackets still on. Kate was suddenly aware how small Lise’s studio was. Steve grabbed his wallet and keys from the sink area of the kitchenette, and they filed out.
There was silence for a minute, the kind of comfortable silence shared only by friends and lovers, while they looked at each other, as if taking in everything that had happened.
“He’s living with me now,” said Lise, her face suddenly glowing like a small child’s opening her presents on Christmas Day. “Left his wife. For me, can you believe it?” Kate was impressed and shocked at the same time. She tried not to look upset, but all those children Steve had! She fought the urge to judge once again, but it concerned her, even though she knew Lise was sick and needed Steve, probably even more than the wife did right now.
“Look, I know you don’t like him,” Lise continued. “But it’s not like you think it is. Well, some of it is.” She twisted a ring on her finger, her old ruby ring, looked down at her nails. They were painted impeccably, a dark red.
“It was pretty awful for him. He found out all sorts of stuff. His wife had been cheating on him with someone who used to work at his bank! You know, I never really asked him about his marriage. All that time we were dating, I just assumed . . . well, that it wasn’t my business. That it wasn’t right to pry. But actually, he was really unhappy.”
“His wife didn’t understand him?” asked Kate, the cheek returning to her smile.
“No, not like that. Well, I suppose that was what I was expecting, which is why I didn’t ask.” Her eyes looked downward. She fiddled with the ridged hem of the duvet cover as if it fascinated her. “He’s been amazing, Kate. I couldn’t have done it without him.”
She hadn’t said it to hurt Kate, but it hammered their disconnection home. Kate was no more the confidante, the best friend. She’d been replaced by Steve. And that was fine. The way it had to be. But she wished she could have been a better number two, if nothing else.
Lise gripped Kate’s hand tightly.
“I’m . . . I’m so glad to have you here. It’s been awful, Kate, really awful.” A tear fell down her cheek, the right cheek. It led to that right breast, now mutilated, amputated, gone.
Kate reached over to hug her. It was an awkward embrace, physically constrained by the fear of hurting Lise. Their cheeks touched, they held each other fondly, didn’t let go for what seemed like ages.
“How are you feeling?” It was a pretty stupid question in the circumstances, but Kate really did want to know.
“Oh . . . pretty bad!” She gulped. “If I’m to be honest.” She sighed, looked away from Kate, fiddled with the duvet cover again. A shadow passed over her face; the brightness was gone. "The worst bit was when the doctor”—she gulped again—“he cut my bandages off. He left the room so I could see what it looked like . . . where they’d removed it. It was just . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence. Tears poured down her face, she couldn’t hold them back. Kate held her closely, carefully, gently. She kissed her forehead and cried softly. She held her in her arms and rocked her gently from side to side. “It was so frightening!”
“Look, I’m here now. I can stay longer if you want. Whatever you have to—I mean, if you have to have chemo or radiation or whatever . . .”
Lise raised one finger to her mouth, gently silencing Kate.
“It’s okay, really. They are fairly positive I won’t need it,” she said. When her smile returned, it was the practiced smile of those who knew they had to put on a brave face when explaining this next bit. "They think my chances are good, very good, and that they’ve cut out the little buggers. And they reckon I can have a boob job, imagine that! A boob job free on the National Health Service! I’m thinking blow it all up, go big, DD, or maybe EE cup, what do you reckon?” Her laughter suddenly changed midsentence to a bitter sobbing. She could hide her pain from her work colleagues, even her family, but not from Steve, mused Kate, nor from herself. She hugged her as close as she dared.
“I shouldn’t cry about it, it’s so stupid!” she said. “But I liked them! I know I’ve got my life, I should be grateful, but how can I be grateful when I look like this!” Kate let her talk. She could feel where the bandage stopped and started under Steve’s shirt, feel her chest moving in and out as she sobbed, feel where one mound protruded, and where one didn’t.
“Steve”—Lise sniffled—“Steve . . . says . . . it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. But what if he’s wrong? And what if, you know, what if Steve goes off me? I’m damaged goods now, aren’t I?”
“Lise, Steve’s right,” said Kate. “He’s not going to go off you. It’ll be okay.” But what if it wasn’t? She didn’t know if it would be okay, nor who, right now, could make that promise.
She noticed a picture by the side of the bed. It was a Polaroid of Lise, naked from the waist up. She wasn’t smiling, and she wasn’t posing sexily for the camera, just lying on the bed, staring into the lens, her expression composed more than defiant.
“We took that just before I went in,” she said, her eyes following Kate’s gaze.
The rest of Kate’s week in Maidstone disappeared in a controlled blur of rest, and concern over Lise’s rehabilitation. Steve took advantage of her presence to put in a few days at the bank and spend some much-needed time with his kids. Kate moved into Lise’s flat, spending her days running errands for her or just hanging out; and the nights curled up in her bed with her. It wasn’t that Lise needed someone with her all day long—she was as fiercely independent as ever and desperate to get her fitness back. But the two enjoyed hanging out together. Their time now was suddenly precious, limited by Kate’s ominous return, limited more ominously still by Lise’s brush with death. Kate entertained Lise with stories, of drunken parties with handsome surgeons, or nights out in Brooklyn with her French artist. She left out the work dramas. There was no point. She knew Lise would be upset for her, and she wanted to spare her any unnecessary stress.
The day before she was due to leave, she announced out loud, to no one in particular, “I’m not going back.”
They’d been watching movies. Lise had given Kate a strict brief on what to get from Blockbuster, after Kate had unwittingly dug out an old Danny Huston movie in which the hero died an untimely, painful death from cancer. Only comedy films were allowed from now on. She’d chosen
Zoolander
, and they’d laughed their way until the middle bit, where Lise complained her ribs were hurting and she needed to pee, and could Kate make her a cup of tea? Like a hypnotist’s trigger, the flick of the kettle switch reminded Kate of the time she’d called Lise from JK’s office. The stress of knowing she had unresolved business with JK, and with Jean-Paul, but mostly with Alexis, coupled with the horror of what she’d missed with Lise, by not being there for her, filled her with dread. Her stomach felt tight, like she’d felt before starting school each term.
“What did you say?” said Lise, emerging from the bathroom. She’d complained the worst bit about the surgery was the constipation as a result of the anesthetic, so they’d given her pills. These seemed to make things worse. Her trips to the bathroom were more frequent, coupled with long descriptions, information Kate really didn’t need to know but accepted as being important to take Lise’s mind off other more pressing aches and pains.
“Nothing,” said Kate.
“Rubbish,” said Lise. “You said you weren’t going back. That’s something.” She settled tentatively on the bed. Usually it was folded up into a sofa bed by day, but they hadn’t bothered. They preferred to sit in track bottoms, Lise still with her many pillows around her.
“You have to go back, you know.” She munched on a Dorito. It broke in pieces, crumbs flying into the bed. Kate would have to do a big sweep later.
“You have to go back. Number one, it’s your job, and that’s what you’ve always wanted, whatever problems you’re having with your editor.”
“How did you—?” Kate interrupted.
“Never mind how I know, I just know. You’re a professional; I’m not, but you are. You can figure out the office politics—you’re smart like that.”
Her mum must have told her.
“Two, you have a boyfriend. Maybe two boyfriends! I mean, how long did it take you to learn how much fun life can be?! And three, if I can just continue for a minute, assuming you’re worried about me, don’t be. I can worry enough about me. And I’ll be fine . . . shh!” Kate went to interrupt, but Lise was on a roll. “I’ve got Steve, and New York is just a short flight away; if you need to come back, I’ll call, I promise! And I don’t think you will need to. So don’t even think about it. It’s decided. ”
Kate placed the mug of tea by Lise’s bedside and walked around to the other side with her mug. There wasn’t much point arguing. She knew Lise was right. The irony was that Lise had always known how much fun life could be. It was Kate who hadn’t. If cancer was supposed to make you rethink your life, then they’d booked it in with the wrong patient. It was Kate who had to learn how to live, had started to do just that. She had to go back. She had to resolve her business with JK, hand in her article to Alexis. There was no other way.
twenty-seven
Later that same day, Kate returned home to pack. This time as she opened the door, she heard a familiar voice talking to her mum. She instantly recognized the saccharine sweet, somewhat patronizing, and insincere tone as belonging to none other than Trisha Hillmory.
What now?
She couldn’t have been here long. A whiff of Thierry Mugler’s Angel lingered in the hallway. Sweet, cloying, poisonous, and instantly identifiable, whether you were among thousands in a shopping center or cast adrift on an ocean.
She eavesdropped for a second as she approached the kitchen.
“Oh, I have missed her,” Darleen was saying, “but I’m so proud of her, going out there on her own like that. I’d never have been as adventurous at her age.”
“Really?” said Trisha. “I’m sure you would!” They laughed, inappropriately, or so Kate thought. How could Trisha have known how adventurous her mum was or wasn’t at Kate’s age? Idiot woman.
No putting it off. She noticed her mum had moved some of the dining room chairs back in.
“Trisha!” Kate announced, standing tall in the doorway. She’d left the track bottoms at Lise’s and was wearing a pair of skinny black jeans, with an asymmetric black top. It hung loosely, artistically, over one shoulder, while the other side clung below her arm, giving a gentle silhouette where bosoms, even nonexistent ones, were only subtly alluded to. Her wedge boots had a round toe. Lise had gone around the edge of her eyes with a black kohl eye pencil. She liked to think the final result was a cross between a French fashion editor and Chrissie Hynde from the Pretenders.
“It’s so great to see you!” That was one thing that working in a magazine had taught her: how to gush a greeting. No one seemed to care if it sounded insincere. The point was that it was made, with enthusiasm, however real or fake. She topped it off with a couple of expertly applied air kisses. Darleen looked at her doubtfully; Trisha was clearly impressed.
“Wow! Look at you!”
Kate smiled at her, but it was a halfhearted smile. She didn’t know how she felt about seeing Trisha in her kitchen with her mum. She put her hand up to her cheek, as if to feel the graze where Trisha’s shoe had fallen, the incident that had started off this whole thing in the first place. Trisha had slept her way to the top, then dumped the man who’d put her there. She was a clever girl; she hadn’t needed to do that. Kate might have notched up a couple of glaring errors recently, but at least she had never done that.